Incarceration and YOU!

A Ditzy’s Guide to Parole

How Sedition is Causing Equestria’s Party Shortage

As I tossed aside more “informational” brochures, I briefly wondered what in the Goddesses’ names had possessed wartime ponies to write titles like these. There were dozens of them, but no sign of any kind of map that I was hoping to find behind the reception desk.

The early morning light shone through the visitor’s entrance to the prison, providing just enough light that I didn’t have to illuminate the drawers with my magic as I systematically yanked them open one after another, finding only more pamphlets. I sat back on my haunches and pulled out the last of my breakfast, half of a carrot. It was such a brilliant orange that I almost regretted eating it. But of course, I couldn’t resist that fantastically satisfying crunch, the juicy, sweet flavor with just a hint of tang to it. I’d never had a carrot before outside of the flavoring in a Sparkle~Cola, and part of me couldn’t believe they had taken such a delicious flavor and turned it into that candy-like drink.

I finished off the carrot and went back to yanking open drawers and cabinets. In one of them was an old clipboard, which I almost tossed on top of the stack of brochures when a name caught my eye, “Silver Trim.” It was close to the bottom of the page, and as I actually looked at the form, I found that it was some sort of paper for ponies to list who they were coming to visit. Something about the name felt familiar, but for I couldn’t put my hoof on it.

I flicked my tail and discarded the clipboard, refocusing on the task at hoof. If only the reception desk terminal wasn’t completely shattered on the ground… but no sense worrying about it now.

With a snort, I stood up from behind the desk and opened my mouth to report my failure to find a map to Grit, but stopped when I realized he wasn’t anywhere I could see. Walking out from behind the desk, I caught sight of him staring down the hallway behind the desk, past an armored door that looked like it had been ripped open. His head was tilted and he had one forehoof held in mid-step. I trotted up beside him, glancing at the stallion before staring down the hallway for myself. His head whipped towards me, eyes wide, before he let out a heavy breath. “Oh, s’just you.”

I met his eyes curiously, one eye cocked. “Who else would it be?”

He just shook his head and snorted. “Nah, forget ‘bout it. Was jus’ lettin’ my mind wander. Find a map?”

With a grimace, I shook my head and then looked back down the narrow corridor before us, immediately noticed the dim, green light spilling into the hallway from further ahead. “No, but looks like you found us a working terminal. That should help.” I squeezed through the doorway, carefully avoiding the sharp edges of the door, before trotting down the hallway.

It was a tiny, enclosed corridor, barely wide enough for two ponies shoulder-to-shoulder, and the roof was only a few feet above my head. Just about halfway to the other side, I was surprised when my hooves struck metal. I had been staring at the terminal in the adjacent room as it came into view, and hadn’t noticed that a small section of the floor was metallic. The cracked concrete continued on for the rest of the hallway, but for some strange reason, the floor right next to the terminal room was different.

I shrugged it off and turned back to Grit, who was still at the doorway. Nodding towards the terminal, I called back, “Are you any good with these?” While I was sure I could fix a broken terminal or energy weapon, working one was entirely different, and I hoped for both of our sakes that Grit had picked up that knowledge growing up in a Stable.

Grit nodded slowly from the entrance of the hallway and scooted himself through the doorway to come down to where I was standing. The room the terminal was in clearly wasn’t intended to be open to this hallway, but the wall had partially collapsed, allowing passage between the two. My companion walked over the pile of rubble to begin working at the terminal, while I just stood on the rubble where a wall had been. It was a tiny, barren room, with nothing but the terminal and a desk for it to sit upon. But, in the faint glow I spotted something else in the far corner. I took a breath and lit my horn, adding more hazy green light to the room. The shadow I spotted turned into a staircase leading down, into a basement level. I walked over to the staircase to pass the time while Grit tik-tak-tik’d at the keys of the terminal. A few steps down, I was able to peer into the rooms below, but stopped short as I realized the light of my horn was reflecting off the familiar sight of standing water. I couldn’t see the floor of this basement level, as the water was deep enough to obscure the end of the stairs. I immediately backed up and returned to Grit, not wanting to chance that there was something living in that water. In the Bayou, it was a safe bet. “Any luck?”

Grit nodded and and tapped a few more keys, though I could swear the screen was filled with utter nonsense. A few more key presses and the terminal gave a beep-beep, while Grit’s face became a grin. “I’m in. Was a bit tricky, but ain’t a problem.” He worked with the computer while I watched. As we sat together in the still room, Grit’s muzzle scrunched up several times. He would glance back at me, then type away at the keyboard with renewed effort before tossing another glance my way. Eventually, he spoke up. “Listen, Alloy… y’sure about this place? It’s givin’ me th’ chills. Somethin’ ain’t right.”

I scrunched up my muzzle. Of course there was was something wrong with the place, it was a wartime building in ruin. These places always had something wrong with them. Still, I couldn’t go scavenging without him. “Wartime buildings are always dangerous. We just need to stick together, be careful, and we’ll be in and out in no time.”

He nodded, but didn’t seem any more at ease. Didn’t matter, though. I was confident we could make it back to the Stable quickly if we stuck to my plan. Grit tapped a few more keys on the terminal and then brought his PipBuck leg up to check its screen. “Looks like we scored.” He nodded at the terminal as he stood up again. “This’ a security terminal, had a map fer guard patrols ‘n’ shifts. S’not too detailed, but it’ll do. Looks like those un’erground passes go all over th’ prison.” He started walking towards the stairwell that I had examined earlier.

