“So there we were, standin’ like drugged-up brahmin, an th’ fisher had us dead t’ rights!”

Kyra’s eyes went wide. “Well, how’d you get away?”

Grit cocked his head to one side. “Luckily, it wasn’t th’ only thin’ lookin’ for a meal. Next thin’ we knew, somethin’ grabbed it an’ dragged it under, an’ we had our senses again. It thrashed ‘round for a sec’, ‘fore goin’ underwater again, then there was a lotta blood. We didn’ stick ‘round t’ find out what it was, an’ just ran for it.” He chuckled nervously, and I clenched my jaw at the memory. How could he laugh about that? We had just gotten lucky. “Still don’t know what ate ‘im, an’ I’m not sure I even wanna know.”

With a single flap of her wings, Kyra hopped onto the trailer of a half-buried truck, walking along it as she kept pace with us. “Damn, ‘fraid you win then. I’ve had a scuffle or two with hellhounds, but I always ended up flyin’ away from ‘em.” She took to the air from the hood of the truck, gliding around us in a lazy circle. “Tell you what, those little bastards are a lot less scary from above.”

For the third time, I glanced around, hesitantly checking to see if there was anything following us, though between Grit's PipBuck and Kyra's freaky griffon perception, I’d probably be the last one to notice. My gaze lingered on the sight of the Bridle River, sending a deep chill down my spine.

Grit had decided that we should set out for Stable 15 immediately rather than spending the night at Shipper. We could make good time, but only if we hurried, and we’d still arrive probably a little after dark. So just after we’d finished our lunch--some kind of chewy noodles mixed with an unidentifiable meat--we set out on the road again, my saddlebags now laden with coal. Kyra had offered to fly it back to Four Shoes for me, but I brushed her off. I didn’t trust her, plain and simple. She hadn’t pressed me on it.

“Oh, how ‘bout this?” Kyra asked, continuing her and Grit’s little competition. “Ain’t as big a beastie as a fisher, but this one time Alda an’ me were--” Without warning, she cut herself off, the mirth draining from her face as her legs froze, staring with laser precision at something ahead of us. My whole body tensed before I even realized it, following her gaze.

Up ahead of us, lying atop a mangled metal awning, was another griffon.

She stood up casually as she saw us, jumping down and approaching with a purposeful stride. I took a step back. The newcomer was bigger than Kyra, with brown fur and white feathers dusted with teal. She was well-armed, and dressed in the same black armor that Kyra wore. I swallowed, my throat suddenly feeling dry despite the humid air. A sideways glance at Grit showed him standing in place, expressionless. The other griffon finally reached us, stopping a safe distance away and sweeping her gaze over Grit and me.

Her yellow eyes settled on Kyra for a long, silent stretch.

“ ‘Afternoon,” she said at last, looking back at Grit. “Don’t mind me, I just need a minute with Kyra here.” Her voice was stiff and carefully measured. She paused, letting her eyes drift back to her fellow Talon. Kyra had barely moved a muscle since spotting the other griffon, and I took a deep breath, trying to force myself to calm down a little. I didn't know what to expect from this griffon, but at least she wasn't here for me.

Kyra nodded, tilting her head a little. “Alrigh’, let’s talk.”

The silence hung in the air for a few heartbeats as she narrowed her eyes at the newcomer, then glanced at Grit and I. The brown-furred griffon took to the air above us, motioning with a jerk of her head for Kyra to follow.

“I’ll uh… be right back,” Kyra said at last to the two of us before spreading her wings wide and shooting up into the sky. The two griffons hovered in midair above us, mostly out of earshot, though I caught snatches of raised voices every now and then.

Grit turned and sat down on his haunches, watching them with a slight flick of one ear. I sat down next to him, staring up at Kyra and her fellow Talon, with the occasional glance at Grit. He was watching them far more intently than I was. The sound of Kyra’s voice raising again caught my attention, and I looked up in time to see her make a rapid sweeping gesture towards Grit and I, followed by jabbing one talon at us.

Grit still had barely moved, watching with complete focus. Finally I spoke up. “What do you think they’re-”

“Sh,” he replied immediately, and I closed my mouth, suppressing a simmering of irritation in the back of my throat.

