“WOAH THERE,” I yelled, pushing the minigun barrels away from my face. “Let’s be clear; the first rule of proper safety of firearms usage should be to never point the business end at friendlies.”

Mustang smiled sheepishly, eyes darting to me and the gun, before lowering it. “It is refreshing to see such care around guns in one as young as yourself.” I groaned internally, of course I knew my guns, I’m a Steel Ranger, weapons technology is practically all we’re invested in. Crosshair was exiting the last office on this floor, adding the items he’d gathered into the pile he had been building.

“I don’t think we’ll be able to take it all Crosshair.” I commented, glancing at the pile of miscellaneous goods he had piled together. “Just take the most valuable stuff” I added, before turning to ask if Mustang could carry some of the loot, only to find an empty space. How did a stallion that big move so quietly?

“MUSTANG! Where are you?” I called out, my voice echoing the halls. There was an awkward silence, followed by some strange shuffling sounds as Mustang made his way downstairs, wearing some bizarre harness. “What the hell is that thing?” The harness, neck-jewellery... whatever it was, appeared to be made of solid steel.

“It’s a yoke Elder,” Mustang proclaimed amiably. “A tool used on rural farms. Before they became industrialised.” The yoke looked to be heavy, I knew I’d struggle carrying something like that. Mustang seemed to pick up what I was thinking, as he burst out laughing. “Bah ha ha ha ha ha, oh Elder, this wasn't a farm tool.” Well obviously, it was clearly too heavy. ”It’s armor!”

...What?

“I used to wear a wooden yoke, funny story actually...” Oh please, Luna, Celestia, not a story about something mundane as farming equipment. “But that is a tale for another day.” A small relieved smile worked its way onto my face. “Instead, let me tell you the story of my gun. I call him Hailstorm, he is an M134 minigun.” Naming weapons? And giving them a gender? I’d say that was creepy, if I hadn't seen it done by so many other Steel Rangers.

“I first found Hailstorm clutched in the talons of a dead griffin.” Mustang began walking, I moved to follow, Crosshair following at our heels soon afterwards. “The griffin was surrounded by an army of corpses, their bodies broken or splattered under the immense firepower of this weapon.” My eyes went to the matte green and black minigun, a newfound sense of respect and foreboding starting to form.

“Can you believe I initially ignored this magnificent weapon? Such a young foal I was, I mean can you believe I went for a Plasma Caster?” Wait what?

“Wait, wait, wait. Hold up. You found a working plasma caster? Just lying out in the wasteland?” I asked, looking at Mustang skeptically.

“Well no Elder, it wasn't just out in the wasteland.” Ah good, clearly pony scavengers just hadn't found it yet. “I found it outside an irradiated military base...” My greedy inner pony was salivating at this news. “All the way in the great deserts of the Ponave... or was it the Moohave desert, I forget which.” And there went any hopes of raiding nearby military bases for supplies.

“Anyway, back to the story of my gun. I was levitating the plasma caster off the dried out corpse of a pony, when I was attacked by ghouls.” My mind drifted back to the ghouls we encountered in the tunnels, making me briefly wonder if Mustang had come across them too. “Now these ghouls weren't your standard ghouls, their skin was baked hard as leather, their combat armor fused to their rotted hides. As a young ch-aaAAACHOO!”

I flinched as Mustang let out a boisterous sneeze. Scuttling sounds could be made out as nearby vermin fled from their hidey holes. "Ah, excuse me Elder. As I was saying, a young child such as myself mistakenly thought energy weapons were better because they’re flashy.” He paused, stepping over a stack of old papers, a queer smile on his face.

“Like a colt with a new toy, I decided to show off and use the one weapon I didn't know anything about. The glitzy gun misfired horribly, sending plasma spitting into the air around the ghouls, but not hitting any of them. I panicked, searching for a new weapon, when my eyes locked on this green beauty. I knew what to do.” Mustang paused, taking a deep breath before continuing.

“I hefted him with my magic and managed to find the firing mechanism. I dropped Hailstorm the first time I used him, his sheer weight and recoil caught me off guard. I managed to prop him up on the poor griffin’s body and use him as a firing position. The ghouls leather hides and toughened armour were nothing in Hailstorms wrath, his purging fury tearing flesh from bone and limbs from bodies.” Okay, getting a creepy vibe here, the seemingly plain minigun was starting to sound like a slasher villain from a holotape.