I sighed and flicked an ear at the air. “I checked down the stairs while you were hacking into the terminal. The basement’s flooded.”

He immediately backed up the stairs as I heard his PipBuck make an odd clicking sound. “It’s radioactive down there, too. Well, guess we ain’t goin’ downstairs. No tellin’ if there’s anythin’ livin’ there, even without th’ radiation.”

I nodded and proceeded out of the security station, back to the hallway. “So where to? Let’s head to the closest armory and get out of here.”

Grit looked out at the hallway nervously, then took a deep breath and nodded. I shared his unease, though he looked particularly unnerved. I wondered what had gotten under his hide; he hadn’t been this worried when we slept here for the night. Had he? I couldn’t remember. Whatever the case, it was all the more reason for us to get in and out as quickly as possible. He hopped out next to me in the narrow corridor, and checked his PipBuck. “Ain’t far,” he said. “Looks like there’s somethin’ near th’ holdin’ cell. Through th’ visitin’ center.”

He led us through the rest of the hallway until it opened up into a much larger area, with a single long table that pressed against both walls, or would have except for one section that had been violently removed. It looked like somepony had thrown a grenade at it, judging by the blackened edges. I didn’t give the gap a second thought except to realize it was large enough for a pony to get through, but Grit gave it another long look. “Place musta gone t’ shit after the bombs dropped. Maybe th’ prisoners tried t’ get out?”

I looked down at the gap again and snorted. “Maybe.” Though I had to admit, there were times that the wartime mysteries that some ponies talked about now and again caught my curiosity, I couldn’t afford myself the luxury of trying to solve them. Maybe other ponies had time to hunt down the answers to the old puzzles left behind by balefire, but I had a store to run and a job to do.

* * * * * * *

There was another uncomfortably narrow corridor leading away from the visiting area, and another section of the floor with a metal plate embedded in it, but the walls were intact and exposed no hidden security room this time. Grey light gently peeked in through a few holes in the ceiling, showing the cloudy sky through a rusted web of twisted rebar. With Grit leading the way ahead of me, I could see him craning his neck around at the hallway. I wondered what was catching his attention, his head whipping from one wall to the other rapidly, ears flat against his head. Was he looking for something? I tried to examine the same spots on the wall he did, but saw only stained concrete.

The corridor opened up into a wide intersection, splitting into four branches, though I saw some of them split again ahead of us. Here and there were lights, long tubed bulbs in metal fixtures suspended from the ceiling, providing surprisingly bright illumination in wide pools, though some of them were off and dangling by the barest grip, and others flickered randomly. The holding cells were right in front of us, as well, a hoofful of large prison cells. Some of them were open, others were still locked up tight. A pile of bones in the corner of one of the closed cells stirred at my memory. The pony skeleton in the Ministry of Morale building who had killed himself. Fighting for my life against the slavers.

I snapped my head to look at Grit with a sharp snort, flicking my tail to keep the memories at bay. “Which way?”

Grit’s ears were still laid back against his head, which did nothing to calm my own mounting anxiety. He stared into the room for a moment, turning his head slowly, before pulling up his PipBuck. “To th’ right a ways. There’s a barracks up ‘head.”

He turned and lead on down the rightmost hallway, our hooves clopping on the broken concrete.

* * * * * * *

Of course it was locked. We had woven through several corridors, passing through security doors and leading further from any sign of actual prison cells, to find the barracks that Grit had mentioned, but the door was locked tight. Another one of those heavy metallic doors like in the Stable. Luckily there was a functioning terminal in a guard station next to it, this one not hidden behind a wall. Instead, it had been some sort of corner room with a long window to allow anypony in it an unobstructed view of the hallway. The window itself was long gone, but the terminal still glowed.

While Grit worked on it, I turned my attention to the ground nearby. The remains of a destroyed turret stood sentinel over three wrecked spritebots. No, not wrecked - broken. When I leaned in close to examine them, I realized that they weren’t that heavily damaged. A little worn from time, but whoever shot them had done so without completely destroying them.

As I stared at the puzzle pieces before me, examining the spritebots and how they could be repaired, my thoughts about Grit and my worries about the prison and sales all slipped away. A broken connection here, a damaged motor there… One had a cracked talisman… I moved from one spritebot to the next, lifting them and turning them with my magic. I wasn’t experienced in handling robotics, but I’d taken apart enough guns, battle saddles, even a cybernetic leg once. I’d taken apart broken robots before, too, to get at the more valuable parts to sell while repurposing the shell for scrap metal.

A nudging forehoof at my side made me jump away, heart pounding. I let out a sharp breath when I saw that it was just Grit. Levelling a glare at him, I cleared my throat with a flick of my tail. “You shouldn’t sneak up on me like that,” I cautioned, giving another glance at the spritebots before looking over to the barracks entrance. It was wide open, waiting for us.

“I didn’t. Called out for ya, three times ‘n fact.” He chuckled. “Y’were so absorbed in those robots I don’t think ya even heard me.”

My eyes widened before I quickly masked my astonishment. Had I been that careless? With a short grunt, and an, “Oh,” I quickly changed the subject. “Well, the door’s open. Let’s get what we came for and head back to the Stable.”

As we walked into the barracks, I gave the spritebots one last glance. I couldn’t repair them, not without spare parts and tools, but I blinked with the realization that my anxiety had washed away somewhat. It wasn’t quite as refreshing as working with my forge, the warm fire stealing away the stresses of my day, but… it had helped.