The other griffon looked down and stared at us, and I shifted slightly on my haunches, scuffing a forehoof at the dirt. Then she looked at Kyra again and said something else before turning and flying off. Kyra hovered in the air for a moment longer, staring the direction the other griffon went. “You could hear parts of that?”

“Bits an’ pieces. Couldn’t make much sense of it.”

I nodded, watching as Kyra descended back towards us, circling down in a steep glide then landing and meeting my gaze with a broad smile. “Well! Sorry ‘bout that, was just some more Talon shit. Nothin’ to worry about.” She stretched her back, kneading the mud and cracked pavement in her talons, before trotting right past us, continuing along the path to Stable 15. “C’mon, still got a ways to go, right?”

Grit nodded, sharing a glance with me before consulting his PipBuck. “Yeah, guess we do.”

Did Talons always behave like this? Admittedly I’d only ever interacted with a few before Kyra, but I remember the griffon who’d commissioned me for the wing blades being very collected and professional. Watching Kyra walk ahead of us, head on a swivel, she seemed to just be on edge, and the days prior she’d been anything but collected and professional. I wanted to ask Grit what he’d overheard, but not with Kyra here to listen to us.

“So, Alloy!” Kyra called back over her shoulder, snapping me from my thoughts. She slowed down to walk alongside me before continuing. “Y’gotta have some crazy customer stories. I’m sure some o’ the ponies you deal with aren’t the sharpest claw in the bunch.”

Whatever had just happened, Kyra didn’t say another word about it.

* * * * * * *

Sure enough, it was maybe an hour after light had faded from the sky that we reached the New Oreins Community Center that housed Stable 15. To my surprise, a voice greeted us before we'd even entered the building’s parking lot.

"Grit, you're back!" a stallion called out to us from the window of a mostly-intact house near our path His shadow vanished from sight for a few moments before he reappeared at the front door, beaming at us. “An’ you brought the blacksmith!” In the glow of his PipBuck screen, I could see his pale-yellow coat and the crowbar he carried next to him in a field of golden magic, though he wasn't wearing any Stable barding

“Yeah, I did,” he replied with a note of annoyance, glancing at me for a moment. “Any idea what this’s all ‘bout? Pillar’s message wan’t ‘zactly specific.”

The stallion flinched a little, ears falling flat against his head. “He should tell you ‘imself. C’mon.” Grit frowned at the stallion’s backside, and his face mirrored my own feelings. What the hell was going on, anyway? I looked over at Kyra, but her face seemed neutral, or was just unreadable to me in the dim light.

He led us into the basement of the community center and through the massive cog-shaped door, passing two ponies standing guard in their Stable 15 barding. They nodded at us as we passed, but even I could tell they were exhausted, slouching against the wall and eyes underscored by dark bags. I didn’t see them even give Kyra a second glance.

As we crossed the atrium and ascended the stairs to the Overmare’s office, I could hear raised voices, even through the sealed metal door, but I couldn’t make out any words. My throat clenched as my mind drifted to different possibilities. Was it something to do with the spritebots? Or the prison?

The stallion who had led us this far rapped on the door with his hoof, immediately silencing the yelling from inside. There was a soft click, and the door opened, sliding itself into the ceiling and floor. “Sorry to bother you, but…”

Pillar cut him off, seeing us through the door. “Grit, you’re finally here. Good. Come in.”

The three of us filed past the yellow-coated stallion, and Kyra earned a glare from Pillar, though it still didn’t seem to affect her. “Burlap, please excuse us. Go and relieve Cherry Pie and Scribble at the door for night watch.” The stallion nodded and left, closing the door behind him, and Pillar snapped his head to stare at Kyra again.

“Grit,” he growled, keeping his gaze on the griffon, “who is this?”

“Name’s Kyra. Talon mercenary,” Grit answered casually. “She’s helpin’ us out right now.”

Pillar’s eyes shifted to Grit. “And she has no place in this meeting. I want her out of this room, now.”

