Slavers. And they were dragging away fresh “merchandise” with a sadistic glee that made me want to vomit. As the scene unfolded below, I found myself furiously yanking the hunting rifle out from my saddlebags, taking aim at the pony below me carrying a battle saddle-mounted energy rifle.

Before I could pull the trigger, however, a voice in my head screamed at me to calm down and think. What could I realistically do against three armed ponies in a firefight? If I got lucky and even hit--let alone kill--one of them with the shot I had a chance to line up there were still two more, and odds were they were better with a gun than I was. Or, at least, better with whatever energy gun that was down there. I certainly didn’t recognize its make, and that fact made me more than a little uneasy.

The slaver with the battle saddle fired a bolt of green energy over the line of zebras, yelling something. The mare with blood covering her face and neck ducked reflexively, and brought the rest of the procession to a halt as her sudden movement yanked the chain, sending another zebra toppling. Seeing the cuffs closed tightly around the zebras’ legs and necks caused my own neck and forelegs to itch and sting. I ground my teeth together in a snarl. The iron sights of my rifle lined up over the slaver’s head, and I could picture the bullet ripping through her, making her pay for this.

But I hesitated again. I was still outnumbered and outgunned, and getting killed was only one way this ended. What if I just ended up the fifth slave on that chain? I didn’t owe the zebras this risk. We had a perfectly fair trade agreement. Hell, if I had been half an hour later in my trip, I’d have probably missed them completely. I wouldn’t even have to lie; there’s no way Nikale could hold it against me that I didn’t try to fight slavers three to fucking one.

I still hadn't moved, my rifle hovering in the air when another pony's voice interrupted me.

“Well, well, well. Ain’t this my lucky day.”

The hunting rifle clattered to the concrete floor as my magic imploded. I tried to refocus and restore it, but I couldn’t even make a spark as my nerves failed me. My head began to turn slowly, trembling, my blood feeling like ice. I screamed at my body to stop, to not look, to bury myself against the wall, as if the other pony couldn’t threaten me if I didn’t look. My head kept turning. My mind screamed again just to get up and run, forget looking, it was pointless!

I stared up at the green buck with a grey mane. A very familiar green buck, wearing a vindictive grin and levitating a pair of hoofcuffs in front of him.

“Sorry, but it’s a little too late to change your mind about makin’ me some cuffs,” Chainlink said menacingly.

I had no words in response. Overwhelming terror froze me to the spot. I couldn’t even form a coherent thought. A field of levitation magic wrapped around his pistol and began pulling it out of its holster. Some part of me snapped back to awareness. I pushed away from the window to scramble to my hooves. A swift, brutally strong buck slammed my side. I tumbled to the floor again with a cry of pain and a fit of coughing. “Now what’s your hurry, bitch? You an’ me got plenty of time t’ work somethin’ out.” The barrel of his gun floated down to my face and it pressed at my cheek, silently threatening me to look up at my aggressor. “So how’s about we make us a new deal? You get these pretty little cuffs on, and I let you keep all four legs!” He grinned as he ground one hoof on top of one of my foreleg knees, twisting and pressing his weight on the joint. Sharp, drilling pain spiked up my leg, causing tears to well up in my eyes. The pressure felt so strong I instantly believed he could snap my leg off or crush my knee to dust. I nodded frantically. “Good,” he sneered at me, taking his leg off of mine.

I rolled onto my stomach, still lying down. Chainlink took a step closer to me. I saw the cuffs float up next to my foreleg, and I flinched away, turning my head towards the wall. I couldn’t watch. One cufflink secured itself tightly around my left foreleg and I flinched again, my gaze dropping.

I saw the hilt of my sword.

A voice from outside had shouted something I had missed, and Chainlink tossed his gaze out the window to answer, “...good, nothing’s wrong. Got ‘nother one up here!”

A primal instinct surged within me. A flash of fire to melt the terror freezing me to the spot. Just as he turned his attention back to me, I lit my horn. My sword sprung from its sheath. I rolled towards him and swung it in a flurry of desperation. There was a gunshot. A spurt of warm, arterial blood hit my face. Searing pain just behind my shoulder choked my mind. When focus came back to me, I saw Chainlink staggering. A deep gash ran across his neck. He stared at me, shock filling his eyes. A wet gurgle, a sickening gasp, and he started to fall. I scrambled as he collapsed towards me, kicking out with my hind legs. Every motion of my left foreleg was met by a fresh hammering of pain. My flailing kicked his body towards the open window, and he tumbled out. I heard the sound of a sandbag filled with dry branches meeting solid concrete once, twice, then splashing into water.

I was vaguely aware of the shouting from below. My attention was instead focused on the wound behind my left shoulder. I turned my head to examine it, and fortunately it didn’t look as bad as it felt. Dark red blood oozed out of the gash across my side, the bullet having only grazed me, but still tearing open armor, hide, and flesh in the process.