* * * * * * *

As it turned out, I had needed that respite with the spritebots. After almost half an hour of tearing apart the entire room, every locker, every closet, checking every bed, mattress, and rotten pillowcase - and then checking them again - we had nothing to show for it. Whatever had once been here had been looted long ago.

I kicked the closest foot locker in a fit of frustration, sending the metallic box clattering across the floor.

Grit flinched at my petty display, and I felt a moment’s sheepishness wash over me. He flashed a nervous grin at me. “C’mon, Alloy, sure this didn’t pan out, but

I closed my eyes and let my ears fall flat against my head. Maybe there was another armory or maintenance room to check, somewhere else? Surely a prison this huge didn’t have just one barracks. I snorted at myself. Even if there was another supply room deeper in, odds were it had already been looted too. Probably the only things left in this place were scrap metal and junk parts.

Parts.

My eyes shot open and I galloped to the entrance of the barracks. To the spritebots. I had to be sure. I picked up each spritebot again and gave them my undivided attention. Those circuits only needed a few connections restored, the motor for that one was completely shot but the rest was intact, and this one had a cracked talisman and needed some replacement armor… I could do it. I turned back towards the barracks to see Grit, standing in the doorway with a mixture of confusion and concern on his face. “Grit, pull up that map for me. See if you can find a maintenance room, or a mechanic’s office - somewhere we might be able to find spare parts for these spritebots.”

Grit arched a brow at me from the doorway. “Y’think you can fix ‘em? They look in pretty bad shape t’me.”

I nodded firmly. Whether I could or not was irrelevant, but by Celestia I was going to try. I gave the bots another glance as Grit pulled up his PipBuck. Maybe they did look a little worse for the wear, but their guns were still in one piece, and if I could fix them, I could sell them to Studio and Pillar. Some robots to back up their guards, maybe even do some reconnaissance. I could pitch them as having all manner of utility and make a tidy profit.

“Got a few options,” Grit mused to me, staring at his PipBuck screen. “Looks like they weren’t so centralized with their parts ‘n’ main’enance as their guns. S’one nearby, ‘round the corner, an’ there’s a couple other places t’ check deeper in.”

I snorted and felt a soft wave of relief. I wanted to chide myself on counting my assets before I had them in hoof, but it was just nice to catch a small break, if only briefly. Multiple maintenance rooms meant higher chances of finding what we needed. “Well, let’s get going then. It sounds like we’ve got a bit of ground to cover.”

* * * * * * *

The first supply room, which Grit’s map told him was the main workshop, had been completely inaccessible. The roof had collapsed in, crushing the hallway and entrance in a pile of rubble from the floor above, with no way to climb up and see if there was another way in. Our second stop had been more fruitful, but it had taken some walking, winding our way deep into one of the main prison wings, over catwalk bridges and past cells occupied by skeletons. There I found replacement spark batteries and motors, and some scrap metal I could use as improvised armor to patch over my repairs.

All I needed was a spare talisman and we could get the hell out. So we continued deeper into the prison, and I begrudgingly left my fate in Grit’s hooves, and his ability to read a map. The walk to get this far had taken what felt like an hour or more, owing to the absurd layout of the ruined complex. Security cordons and rubble blocked our passage, and collapsed walkways provided makeshift ramps and bridges through the insane maze. Even worse were the hoofful of feral ghouls we caught sight of through prison bars or aimlessly wandering the floors, though some of them aimlessly wandered the same hallways we did.

I heard the first one coming before Grit did. An uneven scraping and shuffling of hooves ahead. “Wait,” I hissed, under my breath, staring down the hallway. My ears flicked and twitched, trying to pinpoint the sound, then Grit’s eyes widened as he heard it too, or maybe his PipBuck saw it.

He turned to a nearby open door, a closet, and ushered me inside. We pressed ourselves to the floor and waited in silence. For a few long minutes, the hoofsteps shuffled closer to us, and I could hear it groan in a raspy voice. Eventually, it continued on its way, and we moved on once neither of us could hear it. “Why didn’t you shoot it?” I asked in a low voice.

Grit shook his head. “Nah. Gun’s too loud. We’d have half a dozen more of ‘em on top of us. Best not t’ shoot ‘less we have to.”

After weaving our way through no less than two wings of the prison, we arrived at the third maintenance room. When we finally pushed our way in against the weight of a locker that had fallen down in front of the door, we both had to light our horns to illuminate the area. Or rather, I lit mine, and Grit used his magic to turn on his PipBuck light, bathing the room in green shades. Dust swirled and spun in the light, kicked up by our passage. A table had been flipped onto its side and a skeleton sat behind it, a battered revolver next to it. I quickly snatched up the pistol with my magic and determined that it was still functional, though in poor condition and with no ammo, then turned my attention to the real prize. The sight of a huge double-door, still locked tight, gave me hope that what we needed was still inside.

Yet even as I sat in front of the entrance to the storage room, a ghost of a smile on my muzzle, a sinking feeling wormed its way from the pit of my gut, up through my throat. There was a broken terminal on the floor next to the door. The lock was nothing more than a standard pin lock requiring a key. The kind of lock you had to know how to pick your way through. My father had attempted to teach me the basics of lockpicking, but I decided I had no interest. I was going to be a blacksmith, not a junk salesman, so why would I need to learn how to break into an old lock?

So there I sat. As a blacksmith.

Unable to pick a lock.

I glanced over at Grit at about the same time he looked to me. “Don’t s’pose you know anythin’ about lockpickin’?”

I shook my head, sitting on my haunches. My gaze focused at the lock for a long moment, refusing to let this… this door of all things stop me, not after I came so far. Sure, I could probably repair at least one of the bots with the parts I had, but I needed every cap I could scrounge. And now just a simple metal lock stood between me and tripling my sale price.