“I’ve carried Hailstorm ever since that day.” He finished, giving the minigun a gentle squeeze. Of course, gentle is a relative term, as the metal still groaned under the unicorn’s caress. It was a great story, asides from some parts where Mustang started calling his weapon by name. I reflected sadly that my weapons didn't have any history. I mean where were they when I was being attacked by radscorpions dammit?

I glanced at my shotgun, tiny in comparison, making me feel far too under equipped. I’d have to make it bigger. Better. Stronger. Faster. I would make it... The Million Cap Shotgun. I was brought out of my brief fantasy as Crosshair wandered past, trotting ahead quickly.

“Keep up Elder. Or are you trying to act like an elder pony now too?” So unfair, I was just mesmerized by a riveting story. Plus, now that I thought about it, I had a huge amount of... uh... stuff! On my back! Weighing me down! Muttering to myself, I followed my rangers up to the last floor.

The final floor proved to be more... daunting than the previous five or six, seriously we walked up five floors listening to Mustang’s story. The rooms we encountered on this floor had all been sealed by some sort of emergency lockdown. I was certain I could lift the lockdown on this floor and maybe some of the other floors if I could access the central terminal.

The central terminal occupied forty percent of this floor, the rest of the rooms were built around it. We passed by a few doors which let us see into the terminal’s housing room. Eerie red light seeped around the doors, long slivers of red light illuminated the corridors as we looked for a way into the terminal room.

“Any luck Crosshair?” I asked for what felt like the twentieth time as Crosshair tried to pick the lock on one of the doors. Crosshair grunted in response, focused solely on picking the lock with a bobby pin and a screwdriver he was manipulating in his mouth.

“Could we not just build a battering ram and break down the door?” It was an inventive solution, one we sadly couldn't apply here.

“That’s a no-go, Mustang. If we force our way into the room, it might cause the terminal’s systems to believe we’re unauthorised personnel and simply shut down or worse, fry the whole database.” I dreaded the idea of losing such potentially valuable information, especially considering the bad luck I’ve had recently. Picking the lock had a slimmer chance of causing the security systems to label us as hostiles.

“So Mustang, what exactly were you doing here anyways?” I asked, trying to fill the empty silence around us, while my zebra friend worked.

“Ah ha, yes about that. I was just... scavenging the bottom floor for ammo.” That was a blatant lie, his ammo feed was bulging with belts of five millimeter rounds. Seemingly sensing my suspicion, Mustang elected to simply ignore me, suddenly finding the ceiling fan very interesting.

“This lock is either cursed by the stars or rusted shut, Elder. I've broken five bobby pins whilst trying to pick it.” Crosshair lamented, showing me the bent pins. I looked at the keyhole sitting there, taunting us with its existence. We couldn't batter it down and we couldn't pick its lock, so that left searching for a key.

“Alright everypony, looks like we’ll need to find the key.” Crosshair groaned, planting his forehead on the door whilst Mustang looked thoughtful rubbing his chin. “I know it’ll be a chore going from floor to floor, searching for one elusive key, but we gotta do it.” I was not looking forward to it myself, but I had to seem at least marginally enthusiastic. “Alright Rangers, fan out and search this room first.”

We set about our task, Crosshair investigating a nearby cubicle whilst Mustang hung about the door, seemingly scanning the floor. I decided to rummage through a dented filing cabinet, pulling the drawers out with my magic and emptying them of the decayed documents inside. I looked back to the door for a moment as we started our search, only to find Mustang fiddling at it. It looked like he had something in his hoof and was jiggling it in the lock.

With a click and a triumphant cry, it opened. Holding up the key in his hoof for our disbelieving inspection, he smiled encouragingly, the strange gentle aura of light once again creeping up around him. “I... remembered I had found this key on the way up.” He said, his satisfaction nearly manifesting in physical form and beaming me in the eye. “I thought I might try it out.”

He tossed the key over Crosshair’s head, the glittering key vanishing behind one of the cubicles. “Come friends, we have a terminal to heroically hack and extract data from.” I trotted after the green pony, Crosshair pausing and glancing back over the rows of cubicles.

