“Fucking… Goddesses DAMMIT!”

With a flash of anger, I yanked the small screwdriver out of the open spritebot and slammed it against the metal floor. It bounced and flew across the room, just as the door to Grit’s living quarters opened. The tool bounced sharply off the wall next to him, making him jump in surprise. I turned back towards the partially-disassembled robot, feeling my face flush.

“Guess it ain’t goin’ any better?” Grit asked, walking in and closing the door behind him. I shook my head with a low groan as he flopped onto the overstuffed red couch.

I’d woken up as early as I could to try and repair the spritebots, despite my exhaustion from the prison. Hours later, it was becoming clear that while I understood approximately what I needed to do to get the robots working, actually getting them to turn on seemed to be beyond me. At the rate things were going, I was going to have to try and sell the broken bots, which wouldn’t get me even half the price I had originally hoped for.

One last time.

Biting my lip, I picked up the screwdriver with my magic and floated it back over to me. I’d give it one more try, with the spritebot that was in the best condition. Disconnecting the talisman from the circuitry, I carefully rechecked all of of the connections inside the robot, and their mounting inside the durable armored frame. Grit sat down nearby, watching me work but saying nothing. I held up each component that I could to the light, and brushed off a few stray crumbs of dirt.

Drawing in a long, slow breath, I replaced the last bit of circuitry, and stared intently at the core talisman as I screwed it back into place and reconnected it. Closing up the bot, I spun it around in my magic and stared at the front plate, the wings, the laser pistol, searching for any sign of life.

Silence.

My head fell, throat and gut tightening with another wave of frustration. Some part of me urged me to try again, questioned whether I had missed something. But I knew that without going back to study the basics of wartime robot repair, I wasn’t going to get it working anytime soon. I set the spritebot down next to the other two. At least I’d managed to repair their armor and check that the onboard MEWs were working. That would have to do.

“Well, now what?” Grit craned his neck and stared at the bots.

I turned back to face him. “Now,” I answered, “I need to take these to the Overmare and Pillar, and try to get a decent price.”

“They’re prob’ly a bit busy. Might have t’ wait for a bit.”

I glanced back at the spritebots with a scowl, tapping a hoof idly against the metal floor. Barging into the office to push my merchandise wasn’t going to help me get the sale. “Think you could get us a meeting with them today?”

Grit rolled his eyes. “Oh sure, I’ll jus’ get right on that.” He grumbled something under his breath before standing back up walking towards the door.

Something in his flat tone made me uneasy, but I couldn’t put my hoof on it. It was a distant cousin to the anxiety I felt when a customer was starting to get annoyed, but with a lump in my throat that I couldn’t swallow. “Something wrong?”

He snorted and started to say something over his shoulder, but then turned around sharply. “Know what, there is ‘n fact.” He took a few steps closer with a glare. I unconsciously took a step back, my ears flat against my head, and he stopped advancing. Grit took a deep breath and cut the edge from his voice. “You ain’t said a word o’ thanks for yesterday. Now I toldja I came along ‘cause I wanted to help, but I almost got killed more’n once in that damn prison.”

“That wasn’t my fault! I-”

Grit stomped a hoof on the metal floor, shouting back, “Th’ whole thing was your idea!” We stared at each other in silence for a long moment, as I felt my stomach twist into knots. He turned away, taking a deep breath and walking towards the door, opening it with a tap of his hoof. Looking back at me, he spoke in a quieter voice, “I don’t really blame ya for what happened, but,” he paused, looking down at the floor, “a lil’ gratitude’d be nice.”

The door slid shut behind him, leaving me with only the low buzz of the lights.

* * * * * * *

Left to my own devices, I occupied myself with cleaning the spritebots, wiping away the grime and grease from their outer plating with a rag. In the few minutes after Grit left me alone, I had initially tried to process his outburst. Had I really not thanked him? I couldn’t remember. We’d had the whole walk back from the prison, but I don’t remember exchanging a word with him. But after what we’d just been through, was it that unusual? It had been dusk in the Bayou. I’d been preoccupied with getting back to the Stable in one piece.

I was just finishing cleaning up the spritebots when Grit came back into the room. A quick glance at the clock nearby told me he’d been gone just over an hour, but the time had actually passed swiftly for me. I’d made it a point of pride to at least have the spritebots look good for their sale. I hadn’t even thought out what I was going to say to him now, and I mentally kicked myself for losing track of time like that.

Just as I opened my mouth to start to say something to him, he interrupted. “Studio an’ Pillar agreed t’ meet with ya in a few minutes, s’long as ya keep it short.”

I nodded and picked up the three spritebots in my magic, floating them along in front of me as I followed Grit out the door and through the hallway. A dozen different ideas of how to broach the subject of repaying him cropped up in my head, and I briefly opened my mouth to start one, when the door in front of us slid open to the atrium. A dozen or so ponies milled around the cavernous central room. The general murmur of conversation and hooves faltered a bit as we walked in and some of the Stable ponies turned to stare at me. I shut my mouth again. It could wait until we had some privacy. It’d be unprofessional if we got into another argument in public like this.

Grit led me across the atrium and up the flight of stairs to the Overmare’s office. Had the hallway leading to the office always been so long? I couldn’t remember. I felt my heart beat faster and my legs felt jittery, and I fought off the urge to gallop in a circle to work off the energy. We reached the door and Grit glanced back at me wordlessly. I gave him a nod. He rapped on the door with a hoof, and a moment later it slid open.

Overmare Studio gestured welcomingly with a hoof from behind her desk. “Ah, yes, Alloy. Come in, come in.” Pillar was in the office with her, stopped in mid-pace to turn and watch me enter. Where Stable 15’s security pony was glaring at me suspiciously, Studio had a soft smile on her face, but the way she held it in place made me realize she was just hiding her own doubts. “Grit tells us you have somethin’ we might be interested in buying. I take it those spritebots have something to do with it?”