Tilting my head and narrowing my eyes, I stared at it. An idea bubbled slowly to the surface of my mind. It was just a metal lock, wasn’t it? “I think I can get us in,” I said slowly. I didn’t like this application of my smithing spell, but it was the only idea I had. “I’m going to try to weaken the lock. When I give the word, buck the doors as hard as you can. Got it?”

Grit nodded and turned away from the doors, looking back at me with intense curiosity. There was a flash of hesitation in me, a moment’s hiccup that made me realize I was going to give away a trade secret, but I shook it aside. What did it matter if Grit saw a spell of mine? It wasn’t as though he could mimic it, and even if he told everypony in Four Shoes it wouldn’t affect my business. But to some small part of me, it felt like an invasion of privacy.

With a slow breath, I forced myself to remember that I was doing all this so that I could keep my shop in the first place. All I had to do was pay off a mercenary, and not think about what comes after. Realizing that Grit was still staring at me curiously, I shook myself from my reverie with a snort, leaning my head down until my horn was right in front of the lock. The glow of my magic from the light spell faded as I stared at the lock. In my minds’ eye, I pictured the deadbolt extending out from the lock to the other door, and focused on that point where the doors met. The green haze around my horn intensified as I took a long, slow breath, concentrating everything on that point, even as my eyes grew heavy and my knees weak. My stomach growled in protest. My head even felt light and dizzy. But all of these were familiar sensations, my strength sapping away as I cast the spell.

A minute passed, then more. I lost track of time as exhaustion cradled me and threatened to lull me to sleep. Given what I was trying to do, somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I was going to have to hold my spell for longer than I had ever done. Eventually, my persistence was rewarded, and I saw a faint reddish glow from the crack in the doors. Immediately, I dropped my spell and took a few quick steps back. “Now!” I gasped out, falling to my haunches and staring at the floor, sucking down great gulps of air as dizziness threatened to drown my consciousness.

CLANG!

The sharp noise of Grit’s buck forced me to look up, and for a moment I thought that it didn’t work, that all my effort was for naught. But then I realized that the doors had started to open inward, bending the weakened deadbolt.

It was working!

Grit saw it, too, and snapped another hard buck a the doors. On the third buck, the doors crashed open. A satisfied smile spread across my muzzle, even through my exhaustion. I looked over at him, and he back at me, beaming a cheery grin of his own for the first time since we’d walked into this place.

I forced myself to my hooves, setting aside thoughts of rest for when we got back to Stable 15. To my satisfaction, it seemed as though this storage room really hadn’t been disturbed in 200 years, and on a shelf lining the right wall were spare talismans, of all different shapes and connectors. I wished I knew enough about wartime technology to figure out what each of these were for. Instead, I settled on scooping them all into my bags, figuring I’d determine which was the right one for the spritebots once I had them in my hooves aga-

The screeching wail of an alarm system jabbed knives in my ears and made me duck my head between my forelegs for protection. I couldn’t even think through the sudden noise, though a small part of me was aware of other sounds rumbling through the metal and stone of the prison.

Finally the alarms died away, and I opened my eyes and lifted my head again cautiously. I didn’t even remember squeezing my eyes shut, but they had been. The speakers instead crackled to life with a whine of protest, and a static-filled sniggering echoed through the halls and cell blocks. “Gotcha now!” the voice cheered, and gave another burst of crazed, deep giggling that made me take an step backwards. “This little riot’s over! I’ve got the lockdown on, and we’ve had enough of this shit!” Another crackle of static and more giggling. My ears fell flat against my head. “Surrender and you’ll get a quick execution!”

The speakers cut out and Grit and I met each others’ eyes. I wasn’t sure how my own gaze looked to him, but I saw worry and fear in his, and I immediately dashed through the storage doors and to the entrance of the maintenance room, hooves skidding a little on the metal floor. Metallic clanking and whirring, then a staccato of rapid-fire gunshots stopped me in my tracks just before poking my head out the door, heart thundering in time with the guns. But then I realized that the gunshots weren’t aimed at the doorway. They were too far. The sound was coming from below us. Cautiously, with sharp gasps of breath, I poked my head just out the door long enough to see at least 3 turrets, popped up from trapdoors in the floor. One of them was mowing down a group of advancing ghouls.

I immediately ducked back in. They were far away, but I wasn’t about to take my chances that they’d be able to target me from the ground floor. I turned back to see Grit on his haunches, staring at his PipBuck. “The hell are you looking at?!” I exclaimed. We had to do something! Some crazy fucking pony had trapped us in the prison, and he was just-

“Quiet,” he answered, hairline fractures in his voice. “I need to look and see what we’re dealing with.”

The harshness in his voice caught me off guard. This wasn’t a Grit I’d ever seen. Hell, I’d never even heard of him being anything other than a friendly pony. Though I’d never paid close attention to local gossip. Had I missed something?

I fell to my haunches as the ice-cold stone in my gut threatened to choke me. I tried to come up with a plan. Rationalize. It was just another puzzle, right? Nothing came to my mind.

Nothing except thoughts of dying of starvation, insanity, or worse in this place.

Grit walked over to me and nudged me with a fetlock. I looked up at him, seeing a gentler expression on his face. “Sorry ‘bout that. Look, I think I can get us outta here, but we gotta do this my way, got it?”

I nodded, swallowing even though my mouth was dry. “Right. Okay.” A deep breath. “What do we do?”