“Coming Crosshair?” I asked, he looked lost in thought. “Hellooooo. Equestria to Crosshair, do you come in Crosshair?” The zebra stallion’s eyes focused on me, before glancing over his shoulder.

“You go ahead Elder. I want to check the desks in the other cubicles.” I shrugged, giving Crosshair a mock salute as I quickly followed Mustang. The terminal room was illuminated by the red processor units, taking up the centre of the room. We were a floor above them on a little walkway that went around the towering processors. Mustang was over by a solitary terminal, a focused expression on his face as his magic engulfed the keyboard, trying to hack the terminal.

“Elder, I am ashamed to say this devious terminal is beyond my ability to master. Perhaps you will have better luck?” He stepped back from the machine, looking at me expectantly. I'm actually pretty good with terminals, you learn a thing or two whilst erasing or copying data from holotags or dealing with pesky pre-war viruses and malware.

I cracked my hooves for show as I stepped in front of the terminal. I tapped my hooves lightly on the keys, being careful due to the weight and width of my armored hooves. The screen changed several times as I went through menus until getting to what is commonly referred to as the ‘hacking menu’. Two columns filled the screen with rows of gibberish, words scattered in between. I tapped the keyboard tentatively and selected the first word.

“Radioactive” I muttered, I waited as the screen processed my entry. No luck there, still who expected success on the first go, I tried again, this time selecting Retroactive. No luck, but I was at least eliminating some of the words... out of the thousands in the dictionary, yeah I was getting nowhere.
“Perhaps you should try that one Inkwell?” Mustang suggested, pointing at Interactive. I supposed it was worth a shot, I mean it was only one out of seven other words, what were the chances that it was the right one.

Access Granted…Success!

The screen finally cleared and entered a menu, just as Crosshair entered. The zebra sniper glanced at the both of us before walking over. “Did I miss anything?” He asked, looking around the room, probably for something to look through.

“Not much Crosshair, we figured out the password and we've just got into the system.” Crosshair nodded, taking a position at my side so he could view the screen. I went through the first few layers of menus, idly searching for places of interest. I paused when I reached the joint company option.

“Joint company options? As in pre-war joint operations? We should investigate. This may be what we have been looking for.” Mustang commented. Selecting the option, a short list of companies came up.

*Stable-Tec Joint Operations
*General Atomareics Collaborative Works
*Western Equestrian Armaments Projects

“Stable-Tec?” I said, my voice barely whisper. “Stable-Tec!” I repeated, practically squeeing, earning me some funny looks. You have to understand, this company was one of those major corporations that had their hooves in all kinds of technology development. I selected the Stable-Tec option and watched the screen flicker and fill.

“It’s a map of... Wintertrot? Yes, see there are the public access tunnels.” Crosshair said, pointing as he leaned over my shoulder. “And look there’s the T.I.T building we’re in.” I ignored Crosshair for the moment, my eyes being drawn to a series of red markers scattered around Wintertrot. Each of the red spots had a single letter or a series of them, giving them some form of designation.

“One to thirteen,” Mustang mumbled. ”a series of locations marked one to thirteen, under the stable-tec option.” Mustang’s voice began to rise in excitement, I felt a smile creep onto my own face as I began to realise what he meant.

“THERE COULD BE THIRTEEN STABLES IN WINTERTROT!”
“There could be thirteen stables in Wintertrot.”
“There are thirteen death traps in Wintertrot.”

We shouted in unison, Mustang and myself pausing as we replayed the last sentence in our heads. “Thirteen death traps.” Crosshair repeated, stamping a hoof for emphasis. Mustang quirked his head in confusion.

“Death traps? I thought they performed well enough, most of Stable-Tec’s fallout bunkers functioned correctly. Isn’t that so Elder Inkwell?” It was technically true, a large number of Stables succeeded and incubated the ponies inside who would emerge and repopulate the wasteland. But then you had those stables that conducted bizarre social or environmental experiments, some of which released crazed stable dwellers or abominations out into the wasteland.

Regardless of the risks, I wanted to see these stables, they were stables built by another company or at least in cooperation with another company, how bad could these stables be?

“I’m confident these stables will be one hundred percent safe.” I declared, receiving mixed reactions from the two, Mustang looking excited at the prospect of stable exploration whilst Crosshair threw his forelegs up and walking out of the room.