I took a breath and cleared my throat, steadying myself. “They do. As a matter of fact, I think that these three spritebots would serve your needs well.” I walked up to a nearby coffee table and set the robots down gently, in a neat row. Pillar immediately walked up to them and leaned his head down for closer examination. “These spritebots can be programmed as autonomous scouts or escorts for your own ponies venturing out into the Bayou for supplies. Each one is equipped with a compact magical laser pistol, two-way radio communications, camera for visual recording and transmission, storage compartment for field supplies, and can hover well over or around any obstacles in the Bayou.” I picked one of the spritebots up with my magic and floated it gently over to Studio’s desk so she could examine one for herself. She raised a hoof and nudged the robot gently to examine the underside. “They,” I glanced over to Pillar, but he was still in a staring contest with one of the bots on the table. “They could go out and scout the area around Stable 15 without risking the Stable itself or anypony’s life. Or they could supplement the ponies guarding the Stable entrance.”

Studio looked up at me with a gentle smile. “Well they certainly sound impressive.”

Pillar snorted, stopping her short. “So why aren’t they on?”

My body tensed up at that. I knew the question would come, and I was prepared for it, but I still felt a momentary hesitation overcome me. “Well, unfortunately I lack the tools or technical expertise to get them functioning ag-”

He nickered, turning to stare at me. “So they’re broken?” He took a step closer, but I stood my ground. “You’re tryin’ to sell us broken robots?”

I levelled my own gaze into his grey eyes and answered him directly. “No, they are not functional, but I have all of the spare parts required with me, including spare magical talismans and circuitry. From what I’ve seen of Stable 15, you have more than enough resources to restore these spritebots back to working condition.”

Pillar threw his head back and barked a laugh. “So you ARE trying to sell us bro-”

“Which is why,” I cut him off deliberately, stomping my hoof on the metal floor before turning to address the Overmare, “I’m prepared to offer them at a much deeper discount that you would find anywhere else in the Wasteland.” I could feel Pillar staring at the side of my head. “I will offer a refund on any spritebot you and your ponies cannot repair.” Finally I turned back to Pillar. “I think 250 caps each should be a fair price.”

Pillar let out a long sigh and walked over to Studio. The two of them muttered to each other for a minute or two while I sat down on my haunches. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Grit near the doorway.

Studio waved a hoof at Pillar and looked up to me. “750 caps would be quite a toll on our savings.” She examined the spritebot on her desk again. “We’d be more comfortable with 150 each.”

I flicked my tail at the air, keeping eye contact with the Overmare. “Absolutely not. The scrap and components here are worth that much parted out.”

“Please understand, it’s difficult for us to acquire more caps. We can’t afford t’ spend that much in one place.”

I let out a small sigh. I sympathized with her. Hell, I wasn’t even sure how they got 500 caps, let alone enough to afford these robots. But I needed this money. And I needed it within the next week. The spritebots were the best break I’d gotten since setting out from Four Shoes, and I had to make enough so that this trip would have been worth it. I looked from Studio to Pillar, and back again. “225.”

Pillar barked a laugh at my counter offer. “That’s barely a scratch off your first price! But fine, if that’s how you want to do it, we can afford to spend 175 caps per spritebot, but I warn you, we won’t go higher.”

I took a step towards the brown-coated security stallion, locking my eyes to his. “I could say the same to you. But I’ll negotiate. 200 caps is my final offer.”

He narrowed his eyes at me, glanced to the Overmare, then back to me. “I just told you, 175 is the-”

“Thank you for your interest, but that concludes our negotiations.” I wheeled around and swiftly picked up the three spritebots with my magic, walking towards the door. “I refuse to stand here and be patronized. Have a good day, Overmare, Pillar.”

I had just enough time to see the look of total shock on Grit’s face as I walked to the exit.

“Wait!”

I stopped in my tracks, one foreleg still raised in mid-step. For the third time, I’d been interrupted by Pillar’s baritone, but this time a grin spread across my face, hidden from everypony in the room. I set my hoof down in the silence. Wiping the concealed smile from my face, I turned my head over my shoulder to stare directly at Pillar, one eye cocked questioningly. I said nothing.

Pillar scrunched his muzzle and looked at me, the floor, Grit, the window, and finally the Overmare. She gave him a small nod. “We’ll… pay the 600 caps,” he grumbled.

For a long moment, I didn’t answer. It wasn’t entirely deliberate, I was trying to gauge whether I’d milk this to bump back up the price again. Maybe to 215? But I glanced over to Studio and faltered. I’d let it go this time. “I’m glad we could come to an agreement,” I finally replied, turning back to them and gently replacing the three spritebots on the coffee table. Studio bent under her under her desk for a few minutes. I heard the click of a latch, and the familiar jingling sound of bags of caps. When she popped back up and sat in her chair again, there was a bag in her teeth, which she set down on the table. The bag certainly looked heavy enough to have the right amount of caps, but I wasn’t about to sit down and count them out in front of my customers. They weren’t going anywhere, and neither was I; I could double-check the number back in Spark’s quarters.

I picked up the bag in a haze of green magic and opened the door, stepping out. Grit started to follow me out before Studio called after him, “Grit, could you take these down to maintenance? I’d like them ready as soon as possible.”

Grit headed back into the office and the door closed between us. I lingered in the hallway, staring at the closed door for a moment, but Grit didn’t come back out. Damn. This would have been a good time to find a way to thank him. I turned and started walking back to Spark’s quarters to drop off the caps, with one last glance at the shut door.

There’ll be another time.