“Well, all ya gotta do is ask, skippy,” Kyra cut in with a grin. “I mean, I’m right here. Anyway, you ponies have your little pow wow. I’m gonna find somethin’ to eat. Alloy, Grit, I’ll catch up with y’all later.” And with that, she showed herself out, hitting the door-close button with a snap of her tail.

I opened my mouth to say something, hopefully get some answers, but Grit had other thoughts. “Alrigh’ Pillar, what’s your deal? Y’ upgrade the stick ‘n your ass for rebar?”

Pillar recoiled for a moment, but only for that long. “What were you thinking, bringing another outsider here, in the middle of this crisis?”

“Crisis? What ‘crisis?’ ” Grit took an insistent step forward. “All y’said was that you wanted Alloy down here for a job. Kyra wanted t’ come along for her own reasons, an’ if you wanted t’ keep this private, maybe y’ shoulda said somethin’.”

The larger stallion’s muzzle bunched up into a snarl. “Listen here, you little-”

“Pillar, stop. This isn’t getting us anywhere,” the Overmare’s voice cut in, her tone firm. The pink-coated mare walked out from behind her desk, approaching Grit and me. “I’ll start from the top, an’ fill y’all in on the situation.” Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Pillar open his mouth a moment, but then close it again. Grit and I walked over to the sofa next to the small window in the office, and waited.

“A few months back,” she began, “a group of ponies found their way to our door. We were suspicious of them at first since they looked a bit unruly, but they were open and friendly enough. They said they were traders looking to buy some technical parts and food, an’ we came to an agreement on a price in caps. They said they’d be back with more things to trade. It,” she stopped a moment, taking a slow, deep breath. One of my ears flicked at the air as I tried to figure out Studio’s story ahead of her. “It made sense at the time. We wanted to eventually open ourselves up to the outside world, and we’d need currency t’ do that, but I never…” She shook her head. “They started coming back every few weeks, an’ then at least once a week. An’ as they did, th’ things they wanted got stranger an’ more sophisticated. More’n once they brought us a load of damaged weapons and asked that we fix them, but nopony in th’ Stable really knew how.”

I shifted uneasily in my seat. The longer Studio’s story went on, the more the tight ball in my gut grew. Who were these traders?

“After that, they started bringing blueprints. Schematics for engines an’ such. They wanted to know how they’d fix it, how they’d make new parts for this or the other.”

Slowly, she walked back to her desk and sat down behind it, taking a sip from a mug in front of her, as she simply closed her eyes a moment. Was she waiting on me? Her eyes opened again, and she continued, her voice softer than before.

“‘Bout a week ago, they came by with an entirely different request. They wanted a team of our best engineers to go with them out into the Wasteland to work on whatever it was they had. Even I was suspicious. Pillar wouldn’t hear of it, unless they gave us more details. They refused t’ even say how long our ponies would be there, only that they’d be ‘well taken care of.’ ” Studio’s eyes hardened, and her tail swished at the air briefly. “I refused, and told them that I’d never let the ponies under my care go out into th’ Wasteland like that.”

She walked back to her desk to take another sip from her mug, and Grit interjected softly, “Sounds like th’ right thing t’ do.”

“Yes. An’ my fears were confirmed when they returned three days later. They announced that in a week they’d be back with an army, an’ we’d give them our best technicians, or their boss would slaughter everypony in the Stable.”

My blood turned to ice. This whole story had been off from the beginning. A mysterious, “unruly” group of traders operating this far south without passing through Four Shoes?

But of course, they weren’t traders.

Grit found his voice first. “Did they say who their boss was?”

Studio nodded slowly.

I felt my throat clench as a feeling of dread overcame me.

No! No, no, no no…

“They called her ‘Malice.’ ”

No, no, Goddesses, no! This wasn’t happening to me again. My ears fell flat against my head, and I tried my hardest to keep myself rooted to the seat. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I just-

“We’re going to fight her,” Pillar said, though his voice sounded distant through the sound of my own heart pounding in my chest and ears. He glared hard at Grit and I. “The Stable has a perfect choke point. They’ll never get inside, but we need body armor.” He nodded in my direction. “That’s why I asked you here. We need armored barding, as much as you can make and as fast as you can make it.”