“Doomed” Crosshair declared as he left the room.

“I’m sure it’ll be fi-” I was cut off as Crosshair popped his head back into the room.

“DOOOOOOOMED!”

“Celestia damn it all Crosshair, give it a rest.” I looked at the screen realising we had one other problem. “And somepony find me something to draw on.” I really needed a mapping module or a PipBuck for maps like this.

We rested that night, Mustang taking the first watch, much to Crosshair’s silent chagrin. I could tell he was suspicious of Mustang and... well, I was too. You don’t just run into strange, heavily armed stallions, he had some kind of agenda I was sure. Suspicions were pushed aside as I awoke feeling, not exactly refreshed, more like I was rested from a quick nap. The scent of cooking food awoke me, Mustang was standing by a small travel stove he had set up on the terminal panel. Fat crackled and sizzled in the frying pan,

“Ah Inkwell, good to see you’re up.” Mustang said whilst flipping the frying pan’s contents. “Breakfast will be served shortly Elder, perhaps you could get the plates for me? They’re in my saddlebag.” I nodded, rubbing the sleep from my eyes before I groggily walked over to Mustang’s saddlebag. The first saddlebag was bulging with belts of spare ammunition for Hailstorm, neatly packed with a surprising amount of care.

I went to the other saddlebag and found the plates inside a clear plastic bag, I was about to levitate them out when my eyes drifted over to the rest of the saddlebag. Most of it was various knick knacks that Crosshair had plundered to sell later, but what caught my eye were two suitcases, one rather large and blocky like a brick and the other was thin like a business pony's briefcase. I found myself reaching a tentative, steel-clad hoof towards the blocky container. as soon as my hoof came into contact with it, my eardrums started ringing with Mustang’s voice.

“DON’T!”

His booming voice echoed through the corridors, likely alerting every monster, raider and would-be bandit within a ten block radius. I turned slowly, still recovering from the shock to find a rather panicky Mustang, levitating a hot frying pan.

“Sorry Elder... That uh box is very, personal, yes personal to me.” He grinned sheepishly, eyes darting to the frying pan repeatedly in what I hoped was him just checking the food wasn't burnt.

“I’m the one at fault Paladin Mustang, Elder’s shouldn’t go uh... performing, unauthorised searches.” Smooth. “Where did you learn the Canterlot Voice Spell?” Before I could get a response, we faintly heard Crosshair galloping down the hallways, I decided to try and act like nothing happened. I levitated three plates out of the plastic bags, Mustang smiled, dishing out three portions as Crosshair peeked into the room, guns ready.

“Did I miss anything?” He asked, giving myself and Mustang accusing looks. “I could’ve sworn you were trying to attract Snow Pirates with all that racket.” I felt my interest piqued and was about to ask about these pirates when I smelled the food. Glorious pre-war pancakes, their golden brown deliciousness demanded my attention, I tuned out Mustang and Crosshair and ate the best breakfast I’d had in years.

We left Trotsworth Independent Technologies as soon as we finished eating, we were all a little tense upon leaving, Crosshair scouting ahead from time to time, or Mustang scanning the frost coated windows and dark alleyways. Not much happened until we came upon a crude metal sign post, a recent addition to the landscape. Compared to everything else, with overly large rivets stapling the sign to a wall. There was an open street beside it; Mustang had wandered over to it as I brushed away the ice and snow.

Once clear I could make out what the sign said, the words being composed of old metallic letters. Snowridge. “Snowridge? You know anything about this place Crosshair?”

“Ah Snowridge, yes. It’s a small trading outpost where ponies lighten their loads, before moving on to bigger settlements, like Steelwall.” Crosshair explained, his eyes darting to the windows of the buildings around us.

I realized Mustang had vanished yet again, only this time he hadn't vanished around some corner. Following his hoofprints, we found him staring at an old grey wall that looked like three different graffiti artists disagreed with one another and tried to write over each others messages with limited success.

FUCK LU- was written above the first two messages, cutting off abruptly as somepony, probably the second artist arrived.

‘Celestia defends, Luna protects’. The second message proclaimed, carved into the stone wall in long jagged lines as if trying to obliterate the previous message.