* * * * * * *

A few hours and some lunch later - oatmeal again, with a carrot because I couldn’t get enough of that crisp crunch - I had just finished counting out the caps in Spark’s quarters and tucking away the jingling bags in my saddlebags. I was wondering if I should head down to see how repairs were coming along when Grit burst into the room, beaming with glee. “There y’are! C’mon topside, ya gotta see this!” Without waiting for me, he darted back out the door. I gave chase, and had to keep to a canter to keep up with him, slowing only to weave through the ponies in the atrium.

We passed through the massive steel door of the Stable and into the courtyard of the Community Center. Spark was there, a white lab coat over his grey natural one, and I recognized Pillar, a holstered magical energy pistol at his side. And to my relief, there were three floating, perfectly functional spritebots. I nodded at Pillar as we approached, but he just gave me a scowl.

And then I heard the music. It was faint, and polluted with static, but the spritebots were playing some kind of music I’d never heard before. There was no singing voice lamenting better days, or a lost love, or cheering on the troops. This was a steady, majestic melody, almost regal. I’d never heard instruments like it in my life. I strained to pick out the various sounds amid the static, frustrated that I couldn’t hear it with clarity.

Grit chuckled. “Innit awesome? And that ain’t even th’ best part!” I looked at him, confused by what he meant. He drew himself up, playing for the theatrics of it. “Tha’s a transmission. An’ somepony’s alive on th’ other end. Th’ music cuts out for some chatter every now ‘n’ then.”

Wait. That was it? I gave a soft sigh and flicked my tail as I looked back to the spritebots. “Well, so somepony else has a transmitter besides DJ-PON3, I guess. The music is,” I hesitated. “It’s lovely. I’ve never heard anything like it. But I don’t see what’s so important.”

I looked back at Grit, and saw he was still grinning.

With a roll of my eyes, I started to put the pieces together. “There’s more, isn’t there.”

“Yup!”

Meeting his giddy grin with a flat stare of my own, I didn’t say anything else.

Grit looked between me, his father, and Pillar, the latter of whom was clearly getting more annoyed than I was. His giddy expression deflated slightly. “Aw, fine, fine, I’ll tell ya. Th’ transmission’s comin’ from closer by than Tenpony. Hell, dad thinks it might even be in th’ Bayou! And good news is we can use th’ bots t’ figure out where the source is.”

Somepony, with a radio transmitter, here in the Bayou? If that was true, that would mean at least enough of a settlement to protect it. “Is there bad news?”

“Kinda.” Grit inclined his head and frowned, turning to his father.

Spark filled in the gaps for him. “I’ll need t’ send the spritebots out t’ triangulate the source, but from my initial calculations, it looks like it’s on the far side of the Bridle River.”

“But there’s a tunnel nearby!” Grit jumped in. “Somethin’ built for traffic before th’ war. Should still be intact, an’ we can use it t’ cross!”

The pieces slid into place, and I stared at the gently bobbing trio of spritebots. This could be the answer to what I needed. As of this sale, I finally had reached my goal of one thousand caps. I wouldn’t have much leftover for cash on hoof, but I had the thousand to offer a mercenary to find Copper for me. And if somepony was on the other end of this transmission, with a settlement, I could see about making use of the transmitter to find a merc to take the job. Surely a town big enough to have a radio broadcaster would have contacts, or at least somepony to set me on the right path. This was the break I was hoping for! “How long will it take to figure out where the source is?” I asked, turning to Spark.

The older stallion rubbed his chin with a fetlock, staring at the spritebots. “Well, it’ll depend on these spritebots, but I don’t see it taking more than a few hours.”

Grit turned to me with a grin. “I’m gonna help my dad t’ get things movin’ along.”

I nodded. “Well, if you can figure out the source, we can head out there first thing tomorrow morning.” The sooner this whole job was over and done with, the sooner I could get back home.

A flash of… something crossed Grit’s face. I couldn’t quite tell. He covered it up quickly before I could process it, and turned to his father. The two of them exchanged a few muttered words I couldn’t make out, and Pillar just stared disapprovingly at me. Eventually, Grit turned back to me and nodded. “Alright. I’ll get things sorted out with my dad, an’ we can head out in th’ mornin’.”

With one final nod, I turned and headed back down into the Stable. I had caught a break, and found a way that might help me contact a mercenary. And I still had more than a week to go before Malice’s deadline.

So why did I feel like I’d failed somehow?

* * * * * * *

I was restless. I couldn’t stop pacing around in circles, or wandering the corridors of the Stable. This was the single most uncomfortable, disquieting sensation I had ever experienced.

I was bored.

Since I knew setting up my shop in the atrium again wouldn’t get me any more caps, and Grit was busy with his father for the rest of the day, I found myself in the rare situation of having free time. I hated it. I couldn’t sit still. I felt somewhat tired after the previous day in the prison, but the idea of taking a nap galled me. What if I overslept and threw my entire sleep schedule out of whack? No, better to find something to do.

Eventually, wandering through the Stable delivered me to a room branching off of the atrium, lined with bookshelves. I wandered in, walking around the small library to see if they had any books on smithing, or wartime manufacturing. Something I could apply to my day-to-day work. Instead, what I mostly found were titles relating to Equestrian diplomacy, history books of Equestria and other cultures, and even a few on zebra culture.

Nothing really caught my attention until my eyes fell on the most colorful, intricate cover I’d ever seen. This book wasn’t like the others. It was thinner, and the cover was flimsy, flexible. On the front, instead of a dry title and a simple graphic, here was a caramel-colored earth pony mare with a brown mane, rearing up and holding a giant sword between her teeth. The blade was almost the size of her, and I was amazed she could even lift it, let alone wield it in a fight, but she was swinging it viciously at a towering equine figure wearing black armor. The figure had a sword of its own, and was locked in a duel with the caramel mare.