My mouth worked silently. This was crazy. It was fucking crazy!

Grit was shouting the same thing. “This is suicide! Just because y’ have a choke point don’t mean y’ can fight off raiders! Hell, you’re th’ only one who’s even seen a gun before, Pillar!”

“I’m training them!” he snapped back. “We’ll be ready. And it’s better than the alternative.”

“I disagree,” Studio answered, shaking her head. “I still say we simply close the Stable. Whatever weapons they may have, they’ll never get past that door.”

“How long do we keep it closed? Do we stay down here until Malice dies of old age? Until her successor comes along? We need to stop this, here and now!” Pillar stomped his forehoof on the metal floor for emphasis.

The Overmare was silent at that. So was Grit. I had backed into the wall and couldn’t find any words.

“We’ve gotta at least try, Studio,” Pillar said at last, his voice more soothing than I’d ever heard it. “We can’t give up everythin’ we’ve been workin’ on jus’ ‘cause of one raider gang. We’d be lockin’ away a whole ‘nother generation of Stable ponies, an’ even then we couldn’t be sure it was safe. An’ hell, the Wasteland’s never gonna be safe, not truly safe.”

Nopony said a word, and I just sat there, taking deep breaths and telling my heart to slow, ordering my limbs to stop shaking, why was I shaking? I had to calm down, had to focus on something. At last, I broke the silence. “If you need armor, I’ll need a place to work, since it sounds like you don’t have time for me to go back home and make it at my store.” Business. I could talk business. I had a job. A commission. They could do whatever they wanted with their lives and their Stable, as long as they paid me. It was what they called me here for. “Since you’ve got the materials, I’ll work for a discounted price.”

Pillar shot me a glare, his jaw tightening, but all he said was, “You’ll get 75 caps for every finished suit of barding.” He practically spat his price at me as he flicked his tail.

I swallowed, nodding as my ears dropped slightly. My stomach was still twisted into knots, but the money was good. They were hiring me for a job, not life advice. It was their decision, not mine.

Studio nodded slowly, letting out a slow breath and meeting Pillar’s eyes briefly. “You can work in our maintenance wing, starting in the morning. We’ve got a full set of facilities that should be more than enough.” She looked at Grit. “Grit should still know the way. Could you…?”

He nodded, glancing at me. “Yeah, sure. C’mon, Alloy.”

The two of us walked out of Studio’s office quietly. I glanced over my shoulder at Pillar and Studio, to see the latter sitting on her haunches and staring out the small window in her office, out to the atrium below and the ponies milling around the Stable.

Pillar stepped towards the window, and I had just enough time to see Studio turn towards him, eyes wet with tears and ears flat, before the door closed and gave them privacy again.

* * * * * * *

Ten minutes of walking and three levels down, but not one word was said between Grit and I before we arrived at a door labeled “TALISMAN RESEARCH 01.” The door slid open to show Spark dissecting one of the spritebots, a pure focus in his eyes.

“Hey Dad,” Grit said with a grin, snapping his father out of the work.

He glanced up from the spritebot, and then did a double-take, matching his son’s grin, though his eyes looked more tired than Grit’s. “Aw, there’s my lil’ colt. How ya doin’?!” Setting down his tools, he walked over to Grit and touched their foreheads together. “Take it you’ve come down t’ help with this lil’ raider problem we got?”

“Yeah, somethin’ like that,” Grit answered. “Pillar’s gonna get Alloy t’ make a buncha bardin’ t’ help fight ‘em off.”

Spark looked off to the side, the corners of his mouth tightening. He looked at me, and I immediately shifted my gaze to the bot he’d been working on. “What’s going on with the spritebots?”

“Hmm?” Spark looked over at the partially-disassembled ‘bot on his table. “Oh! Well, after Pillar had me send a message to Grit, I thought I’d try to get the radio fully functional again, so that we could communicate directly through the spritebots!” He trotted over to the work table, beaming as he picked up the inert robot in a field of blue magic, showing off the inner workings. I grit my teeth together as I stared inside, remembering the hours wasted trying to fix the robots myself.