“S’complicated,” he started. “See, I’m better at sneakin’ my way ‘round an’ such. I’ll go out, scout ‘round an’ start clearin’ a path for us t’ get back out.”

I didn’t like where this was going. “If you’re scouting ahead, what do I do?”

He grimaced and looked towards the doorway. “Jus’ park yourself here an’ I’ll come getcha when it’s safe. I’ll probably have to move you a bunch just t’ make sure I can keep th’ path clear.”

Well, I’d been right. I definitely did not like where this idea had gone. “That’s insane!” I shouted. Eyes widening, I looked towards the door then back to Grit, lowering my voice with a nicker. “It’s safer in numbers, you know that.”

“Ord’narily, I’d agree, but t’ be blunt, you’d jus’ make it damn near impossible t’ sneak ‘round. I can make my own way an’ figure out where we need to go. It’ll be safer for both of us.”

“I am not just cooping myself up in a corner just to wait for it to be safe.” Alone, I added mentally.

“Sorry, s’the way it’s gotta be. You-” he paused for half a second. “We’re in this mess an’ this is th’ way we gotta deal with it.” He flashed me one of his familiar grins, though I could swear I saw it wavering. “Trust me, we’ll get outta here safe an’ sound. I’ll be back in… ‘bout half an hour.” And with that, he walked up to the door, crouching low and slipping out without making a sound.

* * * * * * *

Trust him.

That’s what he said to do. Just two days ago, I couldn’t trust him to watch the inventory of my store for five minutes. I got up off my haunches and started pacing, constantly flicking my tail at the air. Nothing about this scenario put me at ease. I heard the heavy, stomping and squeaking treads of robots, broken occasionally by a burst of gunshots.

And with every round of gunfire that echoed through the hallways outside, I wondered if it was just more ghouls, or if one of those had been aimed at Grit. If he died out there, I’d be left to… to die alone here. Or worse, what if he just abandoned me? Cut his losses and run? It wouldn’t even have to be so dishonorable, if there was only a way out for him and not for me. I was no stealth expert. He had a father, a family waiting for him back at Stable 15. I only had my own livelihood. Hell, nopony back at Four Shoes would even miss me, would they?

I curled up on the floor as I felt my chest tighten and tears welled in my eyes. I squeezed them shut to hide them from… well from, nopony. Nopony was here.

I was alone.

I tried to pick up bits of scrap metal in my magic, floating them around as I forced ideas to my head of things I could do with them. But forcing ideas like this gave me no comfort, to say nothing of the fact that I wasn’t anywhere close to my home and my forge. I just knew if I could get back to that familiar, ruined fireplace, to just have a moment to myself wrapped in that warm blanket of the fire, I could sort myself out.

As it was, I couldn’t stop my mind from wandering. I couldn’t focus myself on any one idea. My mind drifted to my shop again, and then to Malice. That fucking bitch. It was her fault I was out here, wasn’t it? Trapped in a Celestia-forsaken prison, helpless to even get myself out. All because she wanted me to find some stallion of hers. What did she even care about him anyway? Raider bitch like her probably had plenty of other suitors lining up.

But no, she had to have this one, this Copper. And because of that, and because of Gumbo, the fucking coward, I had to go out into the Bayou. The only small mercy from all this would be if I could find and hire a mercenary. Even if it was unlikely, I had to cling to that hope. But as I tried, flash of cynicism shot through me, sneering at me that I would fail.

With that thought, the cold, terrified pit in my stomach twisted up and made me nauseous. My neck itched. I squeezed my eyes shut and listened to another staccato of gunfire. I just wanted to be home.

Home.

That did it. A memory I didn’t want to dwell on bubbled to the surface involuntarily. New Appleloosa wasn’t my home anymore. I didn’t think of it that way. My home was here, in Four Shoes. But still, the single thought crossed my mind, that made me wonder how my mother and father were doing. I hadn’t thought of them in years. Not after my father and I screaming at each other. My mother crying, trying to moderate.

My heart tightened again, causing me to wince from an imagined pain. My memory started to slip further back from there. Just to taunt me. My neck itched again, and in my mind I saw the inside of a truck trailer.

I smacked my head against the floor, sending me reeling but stopping the memory in its tracks. I stood up and wiped my eyes and muzzle with a fetlock, cleaning my face of the tears that had been flowing, though I didn’t even remember starting to cry. How long had it been since Grit left? I had no way of telling time, I realized. He said he’d be back in half an hour, but that felt like it had been so long ago. I peeked my head out the door to look at the turrets down below, before returning to pace the room. I needed to find something to occupy my mind.

Before any real ideas could come to me about how to spend my time, however, the speaker crackled to life again, with the same gravelly, static-filled voice as before. “You prisoners are too quiet. What kinda riot is this, huh?! I’m onto your game! Unless… of course, of course! I see!” The stallion gave another burst of atonal giggling. “You’re the fucking PINKS aren’t you?! Trying to sneak in, huh?! Well it won’t work! You won’t find anything!” He started screaming into the speakers, sounding almost desperate. “We got the right ponies! You hear me?! We always got the right ponies! You can fucking take that all the way to Princess Luna herself!”

In the span of a minute, I had gone from fearing for my life to utter confusion. I started to roll over the crazy stallion’s words in my mind when the entrance of the maintenance room opened just a crack, enough for Grit to silently dart back in.

Worry and fear melted into relief as I saw him again, though his expression remained serious as he glanced back out the door. “Okay, we gotta make this quick. Stick close t’ me.”