Several other ponies were gathered around her, battling a horde of dark creatures with glowing red eyes. A pink pegasus was swooping low and delivering a dive-buck to one of the monsters, while a pair of unicorns fired blasts of arcane magic. One of the unicorns had a white coat and soft blue mane, while the other had the reverse colors. And across the top, in bold, powerful lettering, were the words, “SWORD MARE #7: KNIGHT OF NIGHTMARES”

I flipped the book open curiously, and couldn’t believe my eyes. I’d never seen a book filled with colorful, lively, artwork like this. I stared at each new page in awe, marvelling at the depictions of this quartet in a heroic struggle against evil. There were even depictions of Celestia and Luna! The Goddesses themselves, right here in this book! I didn’t know when, but at some point, I had fallen to my haunches, sitting in the middle of the library. As soon as I saw the rendition of the Goddesses, I closed it and carried with my magic towards the desk I had seen at the front.

An elderly earth pony mare with a green coat sat at the desk, a book of her own open in front of her, glasses resting on her muzzle. When she looked up at me, recognition lit her eyes. “Oh, you’re that shopkeeper. What can I do for you, dear?”

Taking a deep breath, I tried to slow my heartbeat. I swallowed and floated the comic next to me. “I’d like to purchase this book.”

The older mare blinked in surprise, as if she wasn’t quite sure how to respond. “Well, I’m afraid the books here aren’t for sale,” she finally said slowly. “Stable residents borrow them and bring them back.”

I felt a stabbing, deep weight in my chest. I did my best to mask my disappointment, but I felt my ears drop nonetheless. “I see.” I swallowed and turned to walk back to the shelf.

“Of course,” the mare began, catching my attention again. I looked back to her. “I suppose nopony would mind if I gave you a long-term loan.” She gave me a warm, sympathetic smile, thinking for a moment to herself. “I’ll have to ask for a small deposit in case the book isn’t in good condition when it’s returned.”

My face lit up, ears perking to attention again, figuring out what the mare was doing. I rooted around in the pockets of my barding, and found a few caps, just some spare change I kept on me. I gave her a slightly embarrassed look. “Would 5 caps cover it?”

She nodded and I deposited the caps on her desk, trotting off back to Spark’s quarters, unable to hide the grin on my face. It was all I could do to stop myself from trying to read it while I ran. When I arrived back in the room, I curled up on the old red couch, and began reading the story, about this Sword Mare and her friends fighting back against these monsters of evil. No wartime propaganda, no zebras hiding behind every door, just a simple story of good against evil. The story itself wasn’t important to me, and frankly was naive and simple. But every single page was filled with an artist’s passion, and I couldn’t get enough of it.

At some point after the tenth read or so, I fell asleep on the sofa, the book resting on top of me.

* * * * * * *

The next morning, with fresh supplies, my new book - a comic book, Grit told me it was called - tucked away in a protective baggie, and a blip on Grit’s PipBuck to follow, we crept out from the Community Center. A small crowd of the Stable ponies lurked at the giant, cog-shaped door of Stable 15 to see us off. Or rather, to see Grit off. A few of them glanced suspiciously at me and one or two mumbled a “Good luck,” but it was clear they weren’t there for me. I didn’t mind.

Spark took his son aside and the two spoke for a minute. I found a spot of wall to stare at to give the family some privacy. I don’t know why I hadn’t realized this before, but I hadn’t seen any sign of Grit’s mother. Grit and Spark hadn’t mentioned her either. I thought about asking later what had happened, but there really only could be one explanation, especially in the Wasteland. Better to not talk about the past. I knew I wouldn’t want somepony prying into mine.

Leaving the comforts of the Stable behind, we wove a path west through the broken streets and buildings, moving at a cautious pace through the misty morning. We could still see a fair ways, and Grit assured me that the mist didn’t interfere with his PipBuck’s ability to detect threats nearby, but I still kept glancing around warily as we walked. Plant growth had forced its way through the broken asphalt and crept its way up buildings and wagons alike. We rounded the corner of a once-tall office building that had toppled onto its side, crushing two side streets and dozens of wagons with its corpse, and the unmistakable sight of the Bridle River opened up before me once again. The coastline was still as jarring as before, the grey waters of the river stretching as far as I could see. The haze clinging to the waters made it impossible to see the opposite coastline.

I glanced over to Grit, who was sitting on his haunches, staring at his PipBuck. After a moment he stood up, nodding his head to our left. “Looks like th’ tunnel entrance’s this way. Jus’ a few blocks down.” He started walking, and I turned to follow.

Wait.

I stopped, midstep as I thought I saw something in the corner of my eye. A faint pulse of light? A fire of some kind? No… It must have been my imagination. Shaking my head I quickened my pace to a brief trot to catch up to Grit. He glanced sidelong at me and wordlessly kept walking. His silence made me even more uncomfortable. I had to fix this somehow, even if it was a day late.

“Look,” I started, feeling a tingle as I caught him glancing at me again. “I know I haven’t shown my appreciation at all, but I really am grateful for all the help you’ve given me. I,” I paused, searching for the right words. Would this even work? “I couldn’t have made it this far without your help. So… Thank you.” He finally cracked a small smile, and inexplicably I felt… warmer from getting that off my chest. I was actually glad that he was smiling again. Where the hell did that come from? “When this is all over and we get back to Four Shoes, I promise I’ll find a way to repay you somehow. We can even negotiate the price now if you want, or some kind of store credit or-” I stopped my rambling as I realized Grit was snickering, trying and failing to stifle it. “What’s so funny?”

He finally let out his snicker and shook his head. “Nothin’, nothin’, jus’... ya never stop thinkin’ about business, do ya?” He flashed a smile and we veered towards a squat building near the coast, still largely intact somehow. “I toldja yesterday, I came along ‘cause I wanted t’ help. S’all there is to it. Y’don’t need t’ pay me.”

That didn’t make a bit of sense to me. Why in the name of the Goddesses would somepony risk their lives to help a merchant like me without any compensation? Helping for its own sake? The hell was the point of th-

My eyes shot wide.