Beams of red sliced the air, scorching the window frame and ceiling, snapping me back to reality. I couldn’t stay here. The other slavers knew somepony was up here now, they had to know. Chainlink’s fucking body had fallen out the window. I heard shouting rage and dared a glimpse. Two ponies were galloping towards the building and the twichy unicorn stood by the boat, waving something boxy at the zebras before looking back at the building. Another red beam bolted above my head, and I ducked into cover.

My mind reeled as I forced myself to think out a plan. I couldn’t run. I could barely canter and bite through the pain for a short time. No way I could outrun two healthy, armed ponies. I had to fight them. Could I hide? Where would I hide? What if they found me? I’d be helpless. They’d probably just kill me now, or torture me and then kill me. I couldn’t fight two ponies on my own. I had no choice.

The stairs. They had to climb up the stairs. The memory of the filing cabinet I’d stumbled over the other day hit me in a flash. I went to the stairs as fast as I could, grabbing Chainlink’s dropped revolver in my magic. There was another toppled filing cabinet near the stairwell. My head throbbed as I tried lifting it with magic. It was too heavy. I heard hooves galloping on concrete below. They were climbing the stairs now. One of them screamed curses and promises of blood. I was able to lighten the cabinet with my magic just enough to slide it to the middle of the landing. I crouched behind it and peeked around, ready to buck it down the stairs at my attackers.

The sound of running got closer. A glimpse of movement. I heard a voice bellow, “There y-”

I kicked. I bucked as hard as I could, and stars swam in my vision as I staggered away from the stairs. The wound in my shoulder seared hotter than before. My front legs had to take my weight for that half second to buck the cabinet. And I was paying for it. My left foreleg was reduced to limping along. I had no idea if I’d managed to hurt one of the slavers. They were shouting again, and my heart was pounding in my chest. I aimed Chainlink’s revolver back towards the stairwell entrance and fired twice blindly. Their shouting stopped, at least. My bullets were instead answered by a small, round object. It flew up the stairs, hit the opposite wall with a metallic tink and bounced into the middle of the hallway.

Grenade!

My mind screamed at me, and I ran into the nearest room, fighting through the pain of my leg again and diving behind a desk. The hallway outside exploded. My ears rang, and I shook off the dizziness as best I could. I heard voices yelling in the hallway outside, but they sounded distant and muted, as though they were yelling through a wall of water. Shaking my head again firmly, I tried to force my senses to return. A spray of green bolts overhead did the trick. I was still curled up and hiding under the desk. I bit my lip hard, stopping myself from making noise as dirt and grime were smeared into my open wound. I checked Chainlink’s revolver. 3 bullets. Another volley of green energy. A desk to my right melted into goop. “Get the fuck out here! I’ll fucking kill you!” screamed a mare from the doorway. Another trio of burning green bolts, and I heard an explosion of sparks as one of them hit the terminal above my head. A startled yelp escaped me as I buried my muzzle between my forelegs. “There you are!” I heard hooves gallop towards me. Shit, shit, shi-

The battle-saddle mare rounded the corner, aiming at my hiding spot. My revolver was pointed back. I squeezed the trigger twice. A bolt of green shot past my head and my hind leg erupted in a hellfire of pain. The heavy-caliber bullets tore into the magical rifle, and it burst. Both of us screamed. Shrapnel from the exploding weapon peppered us. I regained my senses first and lunged out with my sword, plunging it halfway into her chest before sliding it out with a wet splotch. Her eyes drilled into mine before losing focus. I stood over her body, gasping for air. I heard a voice by the doorway. The other slaver stood frozen in place, staring at me in shock.

Thundering adrenaline blotted out the pain now, and I charged forward. He fled. My sword slashed through the air, knocking his pistol out of his mouth, and then opening a gash on his foreleg. He cried out and ran for the stairs. The blade sliced across his side, opening up his belly and letting meat and guts spill out. He tripped and stumbled to the floor to bleed out.

One more. One more and I’d be free. One more. I half-ran, half-limped, adrenaline wearing off as pain reasserted itself in force. My thoughts were focused on the last remaining slaver. I got to the opening in the building facing the bridge. The last shot from Chainlink’s revolver flew between us, barely aimed. It missed, but the twitchy unicorn dropped his own pistol into the water. He unhooked the boat and sped off as fast as he could down the canal.

A haze of black closed around my vision. I fell.

* * * * * * *

When I came to, opening my eyes wearily and shaking off the lightheadedness, I realized I was surrounded. I jumped to my hooves, and then immediately collapsed again. Now that the danger had passed and I had nothing else to focus on, the pain from my injuries overwhelmed my senses. My heartbeat slowed once I realized there was no one else around except for the zebras.