I nodded, eager to leave behind that maintenance room. We darted out the door and onto the catwalk overlooking the prison wing below, galloping full speed on the metal grating. Briefly, I worried about its stability, but the catwalk held until we reached a stairwell, running down two flights until we got to a corridor between two different cell blocks. Grit raised a foreleg to stop me at the bottom of the stairs. He looked left, then right around the corner, and nodded to himself, walking out quickly. I followed, and he led me around another corner into some kind of wide-open room with rows of tables. It vaguely reminded me of the cafeteria in Stable 15. He walked up to a set of double doors and opened them, motioning for me to follow. Inside was an absolute wreck of a kitchen, confirming my theory about the previous room.

“Alright,” Grit began. “Stay put here for a bit. I ain’t gonna be able t’ get us out in one trip, but this spot should be safe. I’ll go ahead an’ clear the path t’ the next safe spot I can find.” He took a heavy breath and shut his eyes, then looked straight at me. “I guess I’ll see ya in another half hour.”

I gave him a slow nod, ignoring the thick stone in my throat, and he was gone again.

Trying to distract myself, I began mulling over what the crazy stallion had said over the speakers. Who were the pinks? From what I remembered about wartime Equestria, the derogatory name for zebras had been “stripes,” hadn’t it? I sat on my haunches, tail swishing on the floor as I searched my memory again for any context. Like with the name of that pony on the clipboard in the visitor lobby, something about the name “pinks” tugged at my mind. Silver Trim… and the pinks…

The memory orb!

I remembered it all in a flood. The memory orb that I’d found in the Ministry of Morale building after the fight with Chainlink and the other slavers. The ponies that had come to arrest him had been wearing pink suits. What Ministry did they work for? My first instinct would have been to attribute them to the Ministry of Morale, given the organization’s near-obsession with the color pink. But that didn’t make sense. Why would the Ministry of Morale send ponies to one of its own prisons? I must have been mistaken about who the pinks were associated with. It was one of the only Ministries I knew off the top of my head, by name, the other two being Ministry of Peace and the Ministry of Wartime Technology.

I glanced down at my shoulder, with the engraving of the stylized apple from the latter’s emblem. In hindsight, it seemed so silly to give myself the symbol of an organization and mare I knew nothing about. But somehow remembering that orange mare in the propaganda poster and her focused determination gave me a small bit of comfort.

* * * * * * *

How long had it been? Certainly Grit had been gone longer than the first time, I was sure of it. But how long had he even been gone on his first trip? I had no way of knowing. It felt like I could have walked from Four Shoes to Shipper in the time he’d been gone, but every minute I was alone with my thoughts felt like an eternity. My mind still wandered aimlessly, and I jumped at shadows and noises from outside. Was that the sound of hoofsteps outside? A ghoul coming to pin me down and eat me alive as I screamed in agony? Or was it just my heart pounding in my ears?

I drew my sword slowly and held it in front of me, hovering and bobbing in midair. It gave me small comfort, but also made me regret not practicing with it more. I’d been so proud of forging it that I’d made a promise to myself to become an expert swordsmare. Of course, I’d still been a filly, and the sword had been through no less than two reforgings since. My efforts were focused instead on running my shop. Compared to a safe home and a steady business, what measure was the ability to be just a little better at stabbing a pony?

A clattering of metal on metal came from outside. I jumped into the air as my pulse raced. There was no mistaking that sound. It was too close to chalk it up to my imagination, too distinct. Something was outside in the cafeteria. I crouched low to the ground, my belly pressing against the floor. I forced my ears to stay perked, listening for any other sounds. My eyes had adjusted somewhat to the dim kitchen, but I still couldn’t make out much detail.

Could it finally be Grit? Why wasn’t he saying anything?

I couldn’t take the silence anymore. My nerves were strained and frayed. “G… Grit?” I whispered to the empty room, directed at the door. “Is that you?” Staying crouched low, I crept towards the double doors, sword still hovering next to me. I pushed through, though I didn’t see anything initially. “Grit?” I asked again, my voice wavering. I heard hoofsteps but no answer.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I partially stood up, craning my neck to look at the room, then immediately saw the ghoul aimlessly wandering the cafeteria. With a sharp gasp I ducked down. My heart felt like it was going to explode. I had to get back in the kitchen. Sneak back in. Close the door. Hide. It was a good spot. Only had one door.

I crawled back to the double doors. Each hoofstep was so loud, when had my hooves gotten so loud against the hard floor? I pushed the doors open with my flank, backing away the whole time, sword ready to strike. As the doors finally closed in front of me, I caved to my adrenaline-shocked instincts and scrambled back away from it. I needed distances between myself and the door.

My back leg caught on something. A handle maybe, a cabinet door. It didn’t matter. There was a deafening CLANG-CRASH of pots and pans and dishes clattering against each other and on the floor, a long, drawn-out cacophony of metal on metal. My face twisted into a grimace, and by the time the noise calmed down, I had just a second to reconize the sound of galloping hoofsteps heading towards me from outside.

The ghoul burst through the door, snarling and hissing.

It charged straight for me, melted flesh, bloodshot and glazed eyes, and yellow teeth. It gave a raspy whinny as I ducked under it at the last second, tripping it unintentionally as I ducked under its snapping jaw. The ghoul went crashing into the pile of pots with another snarl. It struggled to free itself, snapping its muzzle at me. Before it could make another lunge, I grabbed the nearest heavy pan in my magic and smashed its head over and over. Slam after slam, crunching bone and squashing flesh as I caved its skull in, until I was left panting over its body. For good measure, I swept up my sword and stabbed it through what was left of its brain. I didn’t even remember dropping the weapon, but at some point it had fallen out of my grip.