Oh.

Oh sweet Celestia, why didn’t I think of it before?

I was incredibly glad that at that very moment, Grit had his back to me, and couldn’t see my jaw fall open as the possibility hit me. Does… Goddesses above, does Grit have a crush on me?! I thought about it carefully. It was a possibility, sure, but I hadn’t noticed him acting any differently to me than he had anypony else in Four Shoes. Then again, it took me this long to even consider that idea, so apparently I was thicker than I realized. I’d have to be careful not to reciprocate. I didn’t want to send him the wrong message. But what if he does have a crush on me and I break his heart, and he leaves me out in the Wasteland? I rolled up my jaw and followed Grit through the streets. Alright, Alloy. Just… pay attention. Focus. You know now, so just… watch closely. Easy.

* * * * * * *

The tunnel loomed up in front of us, wagons piled up near the entrance. It looked like some of them had collided with each other when the bombs fell. Bones were strewn about the ancient wrecks, and I could pick out at least a few skulls. A rusted-out hulk of a truck nearly blocked the entire entrance by itself, but there was enough room cleared to one side for us to fit through. Grit led the way, flicking on his PipBuck light with a tap of his hoof and drawing one of his pistols in a haze of blue magic. I lit my own horn for light and followed him in.

The mist had settled into the tunnel as well, rippling and swirling around our hooves as we walked. Our pace was slow, cautious. Thankfully the tunnel seemed intact, though the air felt heavy, every breath thick with humidity I’d never felt before, even living in the Bayou for years. Grit’s PipBuck clicked softly, confirming my fear that the humid air was also irradiated. We had to make this a quick trip through the tunnel, there wasn’t going to be enough RadAway for us to get stuck down here too long. I swore I could already feel my stomach churning. The sensation of nausea almost made me wobble on my hooves, but I kept my balance as we pressed on.

When the tunnel finally levelled out, beneath the river itself, it made a gentle curve to the right. The walls were largely intact, but occasionally the eerie green light hinted at a web of cracks stretching beyond what we could see. Even if it had been bright, we couldn’t keep to more than a walking pace. Rusted-out wagons littered the tunnel, strewn and abandoned. The smell of their corpses was almost overpowering, that tang of stale air and old iron. And forever accompanying the wagons were the broken skeletons of centuries-dead ponies, left in the seats, by the doors, and littering the ground in the hundreds. I’d never seen just so many skeletons in one place. It sent a chill down my spine, and I focused on moving forward, following Grit, ignoring the occasional clicking from his PipBuck, walking around the old vehicles and remains.

And trying to ignore the reflective, wet patches of ground and wall.

I couldn’t keep silent anymore. I had to find something to take my mind off of the oppressive tunnel walls and heavy air. Grit wasn’t even telling stories the way he did on the way to Shipper, to Stable 15, or even to the prison. He was silent, carrying his pistol in a cushion of magic and slowly turning his head from side to side, watching for anything that might be living down here. Another soft crackling of his PipBuck. “How bad is the radiation?” I asked softly.

He glanced at me, and then back to our surroundings as we walked over the hood one wagon. “S’not bad. Never gets over 3 rads. Wouldn’t wanna sleep down here but we’ll be fine with th’ RadAway we’ve got.”

I nodded, though he wasn’t looking at me. My gut still churned and I thought I felt nausea, but I wondered if it really was the radiation, or I was just imagining it, making myself nauseous by focusing on the knowledge that radiation was seeping into me. I shook my head and just followed along, focusing on one hoof in front of the other, thinking about the caps I could feel in my saddlebags now. It’s just a tunnel. Just a small… underground ruin, like all the rest of the ruins. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to ignore how close the dark, damp walls felt.

And then I tripped and fell flat onto my muzzle.

Well, I supposed I had that coming. Closing my eyes even for a moment while walking in this debris-strewn tunnel was just asking for it. I pulled my face up from the hard asphalt, rubbing my bruised nose (and pride) on my foreleg. “Y’alright there? What happened?”

I looked up to see Grit standing over me, genuine concern on his face. He glanced around behind me, sweeping the area for creatures or predators. “I’m fine,” I groaned, getting to my hooves. “I just tripped.” Looking under me, I saw I had tripped on a dislodged bumper. I looked back to Grit to see him staring at one of the walls. “Let’s keep moving,” I said, snapping his attention back to me. “I’d like to get through here as quickly as possible.” We pressed on, and I gave one more glance back at the bumper. If it hadn’t been as long as I was tall, not to mention covered in rust, I would have taken it with me as scrap metal.

Although… ideas sprang into my head, ideas that would have me galloping to my forge so I could shape them into reality if I could. I wanted to use that concave design on something. An earing maybe? What about armor? Some kind of overlapping, banded plate? Designs and shapes raced through my head, even though I knew I couldn’t achieve any of them. I tried to hold them in my head as long as I could, focusing on the core, driving forces behind them. I couldn’t even stop to rummage through my saddlebags to find appropriate pieces of scrap to fit together, not with the radiation down here. A fresh ache formed in my gut, as I once again found myself wishing for the warmth of my forge’s fire. But at least, at the very least, these ideas gave me something to focus my attention on.

Even if they made my heart sore.

* * * * * * *

Barely 15 minutes later, I couldn’t focus on my designs anymore. I was instead focused on the dead end in front of us. A truck that looked like it was designed to carry other wagons and vehicles had been tossed and rammed against the walls of the tunnel. Between its twisted form that looked like the skeletal ribcage of a dragon, and the dozen wagons smashed around it, the tunnel was impassable.

We walked along the blockade, searching for some way through that wouldn’t result in getting impaled on the split ends of the wreckages, but found nothing. And the ticking of Grit’s PipBuck had gotten faster. We couldn’t linger here. “Well, this was a waste.” I sighed, letting my ears droop. “We’ll just have to head back to the Stable and see if there’s another way.”