“Well damn, that’ll be useful,” Grit chimed in with a grin. “It’d be nice t’ get a call from home ev’ry now’n then. Anythin’ I can do t’ help?”

“I’m afraid not, I’ve just gotta get a microphone t’ work with my PipBuck, an’ then it’ll be time t’ field test.” He picked up a PipBuck that had been lying on the table next to the spritebot and started pressing buttons, seemingly at random as far as I could tell. After a moment, he wrapped the device around his foreleg and secured it with a soft click. “The range won’t be far for now, but if I can tether my PipBuck t’ th’ old Stable-Tec Emergency Broadcast antenna, it should reach for miles.”

Stepping back from the worktable, he stretched out his back and neck, making a few audible popping noises as his ears flicked. “But down t’ more pressin’ business. Alloy, you’ll need a place t’ work, I take it?”

I nodded, scraping one forehoof on the floor. “Yes. Someplace quiet, with some spare metal and suits of barding to reinforce.”

“Sure thing. Workshop 4 should do th’ trick. I’ll get some materials scrounged up for ya first thing in th’ mornin’, but for now I think it’s quittin’ time.” Spark trotted around towards us, nodding his head at the door. “I’d be glad t’ show you th’ place, but it’s far too late t’ do any proper work. You’re welcome t’ stay at my quarters t’night! We still got that sofa, an’ we’ll be able to get started at the same time.”

I swallowed, glancing at Grit. I caught him opening his mouth briefly, but he closed it again. Was he about to object? He probably didn’t want me sleeping in his home. The silence stretched just longer than was normal. They were both looking at me. I nodded. “Thank you.”

He was right. It was too late to work, and I needed the sleep.

* * * * * * *

I needed the sleep.

My eyes felt heavy, my bones ached from the marathon of walking all day, and I’d barely had a moment to myself all Goddesses-damned day. But my mind still ran itself in circles, keeping me awake as surely as a screeching alarm or gunfire.

For the first time all day, I was alone.

It was how I always wanted things. Alone I could relax. Alone I could think.

But I was alone with nothing to occupy myself; alone with the cold Stable air, with the overstuffed couch that couldn’t muffle the thoughts in my head, no matter how I buried my head into it.

I tried to think about something simple. The armor. Spark had a place for me to work, and I could make the armor they wanted. Reinforcing some of their Stable barding would be easy enough.

As easy as it would have been to make Chainlink some hoofcuffs.

NO! I curled up tighter on the couch, pulling the blanket tight around me. This was different! And besides, if I’d made those fucking hoofcuffs for Chainlink all those weeks ago, maybe I’d have been better off. I could have been back home, sleeping like I’d done every day for years. Instead, I-

The image of Copper’s face after the chains went around him flashed through my mind. I squeezed my eyes shut.

The back of Copper’s head. My revolver, pointed straight at it.

I ground my teeth together, practically screaming inside my own head if only to drown out the fucking memories. Hell, I wouldn’t even be helping slavers this time, it was Stable ponies that wanted to fight back. What was so fucking wrong with that?

Why was it so Celestia-damned cold in here? Would it kill them to let the Bayou’s warm air inside once in a fucking while?

I curled my tail around me and drew the blanket tighter as consciousness finally faded from me.

* * * * * * *

I slept in starts and stops from that point, never able to let my heavy eyes rest for long. The next morning, Grit had to wake me, and my whole body felt like lead as I dragged myself to all fours, more by sheer force of will than any desire to leave the warm blanket and couch. A cup of hot tea and an apple helped give me some energy, but only just.

The cold air in Stable 15’s workshop room didn’t help matters. The ponies of the Stable had provided as much as I could have asked for. They set aside a pile of clean Stable 15 barding, ready to be reinforced for combat, and though they didn’t have a forge, they did have a blowtorch and a table-mounted spinning saw that they assured me could cut through metal. They’d even dug up a mannequin for me to use, which would make the fitting much easier.

But I couldn’t work properly. My hooves moved sluggishly, and my mind drifted. I pulled a sheet of metal over to me, placed it against the mannequin’s chest. Drew lines with a marker where I’d use the saw to cut before taking the metal over to the table.