FUCK TEH SENTINELL! The third clearly below average artist had written, probably sure in the knowledge that he wouldn't actually meet this Sentinel.

“Something wrong Mustang?” I asked, noting the strange smile he had on his muzzle.

“Hah! No, no Elder, nothing’s wrong. Just feeling a little nostalgic.” Okay, so my star paladin was an advocate of graffiti art? “I ran across an identical carving in Manehattan once, though not nearly as old as this one.” Well that was a small relief, at least I didn't have to worry about Mustang stopping to admire each wall.

“Can we go now? I feel too exposed, standing out in the cold like this.” I nodded at our striped sniper, letting Crosshair lead the way as I walked alongside Mustang. The snow crunched beneath my armoured hooves, the sound seeming to echo out into the streets around us. Each step made me feel like I was ringing a Luna damned dinner bell. My helmet’s E.F.S wasn't reporting much, besides several yellow blips that were flying around each other at a manic pace.

Crosshair remained vigilant, scanning the frost coated windows for any sign of ambush. My helmet’s E.F.S could pick up practically any threat, but I had a sneaking suspicion that Crosshair would likely be able to pick out any potential threats the helmet's systems missed. Crosshair lead us through a series of side streets and alleyways, pausing once we realised that somepony had blocked the route forward.

Somebody had overturned several large carriages to bar off access to Snowridge. Likely bandits or maybe some gang or tribe that had once run a toll booth of some sort. Before us was an old library that traders and travellers had likely travelled through after being fleeced of some of their goods.

“Spread out Rangers, find us a way through.” I ordered, the little pony inside me clapped his hoofs together as Mustang and Crosshair began looking around. I, of course, participated. It would set a bad example, the worst kinds of leaders were the ones who always let everyone else do all the work. At least that’s what my Dad always used to say, hard to decide if he’d be proud or angry with me, probably a bit of both.

Looking around, some serious effort had been made to turn this place into a deliberate killing ground. The old auto-carriages, chariots and skywagons that littered the landscape had been pushed together tightly. Chunks of concrete and lumps of ice had been used to fill in the gaps someone might use to escape. The area was dotted with signs of old battles. Broken guns too damaged to be of any use lay discarded, some even in pieces. Some heavy firepower had been brought to bear at some point, judging from some of the large holes and blown out husks of some of the auto-carriages.

A tattered rag flew from a jutting pole, some symbol or another was embossed on the damp fabric. Curious, I pulled the rag down with my magic and wrung it out, before unfolding it. The rag had several bullet holes and time and the weather had not been kind, but I was able to make out an image. It looked like a pony skull that was being pierced by a sword.

“What’ve you found Elder?” Mustang asked, about two inches from my face, totally not making me jump... Okay maybe a little. He wrapped the tattered flag in his own mint green aura to scrutinize it, tilting his head slightly.

“It’s some kind of flag Star Paladin, I don’t suppose you recognize the symbol?” Mustang shrugged, shaking his head, before he elaborated.

“Can’t say I do Elder, mayhap it’s some old Raider war banner? I've known them to form into cohesive forces with their own symbols on occasion.” Crosshair returned, giving the tattered flag a quick glance, before looking at me.

“Elder, there seems to be no way through. It’s clear this old route isn't used for a reason. I’d hoped to avoid potential ambushes by using the old trade route.” So that explained the lack of ponies and raiders in the area, I knew it was too quiet. “It seems we’ll have to backtrack to get to and use the main road. The library door is frozen shut.” Before I could gripe about having to walk back through the dead streets, Mustang spoke first.

“Knight Crosshair, do you recognize this curious flag the Elder found?” Crosshair paused, his mouth forming a thin line as he gave us the mother of all poker faces.

“That flag... it belongs to the Snow Pirates.” My zebra friends voice was utterly flat, his eyes narrowed as he glared at the flag, possibly hoping to burn through the flag if he glared at it hard enough. I looked over to Mustang, finding him to be staring back at me with equal confusion.

“Snow Pirates. What exactly are they? Like some gang or tribe?” Crosshair tittered, shaking his head slowly.

“Oh Elder, since when do raiders or gangs take the time to build blockades this good?” Crosshair pointed around us, the construction was above what I’d expect from gangs or raiders back south. “No, no, no. Snow Pirates are a lot worse than some gang. They've got big guns and they aren't afraid to take on any job, it wouldn't be in our best interests to draw their attention.” I really needed to get something to make log entries on, I had a whole lot of stuff I needed to remember about Wintertrot. Snow Pirates now on my mental list of things that will want to kill me.