One of them approached me with a note of concern on his face. I swallowed hard, fighting back the tears in my eyes that I adamantly refused to show anypony. “Blacksmith,” he said cautiously, “You saved us. I,” he trailed off as if searching for words, “We are in your debt. Thank you.” I sucked in a few deep breaths and brought myself to a sitting position. My hind leg objected fiercely, but I denied it. I looked at him, recognizing this zebra as the younger buck who owned the hunting rifle.

I grimaced. I noticed that all of them were free of their cuffs and collars now. “You got the keys for the chains.” He gave me a nod. “Good.” One step at a time. I let myself draw in a slow, deep breath, ignoring my shakily weak muscles, focusing on nothing else but giving myself this moment. Collect myself. Reassess. Recompose.

I took another long breath and examined the wound behind my left shoulder, then the burn on my right hind leg. They both looked ugly, the latter was a splotch of charred flesh and hide surrounding dark red blood and muscle. The bullet graze behind my shoulder at least looked less damaging, though moving both limbs sent stinging aches through my body.

I needed some time alone.

“I need to find something for these,” I said, not addressing anyone in particular. “I’m going to check the building.” I was going to wander.

The young buck reached out a hoof to me, standing up to follow. “I can help.”

“No!” I snapped. I shut my eyes briefly, cursing myself for the outburst before looking back at him and lowering my voice to conversational levels. “No thank you. I’ll be fine on my own. I’ll look for supplies and we can all go to Shipper.” The zebra stopped following me and turned to rejoin the others. I saw one of them sifting through Chainlink’s saddlebags out of the corner of my eye, but I wasn’t concerned with the loss of whatever the slaver had been carrying.

Back in the Ministry office, I began wandering aimlessly, falling back on old scavenger habits I’d learned as a filly while letting my thoughts churn. I’d scraped through this, but only barely. With every step, I felt the stinging burn on my hind leg. The gash behind my shoulder. Both of them could have left me dead. All my work, everything I had done, amounting to bleeding out in the middle of nowhere. Something in the back of my mind taunted me with the idea of dying, and how easily it could have come to me.

I shoved the images of my own gruesome deaths out of my thoughts with what strength I could muster, shaking my head and turning to smack it against a wall so hard that it left me reeling. It worked, but instead I found myself dwelling on the three slavers. They weren’t the first lives I’d taken, and if the Wasteland had its way they’d be nowhere close to the last, but the memories were seared into my head. Chainlink’s look of shock as blood filled his throat. The mare’s rage and hatred as I impaled her. The gutted buck’s horror as his own organs brought him crashing down. No matter how I tried, these images refused to go away.

I was levitating my sword next to me as I walked, though I didn't remember picking it up, and I found myself standing before the skeleton I had found before, using its tattered clothing to clean my sword of bloodsprite ichor. I again made use of part of its suit to wipe the blood from my sword, and as I sheathed it I took the time to examine the skeletal remains. I hadn’t noticed before, but there was a hole in the wall next to its head, about the same size as the hole in the skull. I pushed the remains to one side gently, almost reverently. The first thing I noticed was that it had been sitting on a briefcase. The second was the heavy metal object that tumbled out of the lap of the remains. It landed on the concrete floor with a heavy metal klak.

A pistol. A small caliber gun, and nearly 200-years rusted over, but the barrel was a matching size to the hole in the wall. And a matching size to the hole through the skull of the unicorn. I took a few slow steps away from the body as the pieces assembled in my mind, then hastily limped away despite the protests of my wounded joints. I didn’t want to face more death today.

I found myself wandering into a bathroom as my mind continued to digest what had happened. What else could I have done? They would have killed me, or worse. You don’t know that, the retort came. Could I have paid them off? I had so completely locked up when Chainlink was getting ready to capture me that I hadn’t considered bribery.

I looked up from my slow, limping gait and saw myself in the shards of the broken mirror. Goddesses, I looked awful. Aside from the two aching wounds, I had about a dozen scratches peppering my face, neck, and forelegs, and splashes of blood patterning my barding, dying my light-blue coat a dark red. The sink had a pool of water in it, stagnant and tinted a sickly green, but it would do. I splashed some on my face, trying to rinse the blood out of my coat and mane. Looking up at the mirror again, I tilted my head this way and that, examining the handful of cuts and scratches. One of them ran right across my neck. And then I saw the scratch yawn wide, a hungry maw to devour my life, blood pouring down my front like a faucet.

I lost all control then and there, my hind legs plummeting out from under me as I vomited up my meager breakfast onto the cracked tile. I sat in that dark bathroom, heaving up the rest of my stomach’s contents with tears dripping from my eyes, the involuntary clenching of my muscles causing my wounds to re-open with fresh pain and oozes of blood. It must have been ten minutes that I sat on my haunches, staring at the mess. I couldn’t say for certain, but when I stood up again I did at least feel a little better. Thoughts of my own possible death were blissfully gone. Images of the slavers still flickered in my mind’s eye, but I felt composed enough to shut them out. They were slavers. Scum who kidnapped and sold other ponies and zebras. And what’s more, it was self-defense, so they got what was coming to them.