Turning towards the saw to start cutting, I stared at the metal plate and picked it back up. Placed the metal up against the mannequin again before realizing I’d already drawn the lines on this one. I shook my head, snorting as I brought the metal plate back to the table again to resume working.

I tried turning on the radio for a few minutes, to give me some background noise. Maybe let me keep to a rhythm. I’d heard some ponies worked well with music.

After a few songs, I turned the radio off again. It wasn’t helping. I’d just sit there and try to focus on my work, but the lyrics distracted me. The warmth of the blowtorch helped a little, whenever it was on, but I missed the crackling fire of my forge, and Luna help me I even missed the sound of ponies milling around Four Shoes. I never realized before how much I was used to the sounds of a living town in the background as I worked.

Shaking my head again, I stared at the piece of metal I had measured to be a breastplate. Needed to focus.

Couldn’t let my mind wander.

“I still don’ like this,” Grit said flatly, making me jump back and my heart skip a beat. The piece of metal I’d been measuring clattered to the table. I hadn't even heard him come in.

“It’s-” I cut myself off. I’d been about to tell him it was none of my business what they wanted to do, but that wasn’t entirely true--especially not to Grit. I let out a slow breath, scuffing my forehoof at the metal floor. He was looking at me expectantly, patiently. “Neither of them is wrong,” I blurted at last. “Pillar’s idea may be suicidal, but he’s right that the Stable can’t just lock itself away forever.” I turned back to my worktable, at the meager pile of metal I had to use. Maybe the best idea would be for everypony to leave the Stable. Head north, far away from Malice. But where? New Pegas? New Appleloosa? I snorted at my own suggestion.

It wasn’t up to me anyway.

They’d made their own decision.

Just make the armor, and leave.

The deadline was fast approaching, and I had a different problem. “We need to go out for salvage,” I said. “Not enough metal here to make the barding Pillar wants. I can make three sets out of what they’ve got here, but I need more. Doesn’t have to be metal, but either way we need to go.”

Grit cocked one eye at me. “Where d’ya ‘spect t’ get metal ‘round here? An’ can’t they just yank enough off th’ walls or somethin’?”

“Maybe they can, but that’ll take time,” I paced around towards the door, trying to hide my sudden shiver. “We can head out and go scavenging while they get metal together from inside the Stable.” I need to get out of here. The cold, dry air in here was starting to seep into my bones. Work on the armor was going too slowly.

Just some fresh air, that’s all. I just need some fresh air.

“Alright, sounds like a plan,” Grit agreed. “Let’s track down Kyra first. Think she’s been hangin’ ‘round my dad, an’ I wan’ her t’ come along.”

I nodded. I’d be grateful for Kyra’s presence, even if she was more of a blabbermouth than Grit.

* * * * * * *

Sure enough, we found Kyra craning over Spark’s shoulders. She was more silent and still than I’d ever seen her, watching him work in total fascination. It seemed Spark had managed to connect the spritebot to his Pipbuck, and he asked us to take the bot with us on a field test, and they would get some more scrap together for the armor. Grit agreed.

Shortly after leaving Talisman Research, we started to run into other Stable ponies in the halls, and more frequently the closer we got to the atrium. Their eyes lit up as they saw Grit and I, though they regarded Kyra with curiosity and caution. The way their eyes sparkled as they looked at me made me want to walk faster, to get out of this crazy Stable. Why were they smiling at me? I gave them a brief nod occasionally, hurrying along to avoid any conversation.

Finally, we got to the atrium, where Pillar was giving some kind of lecture about a pistol. The presentation paused as our little parade walked through, with Pillar staring at us and the ponies in the crowd turning to watch as we passed. Most of them beamed, though I could still see lines of exhaustion under their eyes. It was a creepy change from the previous day. They must have heard about us helping them out, but how had it cheered them up so much?

As we crossed the threshold of the massive cog-shaped door of the Stable, I relaxed a little at the smell of the humid, warm air of the Bayou outside. Four ponies stood guard in the Community Center above ground, and an ice-blue coated mare with a light green tail approached us. I remembered she’d been the pony who had tricked Grit when we first arrived here weeks ago. “Oh, y’all leavin’ already?” she asked.