Grit kicked at a rock, letting it ping off of a wreck. “Yea. Maybe we… we could…” His voice trailed off. I turned to look at him, and found him staring at the tunnel wall. He took a few cautious steps forward, cocking his head.

I walked up beside him, looking from him to the wall. “We could what?”

His gaze darted over to me and then back to the wall. “Uh, sorry, I just-” he cut himself off, walking closer towards the spot on the tunnel wall. “You see that?”

Huh? What in Equestria was he talking about? I looked at the spot on the wall. Even with the light from my horn and Grit’s PipBuck, visibility was dismal. Detail and definition were lost in the emerald green haze. Still, the section of wall looked no different to me than it did any other spot in this Celestia-forsaken tunnel. “I don’t see anything.” I turned away and started back the way we came. “C’mon, if we hurry we might be able to get back to the Stable in time to find a different way to cross the Bridle today.”

“Jus’... Hang on a tic’,” he said, closing the gap on the wall and reaching up with a foreleg. He rapped on the concrete with his hoof, and before I could ask him what he was doing, a section of the wall next to him shifted, popping outward slightly, then swinging open with a grinding whine of protest.

My mouth hung ajar, head tilted in bewilderment. “What,” I paused, taking a step closer to the ominous door. “What in Equestria is that?” My voice was a conspiratorial whisper.

Grit cautiously stepped towards the door and peeked his head around the corner. A moment later he fell to his haunches and stared at his PipBuck screen for a few minutes, fiddling with the buttons and dials. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he mused under his breath. He looked up at me and grinned his familiar grin. “Think this is our ticket t’ the other side. Looks like this tunnel here leads t’ the other side o’ th’ river.”

I perked up at this news, already feeling better. “That’s great for us, but how can you tell?” I walked towards the open door and poked my head through, green light spilling out of my horn and stretching down the corridor I could see. This tunnel looked a little more rough-hewn than its parent, some uneven patches in the walls and ceiling from a lack of concrete lining, but it at least had supports and a framework holding it together.

And as a point in its favor, it wasn’t filled with the choking stench of rust.

He tapped his PipBuck with a foreleg as he passed me, walking into the hidden passage. “This lil’ guy told me. But this way migh’ not be a straight shot ‘cross. Stick close, yea?”

I nodded, and followed him through the hidden door.

What I immediately noticed after a few minutes was that this passageway made me more nervous than the tunnel we’d just left. At least it smelled marginally better. The metallic support structure told me that ponies originally built it, but these winding tunnels just put me on edge, to say nothing of the smaller passageways branching haphazardly off of our path, making this place felt like some kind of nest. I drew out my revolver, to try and calm my nerves. I might have been a terrible shot, but in this confined space, maybe I could actually hit a target.

Several of the smaller side passages we walked past had no support structure. Ponies could still have fit down them, but I wondered if they really were originally part of this network. I hoped that they were.

We kept walking in silence, and as much as the quiet unnerved me, I didn’t want to risk making more noise than we already were, our hooves clacking and scuffling on the stone and packed dirt. We descended even further, and walked up ramps or spiraling paths, stopping every few minutes for Grit to check his PipBuck More than once, we stepped over or walked past skeletons of ponies, curled against the walls. And as we continued further on into the labyrinth, the ticking of Grit’s PipBuck was a constant reminder that we were on a timer.

Finally, we had to rest a moment. The nausea I hadn’t been sure of before had turned into a very real churning in the pit of my stomach, and my head felt light. A dull ache throbbed in my ears with every beat of my heart. Grit wasn’t looking much better. “Let’s” he began, speaking in a low mumble “let’s stop here a sec’. Should…” he swallowed, sitting down on his haunches, “Bust out th’ RadAway. Gon’ have t’ ration it though, I think we still got ‘bout half an hour t’ walk down here.”

I nodded, floating my own bag of the orange fluid from my saddlebags. Grit did the same with his own, and we each took a swig from the vile drink. If it hadn’t alleviated my mounting nausea, I would have puked up my breakfast right then and there. As it was, it just left me gagging and coughing. By the Goddesses, the taste of the cure alone was enough to make somepony never want to get radiation sickness, to say nothing of the actual radiation sickness.

We pressed on immediately after, though I holstered my revolver to pull out my canteen and a carrot from Stable 15. As we walked, I drank a mouthful of water - swishing it around my mouth first to wash down the RadAway - then bit into the crunchy vegetable, savoring what little taste it had. I only wished I could have carrots every day, and imagined how real, pre-war carrots must have tasted. If it was anything like this, I would have been in heaven from a single bite.

To my relief, our path started ascending, back towards the surface I hoped. Grit was still silent, sweeping the darkened caverns with one of his pistols, and I had my revolver out again. My thoughts kept drifting back to the caves themselves. Mostly they were winding, narrow corridors separating expansive, bulbous chambers, but I never saw any indication of their purpose. It didn’t really matter, but I needed something to take my mind off the constant, chattering clicks coming from Grit’s PipBuck. We must have been down there for an hour or so, and the Luna-damned thing never shut up.

Eventually, something did break the silent monotony: we hit another dead end.

Grit stared at his PipBuck, back at the wall, then his PipBuck again. “I don’ get it, th’ map says there’s a path here!” He tapped his PipBuck a few times with a hoof but only got the same staticy clicking of the geiger counter.

I stared at the end of the corridor. “Maybe there’s another hidden switch?” I walked towards the dead end, searching the sides of the wall as closely as I could. Grit followed my lead, nodding and checking the opposite wall. I didn’t see anything that looked like a switch, but then again I hadn’t seen the first one. Judging from Grit’s exasperated groan of frustration, he didn’t have much better luck.