I walked out of the bathroom and back to the skeletal remains of the pony who had killed himself. Given that the skeleton hadn’t been disturbed before I came along, there was a possibility its briefcase held something worth scavenging. With a field of green magic, I opened the latches and flipped the case open, showing me a ruffled stack of old papers. They were largely intact, to my surprise; the briefcase must have been sealed against the environment. Wondering what could have warranted such protection, I lifted aside the stack of reports to reveal a compartment with a healing potion and two pouches of Rad-Away, alongside a key. I immediately chugged back the healing potion, feeling the warm energies restore strength to my body. I watched my torn and burned flesh knit itself mostly back together, a sight and sensation that made me feel a fresh wave of nausea, but once the process was complete, all that was left of the stinging, crippling pain was a dull ache like a bruise or a sprain. More than manageable. I tossed the pouches of Rad-Away into my saddlebags and hovered the key up to my eyes.

It was untarnished silver, perfectly preserved by the briefcase. I let it slowly spin in my magic, marvelling at every inch of its detail. On the grip was an engraving of a series of letters and numbers - 401S - along with a symbol I recognized. It was hard not to, since it was emblazoned on the faded poster in the lobby. A stylized trio of balloons, part of the emblem of the Ministry of Morale. They were even colored blue and yellow, and I caught myself staring at the detailed metalworking, trying to coax out the secrets of how the vividly-colored insignia was made.

As fascinating as the key was, I still needed to retrieve Xekan’s hunting rifle. I headed up the stairs to the third story, returning to the hallway where Chainlink had ambushed me. It was as I collected the weapon then that I noticed the placard embedded in the wall, marking the entrance beside it as “315W.” I pulled out the key and looked at its numbers again, then back at the placard.

In spite of what had just happened to me, at this very spot no less, I didn’t want to leave the Ministry building, not just yet. The prospect of facing anyone else still made my stomach twist. I looked again between the numbers on the key and the numbers on the placard. It was a puzzle, a task for me to focus on, putting together the pieces of this minor mystery. It wouldn’t take long. I already had a theory even, and I walked up the stairs to the fourth floor to test it.

The top story of the building still had tattered remains of red carpeting lining the floor. I scuffed at it curiously before walking down the only direction I could. A set of wooden double doors, half rotten away, marked the entrance to some kind of office. Sure enough, on a placard beside the doorway were the same letters and numbers as the key, 401S. I walked over the door that had fallen inward and looked around with mild awe.

The office was almost twice as big as my entire home, though really that wasn’t hard. Once I recovered from just looking at the tattered decor, I began yanking open desk drawers and sifting through the books on the shelves. I found nothing but rotten, faded paperwork, pens and pencils that were centuries beyond usability, and books that the humidity of the Bayou had reduced to clumps of grey and brown paper, barely bound together. I was about to leave, with the assumption that the key had been to open the now-thoroughly unlocked door, when a discoloration on the floor caught my eye. I planted my forelegs on the desk and pushed as hard as I could, shoving it a little further towards the door. I lifted the section of carpet that the desk had guarded for over two centuries and was rewarded with the discovery of a floor safe. Sure enough, the key slid right in and turned with a satisfying click, and I allowed myself a small smile. The safe swung open and my eyes went wide at the soft blue glow that now spilled into the room.

Next to a neat stack of papers and a sack that looked like it held pre-war gold bits, was a perfectly spherical glass orb in a protective case. I recognized it, though I’d only seen one a few times before in my life. A memory orb. Without thinking, my horn lit again and I was about to pick up the orb in my levitation before checking myself. If I remembered correctly, the moment you made any magical contact with one of these, you were lost into it, reliving the memories of somepony else. I grabbed the case instead, closing it with my magic and dropping it and the bag of bits in my saddlebags. I had no idea what I’d do with the orb, but my curiosity refused to let me leave it behind. Besides, I was sure it would be valuable to somepony. And I couldn’t well gauge its value without first watching it for myself at some point, right?

Right.

I walked back out to the zebras, my composure intact again. I gave the young buck (from the last snatches of conversation I’d overheard as I approached them, his name was Xekan) back his hunting rifle and battle saddle, and he seemed happier than ever to have a method of self defense at his disposal. With my composure restored and my wounds at least somewhat patched up, the five of us began walking back to Shipper.

* * * * * * *

We drew the attention of the entire village as we climbed up the entrance ramp. I remained completely silent, though I was the center of attention as Xekan regaled the other villagers of the story of their capture and subsequent rescue at my hooves. A sense of crushing unease grew in me as more and more eager eyes and faces turned to me for details, for stories and excitement, and I found myself backing slowly away, step by step by step until my flank hit the wall of the warehouse, causing me to jump in alarm. Finally, a deep, rich voice I recognized all too well cut through the chatter.