Grit shook his head. “Naw, jus’ going out for some supplies. Alloy needs s’more metal for Pillar an’ Studio.”

She seemed to relax a little, nodding at us. “Alrigh’, sounds good. Y’all be careful out there.” Her eyes flicked to mine, staring at me, and I could swear for a moment I saw a glimmer of that same gaze the other Stable ponies had looked at me with. She opened her mouth, closed it again, looking away for a moment before meeting my eyes again.

“Thank you,” she said at last. “What you’re doin’... What all o’ y’all are doin’, it means a lot to us.”

Ice shot through my heart and it was all I could do to try and keep my face impassive. Was there something I was missing? I was just making them armor. Barely even counted as armor. Grit had mentioned something about training, but they were still dead. Hopeless. They couldn’t fight against Malice. Nopony could.

Thankfully, Grit answered. “S’th’ least we can do, Meadow. We’ll get through this shit, y’hear?”

The mare smiled and nodded, stepping aside to let us pass as I tried to force my brain to work again. Was that why all those ponies had been happy to see us? Did they see us as some kind of saviors? All I was doing was making them armor! They were going to fight and bleed and die, and I’d make sure to be far away when it happened. And the ones who lived would be taken into slavery.

And I’d be far away when it happened.

* * * * * *

Once we were a few minutes away from the Community Center building, the spritebot’s speaker crackled to life, jarring me out of my thoughts. The three of us stopped as it began hissing static, then a hesitant stallion’s voice, tinny through the robot. “Testing, testing. Can you hear me?”

“Hey, it works!” Grit answered. “Can y’ hear us, Dad?”

“I can hear you, alright!” Even through the speaker, I could hear Spark’s excitement. “Okay, I’ll let you know when we’re done gathering metal from inside here, but try not to go too far. I’m not sure what the exact range is yet. Out.” The static cut out, and the spritebot hovered next to us impassively.

“Well, let’s get this show on the road again,” Kyra declared, stretching out her forelegs, then her back legs before starting to walk across the broken parking lot. “So are we just looking for any kind of metal, or somethin’ a bit more specific?”

Grit and I started trotting after her, the spritebot obediently hovering behind him. “Almost anything will do,” I answered, “but ideally we need some flat sheets that aren’t rusted. Rusty metal is worthless.”

“Sounds good!” Kyra said, flapping her wings to hover a bit above the ground. “I’ll take a quick look around from above, see if I can’t find a place t’ start. Back in a minute!”

And like that, Grit and I were alone again, walking through the Bayou. Just like last time. My thoughts drifted back to Meadow again. “Do you-,” I blurted out before I could stop myself. Grit glanced at me, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t press me for more, but I could almost feel the curiosity that he was holding back. “Does the whole Stable know about this plan? That I’m making armor for them?”

Grit nodded. “An’ Pillar agreed t’ let Kyra an’ me train ‘em how t’ fight.”

I snorted, flicking my ear at the air. It still didn’t make sense.

“They thought this’d be th’ end o’ th’ Stable as they’ve come t’ know it. Th’ end o’ their chance t’ live in th’ outside world. Even if it’s a small chance, they feel like we gave ‘em hope.”

“Armor and training to fight-” to fight an army of murderous raiders. I shook my head. “It’s barely any hope.”

“Maybe.” He turned to stare at me, and my ears flattened a little. “But I bet s’like how you felt when I told you I’d help y’ find Copper, innit?”

I froze up, my throat hitching as Grit’s words knifed through me.

No. No, our situations had been completely different.

I hadn’t been facing down an army. I’d just been given the impossible task of finding a pony in the Bayou. I’d been kicked out of my home, told I had to leave my only safe haven. The pit in my stomach solidified, and I scuffed at the ground with a forehoof.

I couldn’t fool myself for a even a moment.

Kyra flew back into view, landing a short distance in front of us. “Good news!” she shouted. “Found a neighborhood with a buncha big houses. It’s just a bit ahead of us, but I think it’s a good place t’ start.”

“Sounds good!” Grit called out to her as she closed the distance to us. “Lead th’ way.”