“Anyway...” I stated, before an awkward silence could rear its ugly head. “this dreary talk is hardly productive. Show me that door Knight Cross, I’ll have us inside in moments.” Crosshair raised one brow, before turning and trotting over to the library. The building, like just about everything else, was coated in a layer of ice, the door handles buried under several inches of it.

“As you can see Elder, I can’t exactly pick it and our Star Paladin doesn’t have a key for this lock.” I saw Crosshair’s eyes flicker behind me, probably at Mustang. I didn’t have time to address my clearly jealous and clingy first knight.

“Key Crosshair?” I powered on my magi-drill, plunging the hoof mounted disemboweler into the solid ice and watching as it melted in a very satisfying manner. The drill gnawed through the brass handles and lock, slivers of wood pinging harmlessly off my armor, whilst Crosshair retreated a few steps from the shower of splinters.

The door finally gave in, the ice seemed to be the only thing holding it shut as the double doors slammed flat in front of me.

“I don’t need no key,” I said with a smirk over my shoulder. ”I’ll make my own door.”

Mustang was laughing, clapping his hooves before trotting over to me. “BRAVO, Elder! Bravo. No mere door should impede our journey,” He patted me on the back, the impact made my power armor reinforced legs buckle a little. “No ice or snow either. Come Knight Crosshair, I’ll lead us through the library.” Crosshair muttered something, but I was too busy getting my wind back to hear him properly. That, and a lot of my attention was also going to not looking like Mustang had punched me in the gut.

Old paper crinkled and flapped as the wind was let inside. Old rotted books lay in piles, the pages seemingly glued together, the weight of the paper turning them into damp mounds of paper. I silently lamented the all too familiar sight of vast swathes of knowledge lost forever, and instead paid attention to several blips that had shown up and then vanished on my helmet’s HUD.

I brought a hoof up and dinged my helmet, the spell jolted back into working order. The damnable cold was interfering with the suit’s systems. I was about to take off my helmet and see if i could find see the extent of the damage when something sharp scraped my horn. The thing most ponies don’t tell you about unicorn horns is that they’re particularly sensitive to pain. It’s not just a bit of bone I channel my magic through.

“Ah Cocknoodles, what was that?” I asked, my EFS failing to pick up any dangers. My question was soon answered by the frenzied fluttering of bloatsprites. A dozen of the flying devils had been hiding up in the rafters, waiting for prey presumably. The ugly pests buzzed around us, firing their spines at us.

Crosshair already moved to distance himself from the bugs, his eyes narrowed as he overturned an old desk and ducked behind it. Mustang immediately leapt into the fray, clapping his hooves together and squashing one of the insects like a water balloon.

“Foolish insects, you strike at Star Paladin Mustang, and the Rangers of Wintertrot! Prepare to PERISH!” Mustang called out, trying to swat more of the pests out of the air. I drew out my sawed-off, the weapon was loaded with pellets that would disintegrate these pests in an instant. I aimed for a cluster of three bloatsprites, the shotgun report roaring, roaring far too loudly.

*BOOM!*

Well, the good news was I killed one of the bloatsprites. The bad news was I blew open some kind of nest. One of the damp mounds of book and paper had been struck, unleashing a flurry of torn pages, and a swarm of vile bugs. Bloatsprites piled up around us as Crosshair picked them off, one by one with his zebra rifle, the insects spread the fire to one another in a rather delightful fashion.

Mustang had grown annoyed as his skin was punctured again and again by dozens and dozens of tiny barbs. I rolled to the right, closer to Crosshair as he unleashed havoc. Bloatsprites popped and burst in mid flight, far more efficiently than Crosshair or I could hope to achieve. Grey and blue ichor, shredded puffy flesh and thin, filmy wings rained down all around us. Any remaining bloatsprites had flown away into the safety of the bookshelves or scurried into their nests.

“Well,” I started. “that was unexpected. How are you both holding up, still fit for battle after that scuffle?” I asked, glancing at Mustang worriedly as he drank a healing potion with several spines still embedded in his flesh.