“I don’ get it,” he repeated, staring at his PipBuck. I was about to suggest we turn back the way we came, see if there was a route we missed, when he turned and bucked the dead end in frustration. To both of our surprise, his back leg sunk into the wall and held there. “Th’ hell?” He tugged at his leg and it came free immediately, and both of us trotted up to the wall.

I brushed a foreleg along the dirt wall. “It’s looser than the cave walls. Maybe it was more recent?”

“Yea… yea tha’s gotta be it! C’mon, let’s dig our way through!” He immediately dove at the wall and started shoveling hooffulls of dirt aside with his forelegs.

“Grit,” I sighed, feeling that churning in my stomach again. “We don’t even know how thick this wall is.”

He groaned and looked back at me. “Well, sure, bu’ we should try. Wha’ if it’s only a few feet deep?”

“Fine, fine, we’ll give it a few minutes. But at least use this instead of your bare hooves." I opened my saddlebags and rooted around my collection of scrap metal. I knew it had to be somewhere in here. There! I pulled out two flattened pieces of metal. They used to be part of the armor on a robot, or maybe even pieces of power armor. I wasn’t exactly sure, to be honest. But the important part was that they were wide, relatively flat, and perfect for shovelling.

With a grin, Grit took one of them with his own blue-tinted magic, scooping away at the dirt wall with renewed vigor. I joined him and shoveled methodically, finding a rhythm that wouldn’t tire me out. I was already feeling the strain of keeping my horn lit for illumination as long as I had. I’d never used a light spell for that long, and I wasn’t as accustomed to it as I was my telekinesis. “But just so you know,” I told him, “we still can’t try this for long.”

“Yea, I know, I know, don’ have t’ be such a sourpuss. We’ll turn back after a few minutes, promise.” He glanced up at me between shovelfuls of dirt. “Wouldn’t kill ya t’ be optimistic once in a while, y’know.”

My only reply was a snort. Optimism? In the Wasteland? Grit was a damn good guardspony, but sometimes it really did show that he grew up in a Stable. I was debating whether to mention this to him when he gave a triumphant shout.

I leaned over his head, and to my amazement, only a few feet deep, he’d broken through to see the other side. “I toldja! See?” He gave me a nudge with one foreleg. “Jus’ gotta have a lil’ optimism every now ‘n’ then.”

Some ponies had all the fucking luck.

We cleared ourselves enough of a path to crawl through the dirt wall, and I immediately noticed the change in stench. Not that the traffic tunnel or the cave network we had crawled through had smelled pleasant, but this side smelled of something rotting. I couldn’t help myself anymore. Between the constant nausea from the radiation and now this wave of decay, I immediately turned to face a wall and braced myself. My eyes teared up, and the contents of my stomach emptied onto the ground. I wiped my mouth on a fetlock, coughing and spitting up the last of it. Carrots definitely did not have the same appeal coming back up.

“Y’okay there?” Grit walked over and leaned down next to me, furrowing his brow.

I nodded slowly, eyes squeezed shut. “I’m fine. Fine.” I opened my eyes and took a deep breath, trying my hardest to ignore the stench. It wasn’t quite as bad as the first overpowering whiff. “Let’s just get out of here as quickly as we can.”

Grit opened his mouth, about to say something, but stopped himself. “Alrigh’y then. Shouldn’t be too much longer anywho.” With another glance at his PipBuck, we continued along the passageway.

Nodding again, I followed after him, hoping he was right.

Something about this new passageway made my hide crawl within moments. I stopped to tug at my barding with my teeth, and realized that I could hear a faint sound of scratching and skittering in the dark. I looked around a corner as we passed it by, and saw the briefest glimpse of beady, shining eyes. Slamming a hoof over my mouth to stop myself from yelling in surprise, I glanced at Grit. One of his 10 mm pistols was floating in the blue grip of his magic as he slowly walked ahead.

I cantered up next to him, wincing at the noise I made when my hoof splashed down in a puddle of liquid, and gave him a nudge. When he slowly turned to look at me, I motioned back at the passageway I’d seen the eyes in. He looked past me, then back at me and slowly nodded. It seemed like he had noticed, too. I drew my revolver and stuck close, keeping pace with Grit. Every new turn quickened my heartbeat as he motioned for me to wait, peering slowly around another corner.

A booming gunshot and a flash lit up the tunnel ahead.

“MOVE!” he yelled. We leapt into a gallop, stealth abandoned. I tried to see what was ahead, but all I caught sight of were the bloody bodies that we trampled as our pace became a gallop through the caves. We stopped at another corner, Grit slamming to a halt, pistol barking and flashing in the dark. I turned to see four or five of them skittering up behind us.

Scraggly grey fur on bloated bodies, fleshy tails, and buck teeth. They were rats of some kind. I panicked, squeezing off two shots that went wild. They were small, only a little smaller than a bloatsprite, and fast, how the hell were they so fast?! I backed up quickly. The beady eyes and snarling teeth were coming for me. I tried to take a breath, to aim. I fired again, three times, and caught one. My heart was thundered in my chest, they were right on top of me now! I reared up and squashed one underneath a hoof. A spike of pain burned through the back of my neck, and I flailed and thrashed my head. I cried out, thrashing and bucking my head to get it off, twisting my head to see if I could grab it with my magic.

Another bang and a flash, and the jaws fell off my neck. Another two gunshots and two more died in front of me. I wheeled around to the sight of Grit aiming his pistol past me. “Run for it!” he yelled. I didn’t have to be told twice.

Our hooves were a thunderous beat matching my own heart. I glanced back now and again to see the rats chasing us. In the winding passageways, we couldn’t keep to a full gallop. “Almost there!” Grit called back, firing his pistol again and again ahead of us. Bloody bodies popped beneath our hooves. I saw the door! Straight ahead! We slammed to a stop right in front of it and turned to face the rats coming up behind us. Grit punched a switch on the wall.