“That’s enough, give her room.” The crowd parted ways for Nikale to approach me. I cleared my throat and stood as straight as possible in front of my client. “The details are not important. We owe you a debt, Alloy.” He looked me over briefly, craning his head to see the mostly-knit flesh on my hind leg. “Let us at least tend to your wounds and give you food. You can rest here tonight.”

“That won’t be necessary,” I replied firmly, finding my center again. “I’d like to sleep in my own bed tonight.” I glanced at my wounds and briefly thought of the meals I had emptied onto the bathroom floor. The burn still looked tender, and probably could do with some more healing. “But I think I will take you up on your other two offers.” Nikale nodded and gestured to lead me away from the crowd, towards what I assumed was either food or medical help. He waved a hoof at the crowd and an older-looking zebra followed after us.

“And,” I continued in the relative privacy of our walk, “200 caps, per our agreement for the repairs of Xekan’s battle saddle and rifle. I appreciate the healing and food, but we did have an agreement.”

Nikale glanced at me with a thin smile. “Of course. I will bring your payment while you are with Maizan. It has been quite a commotion today.” He stopped in front of one of the cargo containers that had a functioning door, and the older zebra caught up to us. Outside the doorway, a cast iron pot was suspended over a crackling fire pit, and whatever was inside smelled absolutely delicious. Not for the first time since leaving the Ministry office, my stomach growled in protest of its emptiness. Nikale looked to the other zebra, then back at me. “I will return with your caps,” he said before walking off.

I looked to the zebra I assumed was Maizan, following him through the doorway. It was a densely-packed room with a hospital bed against one wall and a wide bookcase next to the door, lined with bottles, cases, and some actual books. A metal case near the bed held what I recognized as medical tools, and to my surprise there was space at the opposite end of the room afforded for a kitchen of some sort, supplies strewn on the countertop for what I assumed was the meal cooking outside. Though the prospect of eating whatever was in the pot still made my mouth water, it was a bit unsettling to see a meat cleaver and cutting board wet with red blood in such close proximity to the medical bed.

Maizan had started busying himself with cleaning up the cooking area somewhat. I was almost curious enough to ask about the odd combination of his two professions, but I silenced my questions in the name of expedience. I needed to get back to Four Shoes before it got dark, and wasting time with small talk wouldn’t help. He turned to me as he wiped the cleaver off with an old rag. “Well, lay down on the bed there, and I’ll take a look at that for you. You’ll have to take off your barding, too.” His accent was less pronounced than Nikale’s or Xekan’s, and felt somehow warmer. More inviting. Nurturing? Yes, that felt right. Between my forelegs and magic, I pulled the barding over my head easily, then I climbed up onto the bed and lay down with my forelegs under me, hind legs outstretched to face the room. It was a bit uncomfortable, but I assumed he’d want to see the burn.

Sure enough, he walked over and lifted my hind leg gingerly in one hoof, studying the mended tissue. It still felt sore, and now that there was nothing to distract me, a stinging, sharp pain pulsed from the edges of the burn in time with my heartbeat. Now that I stared at it, I realized that the mottled flesh hadn’t healed over nearly as smoothly as the gunshot graze. Maizan frowned, turning to grab a flashlight from a counter and clench it in his teeth to get a better look. Finally, I couldn’t contain myself any longer. “Is something wrong?” I asked, trying to mask the anxiety I felt.

The zebra put down his flashlight and took a moment to examine the healed bullet wound before walking to his medical supplies for a roll of bandages. “Nothing serious, no. There won’t be any permanent muscle damage here, and the cut behind your shoulder is completely fine. How soon did you drink a healing potion after being shot?”

I tilted my head as I thought, retracing my steps as clinically as I could. “It couldn’t have been more than half an hour. I passed out, but Xekan told me I was only unconscious for a few minutes.”

Maizan nodded. “You’re in luck, then.” He faced me again, meeting my eyes. “Magical energy weapons cause permanent scars, even if the wound isn’t crippling. Ordinarily, I could only clean the burn and bandage it, but because you drank a healing potion soon after getting hit, I can mix up a topical remedy that will at least allow your coat to grow back. Your hide will still be scarred underneath, but it won’t be as noticeable.”

I considered his offer, looking back to my leg. The burn wasn’t too large, I could cover it with my hoof. But the idea of walking around the rest of my life with that disfiguring blotch from an event I’d rather forget didn’t sit well with me. Not to mention the uncomfortable stares and questions I’d get from the other shopkeepers at Four Shoes. Yes, the less I had to acknowledge that today took place, the better. “How much will it cost?”

He shook his head and gave me a warm smile. “My dear, you’ve already done so much for us. Even setting aside what happened today, you hoof-crafted many of my tools, and they serve me well.” He chuckled, turning to begin picking a few bottles off his shelves. “That, and I have no shortage of ingredients for this particular remedy. This one is on me.”