“I’m fine Elder, they were just Frostsprites after all.” Ah Frostsprites, another lovely addition to the rapidly expanding list of things I hate in Wintertrot. “Though I don’t recall giving any medicine to our Star Paladin.” He gave Mustang an annoyed look, the beefy stallion shrugged his shoulders, smiling widely.

“Fear not First Knight, that was one of my own potions. I brought a generous number of them with me if you’re low on medicine.” Crosshair snorted in annoyance but said no more. I noticed the frostsprite spines piled around Mustang and levitated one over for a closer look. The spine was thin and blue with a pointed tip, it appeared to be coated in ice. I snapped the thin spine, revealing that it was actually a tiny icicle.

“I think it’s best we move on Elder, Snowridge shouldn’t be much farther now.”

I nodded an affirmative, letting Crosshair lead the way once more.

The final trek to Snowridge took about an hour. We didn’t encounter anything that could kill us, but we did see a cluster of shambling ghouls pressed against a frozen door, trying in vain to get at us. Snowridge was exactly what I had been expecting, a decently defended stop where traders could sell some of their goods.

I approached the gate guards, trying to imitate how I’d seen other Steel Rangers approach settlements. Head upright, stomp hooves purposefully and above all, look like you are in charge. Not exactly an easy task when you’re walking next to a green unicorn built like a brick wall. I did my best to loom as I stomped purposefully over to the guard on the right.

“I require access to this trading post.” The guard nearly wet his barding watching three well armed stallions approaching the gate to address him. I noticed his partner pushing a box hastily beneath a nearby tarp, the faint jingling of bottle caps rattling inside.

I was immediately suspicious on the rattling bottle caps. It’s not like guards just hoof out free money to visitors. Most likely they were taxing random visitors, most likely just the traders or smaller groups travelling together.

“Not a problem s-sir, have a nice s-stay.” The gate guard blurted, his eyes flicking back to his partner and the box of money. My inner greedy pony began rubbing his metaphorical hooves together. I could tell I was going to fit right in with this town.

“Thank you, citizen. You have a nice day now.” It never hurt to be polite, and the expression on the pony’s face was worth it alone. I strutted into the settlement, the guards already muttering to one another in tones of bewilderment.

Once inside, we took a moment to observe our surroundings. Three high walls, either made from old auto-waggons and chariots or slabs of concrete that had been dragged into a vaguely rectangular shape. The walls connected to a grocery store which seemed to act as a motel, judging from the wagons and other transportation parked outside.

Just outside the grocery, a small tightly packed market comprised of wooden or scrap metal stalls, wagons and tents offered us a place to shop. Not that I intended to buy much. We were here to lighten our saddlebags, and pick up the essentials.

“Elder Inkwell, I need to acquire fresh ammunition. I have spent about two thirds of my reserves in the last four days.” Our Star paladin explained, showing me several belts of spent minigun rounds. Why he was holding onto them was a bit of a mystery.

“I too need more. This rifle of mine is a glutton for ammunition.” If Mustang and Crosshair were going through ammo this quickly, I’d need to keep an eye out for some alternate firearms for the both of them.

“Very well, Mustang, Crosshair. Stick together, I’m counting on both of you to pick up food, medicine, ammo and anything else we need.” Mustang and Crosshair shared an odd look with one another, clearly unhappy with being stuck together. They’d need to get used to one another if they were travelling with me.

“And where will you be Inkwell? Going to see a doctor I hope? You’re still recovering after all.” Crosshair locked his eyes with mine, the fierce orange irises brooked no argument. I’d go to the doctor, not because I was afraid of him, but I could get myself a Med-X whilst I was there.

“Of course Knight Crosshair, what a silly question. Of course I’m going for a checkup.” Crosshair gave me a suspicious look before nodding, turning and leaving with Mustang who offered a quick wave/salute.

I watched them both wander off, waiting to see if Mustang or Crosshair would doubleback. When neither of them did, I let off a sigh of relief and began trotting over to the first medicinal vendor I could see. I navigated through a few stalls selling miscellaneous junk, pausing here and there to offload some of the valuable scrap we had picked up on our travels. I saw the familiar Ministry of Peace logo over a doctor’s tent and trotted up to it, seeing a table before me with a veritable array of goods.