I tossed my revolver in my bags in favor of my sword, slashing it at the wall of teeth and fur. I heard the door grinding, squealing open. Grit fired his pistol in a rhythm. I swung my sword wildly. There were too many. Just as the door opened and we turned to gallop into the cloudy daylight, I felt another pair of jaws close around my back leg. I let out a gasp and a cry, turning my sword to skewer the rat biting my leg. I ran outside, tumbling over Grit. We both quickly found our hooves and galloped away from the open door.

They didn’t follow.

We stood there in the clearing, facing the darkened doorway, for what felt like ages, falling to our haunches, gasping for breath. I looked at my sword in disgust, shaking the body of the rat off of it. The back of my neck and my leg throbbed in time with my racing heartbeat, and I felt the warmth of blood seeping into my coat. I looked over at Grit. He had fared much better than me, in fact it seemed like he hadn’t taken any injury at all. He looked over to me, and his eyes widened. “You’re bleedin’!”

I just nodded, still sucking down gulps of air. The motion of my neck made my bite wound sting with fresh pain. My head was spinning, and I felt like I was going to throw up again. I stared at the ground to try and catch my balance, and didn’t realize Grit was approaching me until I felt a bandage start to wrap around my neck. I glanced over at him, taking another deep breath. My first instinct was to object to him bandaging my wounds for me, but I didn’t know precisely where the bite on my neck was, so that at least made sense. I got to my feet when he was done and gave him a curt nod. “Thanks. I’ll get my leg.” Before he could object, I took the roll of bandages from him. They weren’t quite as good as a healing potion, but the small amount of magic in them would at least stop the bleeding and sterilize the probably-filthy bite wounds.

Once the bandage was tied off, I finally took a moment to look around at where we’d ended up. We had made it to the far side of the river. That much I knew right away from how different the surroundings were. A building here or there still lay in rubbled ruin, but they were fewer, and I knew I had never seen trees like this before. Most of them stood as skeletal leftovers of what they once were, but here and there I spotted a more twisted, yellow-barked plant growing up out of a ruined office, or forcing its way through half of a beached ship. A few of them were taller than my home.

Thankfully we were still by the coast, the vast expanse of the Bridle stretching out to our right. The door we had scrambled out of seemed to have once been part of somepony’s house. Looking out towards the river, I saw the bridge that used to span it, though I wasn’t sure where the exit was to our original tunnel route.

I waved a foreleg in the direction of the bridge. “How far off the track are we?”

Grit just shook his head and brought his PipBuck up to stare at it and fiddle with it some more. I stood up and walked a little closer towards the coast, staring across at the opposite shore. The skyline of the ruined city. I’d lost track of how many bombed out houses I’d seen, burnt skeletons, collapsed ruins, abandoned facilities. Hell, I lived in the remains of somepony’s house from before the war. But I’d never seen anything on this scale. I could see dozens upon dozens of broken buildings, collapsed, toppled into each other, and some even still standing, husks of their former glory. For just a brief moment, I caught myself imagining what the city might have looked like before the war.

I turned away, violently shaking my head.

No. No, I couldn’t start thinking about that now. Goddesses, it was the fucking Wasteland. There was enough that could drive a pony crazy without dwelling on what used to be Equestria. Just needed to get to the radio broadcaster, wherever it was, contact a mercenary, get Malice the pony- get Malice what she wanted, and go home. What I wouldn’t do for just ten minutes in front of my forge right now, to just stare into the warm, flickering fire and let it steal away the stresses of the days.

“Alrighty,” Grit called out behind me. I turned around and started to walk back towards him. He got back to his hooves and made his way to me. “Looks like we’re a lil’ further south than we need t’ be, but it shouldn’… be…” He trailed off, his eyes staring past me. He didn’t look shocked or terrified, he was just staring. I turned around to see what had his attention.

And just for half a second, too late to stop myself, I realized.

But then the realization disappeared, evaporating in my mind like so much mist. There, before my eyes, was the most heartbreakingly beautiful light I had ever seen. It bobbed and pulsed at me, weaving through the air in a dance of brilliant emerald that made me want to join it. I wanted nothing more than to embrace the light and dance with it, but why was it so far away from me? I had to reach out. What had I even been doing? It didn’t matter. My hooves moved me closer and closer to the light, my heart beating a slow rhythm in my chest.

Even as I moved forward, the light seemed to be getting farther away. Why couldn’t I reach it yet? I kept walking towards it, dreaming of the moment I could finally touch the light and protect it. It was the most precious thing in all the Wasteland. Dimly, I was aware that my hooves felt cold… and wet? It didn’t really matter. The light was right there… I was almost able to reach out to it…!

An ear-splitting shriek pierced my ears, and the light was gone. I blinked and looked up to see a serpent’s head towering over me, thrashing and spasming as it shrieked again, crying out with jaws big enough to swallow me whole. And I saw the unmistakable appendage bobbing and flailing from its forehead, the light at its tip extinguished. I scrambled away from the coastline as the creature dove under the water with another howl, somehow I’d gotten into the water up to my knees. Grit was right next to me, and we collapsed in shock just a stone’s throw from the water’s edge

A fisher.

We’d nearly…

Before I could get to my hooves, the serpent breached the water again, shrieking and howling, trying to jump out of the water? It jerked to a stop, and was yanked back by - by something. With a final, pained cry, it was dragged under.

A moment later, the churning water turned a deep red.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Footnote: Level Up!
Perk Added: Bookworm - You pay much closer attention to details when reading. Just remember to stay aware of your surroundings. Gain 50% more skill points from books (and comics).

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Alloy Shaper’s Traveling Smithy
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Author's Notes:

Well I’m glad that got taken care of with absolutely no loose ends whatsoever. Good job team!

As an aside, special thanks to Riddles and Amethyst Wind for pre-reading this chapter. Y'all were both a great help!