Just as I found a cloth to wipe the blood off, Grit came bursting through the kitchen, pistols drawn. He immediately looked from me to the ghoul and closed his eyes, letting out a breath before holstering his guns. “Heard a commotion. Sorry I was late comin’ back.” He turned away to peek back out the double doors.

“What the hell took you so long anyway?” I hissed at him, trying to keep my voice down against my mounting aggression. I was getting rubbed raw by every new second I spent in this place.

He looked over his shoulder to level a glare at me. “I was busy,” he spat, turning his side to show me a fresh gash on the side of his barding and neck. It looked like he’d bandaged it up, but there was a tear in his armor and blood staining the cloth.

I stabbed a hoof at the air, pointing out his wound. “See?! This is why I said I should go with you, it’s too dangerous.”

“If you’d been with me, you’da just gotten us both killed!” he shot back.

“Excuse me? The fuck kind of idiot do you take me for?” I realized I was starting to yell, and I quickly hushed my voice back to a growl. “I may not be some ‘professional caravan guard,’ but I know you don’t split up to go off on some crazy-”

“Alloy, shut up and lookit me!” he snapped. I was stunned into silence and met his harsh gaze. “I don’t like this place any more’n you do. I didn’t even wanna be here, but here I am. Because I,” he walked up to me and jabbed a foreleg at my chest. “wanted t’help you. But you have to let me do this show my way. Got it?”

I nodded slowly, still a little shocked by his tone.

“Good.” He peeked back out the door and nodded to himself. “Stick close, and stay quiet.”

He slipped out of the double doors as I followed closed behind, seething at him. He didn’t have to come along if he didn’t want to. Could have stayed back in the Stable; hell, back in Four Shoes. Truth be told, I needed help out in the Bayou, as was being proven that very second, but he did volunteer to come with me. He knew it’d be dangerous, so why the hell was he complaining? I’m the one that didn’t have a choice in the matter.

I continued to let my temper simmer as we crept around the prison, finally getting back to the staff areas. I’d swear some of the hallways were even familiar, ones we had crossed through on our hunt for spare parts. The only comfort I had for this whole scenario was that the parts were sitting comfortably in my saddlebags. Even if it was out of our way, I had every intention of gathering up the spritebots to repair back in the safety of Stable 15. I refused to let this trip be a complete waste.

We ducked into a bathroom and Grit turned to face me again, his face softened since leaving the kitchen. “I gotta leave ya here again, but this should be th’ last one. Tha’s th’ good news.”

I closed my eyes and took a slow, calming breath. “What’s the bad news?”

“Can’t get out th’ way we came in. Not without ending th’ lockdown. From what I’ve seen, looks like th’ only place t’ do that is the warden’s room. Were I a bettin’ pony, I’d wager that was him on th’ speakers, too.”

“Can we even get in there?”

“I can get us in. Jus’ gotta get into th’ basement, but I’ll be quick.” He took a deep breath, glancing out the corridor.

I gave a sharp nod and parked myself in a corner in the bathroom, staring at the door. “Fine. Whatever gets us the fuck out of this place.”

Grit looked over at me curiously for a moment, then just slowly nodded and slipped out into the hallway.

At least this bathroom was better lit than the kitchen had been. But I was still stuck with nothing to keep me company but my own thoughts. I knew what was lurking just on the edges of my memory, too. It wasn’t even ten minutes before I felt the prickle of a taunting itch on my neck. I shook my head violently, trying to force the sensation away. I stood up and started pacing again. The Ministries. The pinks that the crazy voice on the loudspeaker was talking about. I could focus on that. Anything to take my mind off my own memories.

In my mind I played back through the whole memory of Silver Trim getting arrested by those stallions in Pink. Had they said they were from a Ministry? I couldn’t remember. Suddenly, I wished I’d brought the memory orb along just so I could see if anything made sense the second time around.

I rounded back to the wall in my pacing, staring at the floor as gears spun in my head endlessly, trying to occupy myself, anything to stop thinking about how Luna-damned close the walls were to me. I thought again of the orange-coated mare. Who was she? I had so little knowledge of wartime Equestria. Maybe I should read up on it when I got home.

Of course I’d have a lot of business to catch up on when I got home, there probably wouldn’t be any time. I’d have to make sure I had enough caps left from my trip to pay the rent on my store again, and get my business back up and running. And of course I’d have to work twice as fast to get Shipper’s order done on time, even if I didn’t need any coal.

I fell to my haunches again and let out a bitter chuckle. There I was, just thinking about my business agenda as though I knew I’d get back home safe and sound. Sure, we were closer to the exit than we had been in what felt like hours, but every few minutes I heard gunfire in the distance. Even this close to freedom, I still had everything riding on Grit getting us into the warden’s office and shutting down the lockdown.

I could starve to death here, with freedom just out of reach. Gumbo would shut down my store and sell it to somepony else. The new occupant would probably pawn off my anvil, or just use it as a table, not caring for how much of my life I’d poured into it. I wiped away the beginnings of tears in my eyes. I’d have time to cry if--when I got home.

* * * * * * *

True to his word this time, Grit came back shortly after he’d left, or at least it didn’t feel like he’d taken as long as he had for even his first trip. He quickly led me out of the bathroom and up two flights of stairs to a short corridor ending in a well-worn wooden door with a broken window. I could see the eerie glowing light of terminal screens from the other side. Grit looked at me with a silent nod and drew his pistols as we crept closer to the door. After all that I’d gone through today, I was ready to storm through the door and finally get out of this fucking hellhole. We were finally right next to the door.