“I...well, thank you.” I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t surprised by his generosity. Maybe it was just growing up around merchants and traders and eking out a life of my own, but in the Wasteland as I experienced it, everything had a price tag.

I cleared my head and waited patiently as Maizan finished bandaging my leg. “There you go. Keep that bandage on through the night. Tomorrow as well, just to be sure. Your coat will take another day or two to regrow after that, but the medicine will help the follicles regenerate. Now then, how about we all share a bowl of soup before you get back on your way, hm? I think I see Nikale coming back.”

I slid off the bed, still feeling sore, but glad to be on all four hooves again. “I’d like to leave sooner rather than later. Need to make sure I’m home by dark.”

“We’ll make it a quick lunch, then. You can’t cross the Bayou on an empty stomach.” He carried a stack of bowls balanced on his nose before deftly hoofing them out onto a folding table outside in a display of dexterity I didn’t think possible. Clenching a ladle in his teeth, he spooned out three generous bowls of the soup for us. I stretched my hind leg in the air a bit, turning to stare at the bandage. It definitely felt better and didn’t ache when I walked anymore. I’d be able to keep a brisk pace back to Four Shoes.

Nikale approached as I sat down to start eating the (admittedly delicious) lunch and put a small bag down on the table, to the familiar jingle of caps. “Here is the money we owe you for the repairs. I will make sure we do not put this burden on you again."

I swallowed a mouthful of soup and nodded to him. “I don’t mind doing repairs for you, but I’d like to keep my trips back and forth to a minimum. I’ll bring some tools with me next time so I can take care of anything that needs a quick fix.”

He nodded, seeming to appreciate the offer. “I will keep that in mind for your next visit,” he answered, sitting down to join Maizan and I for the meal. The two zebras talked mostly about the incident with the slavers, and I tuned them out as I sipped on my lunch and counted out the caps. 200, just like we had agreed. I stowed them in my saddlebags and finished off the bowl of soup, not participating in the conversation. I thanked Maizan for the medicine for my burn and set out back to Four Shoes.

* * * * * * *

There was barely any light left in the sky when I got home. I walked in quietly and largely unnoticed. With one exception. As I approached my store, the glowing light of a Pipbuck trotted towards me, chasing Grit’s energetic voice. “Alloy! You’re back! I was startin’ t’get worried.”

I didn’t look towards him or change my pace as I closed the gap on my store. “I’m fine, Grit. I go out to the Bayou all the time.”

“Yea, but you’re always back before…” His voice trailed off and then picked up a note of concern. “What happened to your leg?”

My tail flicked in irritation. I glanced over to see him staring at the bandage on my hind leg and gave a snort.

“It’s fine.” I reached the doorway to my home, and turned to stare directly into his eyes, cutting him off before he could object. “Do you need anything right now? Buying, selling, repairs?”

“Well, no, I-”

“Then I’d like some privacy tonight. I’ll be open tomorrow morning.”

His ears fell back against his head and he nodded slowly, turning to walk away. I stepped into my home and dropped my saddlebags to the floor, not even bothering to unpack them. The echoes of Grit’s concern dredged back up my fears from earlier. Death is never far from anypony in the Wasteland, but I found myself turning to stare at the bandage on my leg, and shifting my left foreleg I felt the healed gash where the bullet had grazed me. The thoughts from earlier that day rose to the surface like some deep-sea predator.

I had almost died twice today.

Goddesses, I almost died. Twice.

The gash behind my shoulder and the burn on my leg. If both of them had been a little better-aimed, I’d be…

My blood chilled and I tried to stifle the thoughts of mortality from overwhelming me. I heaved and nearly vomited up my dinner. Tears threatened my eyes.

My forge. I needed my forge. I got to my hooves and snatched up some fresh coal. It was quickly tossed into the ruined fireplace and lit with a hasty spark from my horn. In the light of the fire, I sifted through my collection of scrap metal. I didn’t care what I made. I just wanted to have a task. I pulled out a random assortment and held them above the flames in a glow of levitation.

After a few minutes of watching the bits of scrap glow and become more malleable, I took a deep, relaxing breath, and let the metal shape itself. This was going to be a bracelet. The three different tints of the metal I was using mixed together as my magic forced them into shape, marbling the surface in a swirl of hypnotic patterns. The fire wrapped me and embraced me like a blanket, and it stole away the stresses and terrors of the day, leaving a quiet peace.

As I lifted the bracelet out of the fire to examine it, my thoughts strayed to Grit. I supposed I’d been a bit too harsh on him. He’d offered once to escort me on my trips through the Bayou. I’d declined for a few reasons, not the least of which being I didn’t want to be indebted to him. But his offer to help had been earnest, and I knew he was reliable. He may have loved the crowds and storytelling a bit too much, but I had no doubt of his skill in a fight. And if slavers were showing up in this part of the Bayou, I might have to reconsider making the journey alone. I decided to talk to him about it soon. There was no hurry to have that conversation, seeing as I had a fresh stockpile of coal, but I’d still seek him out tomorrow to apologize for my terseness. I’d been completely justified in brushing him off, but I wanted to smooth things over quickly so that maybe I could get a better deal for his protection through the Bayou.