“Alright, c’mon.” Her eyes shifted to stare at me. I swallowed, trying to compose myself. “‘Sa matter with you? Look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She idly waved her tail at the air, grinning.

“I’m fine,” I answered sharply, walking up to meet the two of them. “Let’s get to those houses.” That’s all I needed to worry about. Find some metal. Make some barding. Get through the day. Focus.

Focus.

* * * * * *

The first house in the upscale neighborhood hadn’t yielded any metal. Nor the second or the third. By the fourth house, the search was becoming routine. Without a word to me, Kyra and Grit split up to search the ground floor, while I went upstairs.

I swept through the belongings of the long-dead ponies with all the care and delicacy of a cargo truck. I hefted bins in my magic, upturning them to find only rusted-out cans. I violently yanked drawers out of chests to find only useless clothing, torn up by age and insect. Scowling at the contents of a closet, I tossed aside a wooden toy car and a few broken coffee cups, chucking them all into a corner with the rest of the worthless junk.

Nothing.

Nothing that I could sell, nothing that I could melt down into usable metal, let alone use to make armor for somepony.

My head swam. Couldn’t think, couldn’t focus. How was any of this going to fucking help? How did they- Why the hell were they pinning all their hopes on some stupid armor?!

Why should I care about these ponies that wanted to gallop to their deaths? It was a waste of time! We lived in a world built on the dead, so what was a few more bones for the foundation?

And then I walked into the bedroom.

The bed and nightstands were completely destroyed, though small patches of faded blue carpet still showed through on the floor. An easel had been set up next to the now-broken window, leaning against the wall as its legs slowly succumbed to mold. In front of it lay a skeleton of a unicorn, with half a dozen brushes scattered around its hooves, outstretched and reaching for the canvas. Centuries-dried paint pots were strewn around the bones and easel, the colors almost all faded. And on the canvas was a half-finished painting. Its edges were covered in dark faces with leering eyes, shapes of war and death in the shadows, all surrounding a spot of faded color in the middle. I slowly walked closer to it, staring at the empty space in the center.

Up close, I could see the faintest remnant of an outline, drawn rather than painted. Like how I’d sketch out a design on a piece of armor before etching it. From the outlines, it looked like there was supposed to be somepony in the middle, standing over a huddling form. Maybe banishing the darkness, protecting a friend that otherwise felt alone. Hopeless. Maybe I just hoped that’s what it was.

Instead, there was barely a ghost.

Slowly, I turned my head down to look down at the bones, my back legs giving out numbly. Whoever this pony had been, they had died before finishing their painting.

They had spent their final moments pouring their heart out onto a canvas that would never be what they wanted.

My vision blurred and I felt a lump in my throat as I looked around at the bedroom, as if I was seeing it for the first time. And I was, in truth. I didn't see a handful of scavengable goods amid a pile of useless trash.

I saw the memories of an entire life.

The broken coffee cups had layers and layers of paint caked inside, swirled into random patterns from mixing colors together. The wooden toy car, still in miraculous condition, was painted a vibrant blue with a yellow stripe down the side, with some writing proclaiming it the ‘Blue Lightning.’ The torn clothing was, in fact, not as torn as I’d thought. A little moth-eaten maybe, but the variety of wartime suits and dresses made me wish I could see what they’d looked like in mint condition. Finally, I looked back to the painting, my ears falling flat, wondering what it would feel like to pour the last of your life into one creation, one expression, and fail.

And then I wept.

I cried, and nothing could stop me, not even when Grit and Kyra came running in to see what was the matter. He didn't know how to handle the situation, and I hated letting them see this… but that didn't stop me from embracing Grit and burying my muzzle into his shoulder as he tried to comfort me.

And he just let me be, saying nothing. In that moment, even as tears flowed freely from my eyes, I was just grateful for his presence. Grateful that it was him instead of anyone else.

Grit, the town guard. Grit the changeling. Grit the happy-go-lucky, sociable, cheerful pony from Stable 15.

Grit, my friend.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Footnote: N/A

Alloy Shaper’s Smithy
Sales Journal

Author's Notes:

Alloy learned a new word today! :D