I grabbed the handle with my telekinesis and was about to yank it open and charge through when I heard voices. Multiple voices, talking to each other! There were at least two ponies talking, occasionally broken up by the unmistakable, grinding murmur of the ghoul from the speakers. Were there more ponies inside the office? Were we outnumbered? My ears fell flat against my head and I buried my muzzle in my forehooves to stop myself from screaming in frustration. After all this sneaking and hiding, and the terror of every moment in this prison, there wasn’t anything I could do to help Grit fight, and he couldn’t fight three ponies by hims-

Wait. No. My ear flicked at the air. Were the other voices… crackling? Yes, that was static. It sounded like a recording of some kind. I craned my neck as I tried to pick out the words.

“...member, we always get the right pony. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

The recording cut off, and I heard the raspy whisperings again, mumbling something.

I felt my cheeks burn. How could a fucking recording have shaken me like this? I should have been able to immediately tell the artificial voices from the ghoul’s. In the end, we weren’t outnumbered. He was alone.

He was alone, and I was done with this shit. I was done with ghouls and robots and turrets and crazy ramblings over the speakers. This was going to end now. I bucked the door open, breaking the hinges in the process. A dozen or more monitors lined the far wall, with a single desk in front of them. An earth pony ghoul in a tattered suit was hunched a terminal at his desk. His head snapped up when I stormed in. Grey eyes went wide, he drew a pistol on me, firing off a trio of wild shots.

Acting on instinct, I ducked low and galloped forward, vividly remembering how terrified and powerless I had felt for this entire escape. I hated every second of that memory. I hated this ghoul for inflicting it on me. Grit shouted something, but I couldn’t make it out. In seconds I had closed the gap to the warden and slashed my sword across his chest and neck. He stumbled backwards, raising his pistol again, but I stabbed my sword straight through his head. His body went limp, yanking the blade from my magical grip as it fell to the floor. Bracing against his head with one hoof, I tugged and yanked until it came free, wiping off the blood on his suit before sheathing it again.

Grit was levelling a glare at me, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to end the lockdown, retrieve the spritebots, and get back to Stable 15. “Y’didn’t have to kill ‘im,” he grumbled, walking up to the terminals and beginning to shutdown the security systems.

I glanced from him down at the corpse of the warden. Maybe I didn’t, but I couldn’t think of a better solution at the time. “He shot at us,” I snorted. “And he was completely insane.”

My companion just gave another grunt and kept working at the computer terminals. I turned away from him to look at the warden’s desk. Another terminal sat at it, with some weird sequence of numbers on the screen, followed by the word “REPLAY.” The word was highlighted on the green screen. I didn’t care to talk to Grit at the moment, and I’d had quite enough of sitting on my flank doing nothing. It took a minute of studying the keyboard to find the right key, but eventually I hit “ENTER,” and voices crackled to life from the terminal.

“Sir, here’s the final report for case 5620829. We’ve finished extracting and reviewing Silver Trim’s memories,” a mare’s voice said.

“Good, good. Let me have a look,” a stallion’s voice this time, though I didn’t recognize it either. There was a moment of silence, except for the shuffling of papers. “Did you find the information we needed?”

“I’m,” the mare began, hesitating, “Well, to be honest, we didn’t, sir.”

There was another sound of papers. “Well, what happened, Dream?” The stallion’s voice was slow and deliberate.

“Nothing, sir. We’ve just extracted and reviewed all of the prisoner’s memories, and everything checks out. We never saw a memory of him going anywhere near the shipping docks.”

There was a loud slam-crack of a hoof on wood as the stallion shouted in response, “That’s impossible! You and I both saw the footage! He was there!”

“We reviewed the memories twice, sir! He doesn’t have any recollection of the harbor!”

Another hoof slamming down on wood, then a low growl. “That makes three of these harbor cases, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Somepony must be getting to our suspects before we can and altering their memories. It’s a simple enough spell… if you have the proper training.” Papers shuffle and rustle again. “File this case away as classified and initiate surveillance on all unicorns in our arcane division.”

“Sir? You don’t think that-”

“I do. And don’t say another word, Sweet Dream. Remember, we always get the right pony. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

With that, the static cut off, signalling the end of the recording. I looked back at Grit, who I realized had stopped working on the security systems to turn and listen to the recording as well. At the end of the recording, I’d been able to identify the stallion’s voice as belonging to the warden. It did at least explain the existence of Silver Trim’s memory orb. If this prison had extracted all of his memories, they were probably especially interested in what he was doing the morning of his arrest. Grit looked concerned, and opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again and finished lifting the lockdown.

I shook my head. It was all just wartime nonsense, a curiosity had nothing to do with my own business, or my need to raise enough caps for a mercenary. The recording gave a semblance of context to the memory orb, such that what I had seen resembled pieces to another puzzle. But it could wait.

Everything else could wait until I was safe and sound in my own home again.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Footnote: Level up!
Perk Added: Royal Canterlot Voice - You’ve got that little extra knack to talk or negotiate your way out of a jam. Before the bombs fell, you might have even been able to sell apple pies at a fancy party! You gain +5 to Speech and Barter

Quest Tracker: 10 days remaining

Author's Notes:

Well this took far longer than expected, and the editing process took as long as the writing for this chapter. The final version here is actually 3,000 words shorter than the original draft.

Anyway, sorry for the wait, and I hope you enjoy!