I extinguished the fire and set aside the completed bracelet a few hours later. Walking back into my home, I properly unpacked my saddlebags and stripped off my barding. I ran a hoof over the gash in the material where the bullet had grazed me, setting it on my table so I’d remember I needed to pick up material to repair it. The bag of pre-war bits would make me a nice bit of extra pocket change, and the Rad-Away I’d keep on hoof when I went on my trips. I’d had the displeasure of experiencing mild radiation sickness a few times in my life, and had no desire to be that helpless again, foul-tasting medicine be damned. That left only one thing in my bags, and I gingerly lifted the box in my forehoof, opening it to let the faint blue glow stretch itself into my home.

The memory orb.

I knew about them, but I’d never experienced one before. I’d never had the chance, in truth. The idea of living the memory of somepony else, somepony from during or even before the war, was at once unnerving and captivating. It seemed like a dangerous idea, knocking myself out like this. But it was no different to sleeping right? And I could make some caps selling it, but only if I knew what was actually on it. I put it down and got up to check that my doors were locked, returning to my bed. Then I lifted the case in my magic and set it down next to me. Here goes. I tilted my head down until my horn touched the orb, and I flicked the faintest spark of magic through it.

Well, the world certainly looked different being this much taller. The pony I was watching was wearing some well-tailored clothing, made of a very comfortable material. Even in the old world, I couldn’t imagine this had been cheap. As we walked and rounded a corner in a carpeted hallway, I tried to wrap my head around feeling a different body than I was used to-oh sweet Celestia I was a stallion! Goddesses that was not what I had expected! I forced the alien sensation to the back of my mind and focused on what was going on instead. He approached a doorway with the name tag “Silver Trim” beside it, and a desk in front staffed by a pink mare. She gave my host a bored glance up from idly filing her hooves, and then did a double-take, eyes wide. “M-Mr. Trim! What are you doing here today?”

My host cocked one eye at her, and the confusion was clear in his refined-sounding voice. “What ever do you mean? It’s Tuesday. Where else would I be?”

Now it was the mare’s turn to look confused, with an added note of concern. “Your fishing trip,” she answered slowly, then paused, as though looking for some recognition. “The one you called me about yesterday?”

My host chuckled and shook his head. “I think you must have had a rough night, Cherry, my dear.” She picked up her phone and started to say something into it just as Silver strode past her into his office, the doorway labeled with an engraved design I couldn’t place. It looked like a backwards “D” with three diamond shapes inside it. He closed the door behind him and started busying himself with some paperwork. Most of it seemed to detail changes to be made to this textbook or that magazine, and quickly bored me. It looked like there were some technical blueprints in his stack of work, but they never crossed his desk where I could get a good look at them. Well, this was a waste of time. Nopony would be interested in buying a memory orb of some bureaucrat reviewing book changes. I only wished I could have exited the memory, but I was stuck here until it finished. Who the hell would even bother recording this?

My train of thought and Silver Trim’s work were both interrupted by a knock at the door. We got up from the desk and glanced up at the clock. It had only been about half an hour since my host had started his work day, but it had felt like eternity. He opened the door and I felt his entire body tense as he came muzzle to muzzle with two earth ponies in bright pink suits, wearing sunglasses. “Silver Trim?” one of them asked briskly.

“Yes, that’s me. How can I help you gentlecolts?” His voice sounded wary and suspicious. He looked over at his secretary, who was quickly overwhelmed by a fascination with the floor.

The two stallions in pink glanced at each other. “Please come with us, sir. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

My host whinnied and stamped a hoof on the ground. “Absolutely not. Do you have an inkling of how much work I need to get done today? I don’t have time for this. Make an appointment with my secretary.”

“Sir, you need to come with us.”

I felt my host’s lips curl in a dismissive sneer. “Am I being arrested?”

“Yes.”

That froze him in his place. He looked between the two pink-suited stallions and his secretary. “You’re...you’re serious. On what charge?”

“Suspicion of conspiracy. Come with us.”

My host took a few steps back, his ears flat against his head. “But...I didn’t...I haven’t done anything.” His voice was cracked and on the verge of tears. “You can’t...you can’t!”

“We just want to ask you a few questions,” one of the stallions insisted.

My host turned and ran for the window in his office but didn’t get more than a few feet before I felt something sharp and pointed jab into his flank. My host collapsed and his vision started fading to black. Just before losing consciousness, I heard one of the suited stallions speaking again, “...service to Equestria, ma’am. We’ll take care of this traito…”

And then nothing.

I came to right where I had left myself, lying in my bed with nopony else in sight. I closed the case of the memory orb with one hoof and thought about what I’d just seen, though I’d barely understood any of it. I guessed those ponies in pink had been guards or police of some sort, but what was the deal with Silver Trim and his secretary? Why had she looked so scared of him? And why had he been so scared of the other stallions? Just before drifting off to sleep, I made a mental note to look into finding some pre-war books. The orb was worthless for resale, so I figured I might as well make sense of it.

* * * * * * *

Almost a week passed with business as usual. I left the memory of the slavers behind me, drifting away in the wind. I offered an excuse to Grit about my behavior the next time he came by my store, though to his credit, he didn’t ask once about my leg. I sought out a book on wartime Equestria from the junk dealer in Four Shoes, but didn’t find anything that would clue me in about the symbol on Silver Trim’s door or the pink-suited stallions. I eventually disregarded the whole mess as nonsense that could’ve only been understood by somepony who died two centuries ago, though I resented the 5 caps that the book had cost me, especially after paying up for rent.

In the quiet afternoon, with no caravans expected to arrive for at least another few days, everypony not staffing one of the storefronts just milled about and passed the day. The usual murmur of conversation and scuffle of hooves on dirt. Well, murmur of conversation but for one energetic, accented buck.

Grit was across the way, sharing a meal with a few of the other ponies that went with him on patrols and caravan escorts. The four of them had been chatting and laughing, and their voices, Grit’s especially, carried across the town. One of them had prompted the tan buck to tell a story, apparently involving Steel Rangers and radigators from the snatches I could hear from my storefront without straining to hear. He waved his forelegs in the air, slammed his PipBuck down on the table with dramatic timing, and contorted his muzzle into creative expressions. Curiosity got the better of me when I heard him exclaim, “...with a flugelhorn!” and I started paying attention.

“...whole platform came tumblin’ down! The biggest Goddesses-damned marshlurk you ever lay eyes on! Swear, he was twice’s tall’s me on my hind legs! Bastard heaved up outta th’ swamp an’ Knight Greenleaf made a face like…like…” Grit’s voice trailed away into the distance. At first I thought he had decided to continue his story without shouting it, but I looked up and saw him motionless at the table, staring straight forward. His mouth hung a little ajar as if he’d forgotten what to do with it. The other ponies at the table nudged him and teased him to continue the story. He just raised one hoof, indicating something straight ahead.

The other three ponies turned their heads, and then expressions changed to match Grit’s. A few other ponies around them started to take notice. Some stopped dead in their tracks in the middle of the town. All of them were staring towards the south road. I couldn’t see that direction as other buildings obscured my vision, but I couldn’t imagine what was so fascinating. The south road was never used by anypony. It lead into the heart of the New Oriens ruins. I walked out from behind my counter to get a look for myself. Everypony knew that there was nothing deep in the old city. Only the most vicious Bayou predators lived there. Well, them and...

...And raiders.

The sight froze me to the spot just as it had every soul in Four Shoes. A small army of raiders, walking calmly into town. At least a dozen ponies clad in bloodstained, spiked barding, decorated with bones, and pony hide. Some clenched sledgehammers or barbed spears, many of them mounted guns and energy weapons on battle saddles, or levitated them in multicolored grips. A massive stallion with a mask carried a heavy, belt-fed gatling gun on a battle saddle. Close to the front, I briefly recognized a particular, twitchy unicorn. The same brown unicorn who had run away from me at the Ministry office. The same twitchy unicorn, I realized, who had accompanied Chainlink into Four Shoes and been turned away at my store.

But the mare leading the pack seized my attention the second my gaze passed over her. I knew this mare. I’d never seen her for myself, but nopony lived in Four Shoes without hearing the stories. An ashen purple unicorn, with a wild yellow mane streaked with blue. Clad in mismatched black and steel grey armor plates assembled from Celestia knows where. A long-barrelled anti-machine rifle across her back. And some kind of armor I’d never even heard of mounted to her tail, segmented and ending in a lethally-bladed tip.

This was the leader of the New Oreins raider gang. Besides the predators, this was the reason nopony ever ventured further south than Four Shoes.

Malice.

She stopped in the middle of the circle of shops, looking around with a sadistic grin on her face, purple eyes cowing everypony she glanced at. Nopony dared to draw a weapon. With a voice like poisoned candy, she broke the oppressive silence. “Well now, y’all always make a habit of greetin’ y’all’s customers like this?

“Ah mean, we’re jus’ here t’do a lil’...shoppin’.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Footnote: Level up!
Perk Added: Extra S.P.E.C.I.A.L. - You’ve learned the importance of keeping your eyes peeled and your ears listening for anything trying to sneak up on you. Gain +1 PER.

Alloy Shaper’s Smithy
Sales Journal

Author's Notes:

I bet you she’s here to buy the porn.