“See somethin’ you like partner?” A very rough and somewhat exhausted voice asked. I looked up from the table of goods, pulling my eyes from the med-x vials, only to recoil and draw my sawed-off. Before me stood a ghoul, not just any ghoul, one of the ones I’d encountered in the tunnels. His coat was ice blue, the skin beneath it, a sickly blue colour that looked like someone had dyed his skin.

His body was covered in a large brown winter coat that was in surprisingly good condition and a brown fedora sat on his head, his horn poking through a hole in the hat. His empty eye sockets glowed with a ghostly white light, giving him a particularly unnerving look. As if the glowing eyes weren’t bad enough, the skin at the tip of his muzzle was gone, exposing his teeth and nostrils. The ghoul took a drag of a cigarette hanging almost comically on the left side of his face and seemed nonplussed by the sawed-off I was waving in front of him.

“Is there something on my face smoothcoat?” The ghoul asked, chuckling to himself as he moved the shotgun aside with his own magic. “It’s alright boys, he’s obviously just a tourist.” Several weapons clicked as they were put into safety, I turned slowly, noting that fifteen security ponies had guns trained on me. The security ponies seemed to disappear back into the background, waiting for trouble to strike up again.

“Wait, who are you calling a tourist?” I asked.

“You smoothskin, you clearly haven’t seen a wintertrot ghoul, or at least not a smart one. Besides that, you’re clearly from somewhere else, your stance, the accent. Clever ponies like me pick up on that kinda stuff.” Okay, this guy was starting to creep me out.

“But enough small talk, if these lightbulbs I call eyes don’t deceive me, I’d wager you’re one of them Steel Rangers.” I felt myself tense up slightly, it’s not like we rangers have a good reputation as a whole. I kept my magical grip on my shotgun, just in case.

“Maybe.. what’s it to you?” I asked.

“Ah, well, it’s not what you can do for me, it’s what I can do for you,” Classic sales pitch, I steeled myself for a long spiel of offers. “I just happen to know the location of a stable nearby.” I sighed in relief, chuckling much to the confusion of my ghoulish acquaintance.

“You’re out of luck friend, I already have the location of thirteen stables.” I paused, letting him think he had nothing I wanted. “I do need some Med-X though, but I’m not exactly desperate for it.” I could see the gears click in his head as he began working out a price, I beat him to the punchline.

“Thirty caps a syringe and no more.” I stated, stamping a hoof for emphasis. The ghoul nodded, hoofing over three syringes of sweet relief. Which reminded me, I was supposed to go see a local doc about my healing injuries.

“You wouldn’t happen to be a doctor?” I asked the ghoul, he tittered shaking his head as he counted my caps.

“Me? A doctor? You want to go see Slicer, he runs the clinic.” Slicer? Sounded like some mad butcher, or worse, a raider name. Still if he was the doc, then I had little choice but to deal with him. I trotted away, in search of a medical check up and maybe some parts for my trusty sawed-off.

When I first saw Slicer, he was not what I would call a doctor. Even by the standards of the wasteland, he struggled to look even remotely like a physician. His red scrubs had probably been white at some point, and the bandolier of obviously used medical equipment he had slung over him was not encouraging at all. Falling back to my first thought of him, he was more a raider than I had feared.

I had to resist the temptation to shoot him on the spot, only the assurances of the various townsponies had stopped me. That, and the laid back attitude of the doc easily diffused any initial tension I had. Plus, Mustang’s sudden hoof on my shoulder shot any thoughts of gun violence right out the window.

“Mustang, what are you doing here? I thought you were buying ammo. Lots and lots of ammo.”

“I was going to buy ammo Elder, but then I found a scrap dealer.” What.

“What?”

“Oh, didn’t you know? I make Junk rounds.” Mustang levitated one of the rounds in front of me. My inner tech-pony cringed at the sight of it. Didn’t he know junk rounds were bad for guns? I’d save my complaints until he started maintaining it. I waited patiently as Slicer dealt with his patient.

“~Thank you my dear physician, I was feeling in need of medicine.~”

The rhyming, that horrible rhyming... it could be only one pony. Er, I mean one zebra.

When Slicer levitated a geiger counter over to me, his eyes nearly bugged out as it clicked faster and faster the higher it got to my horn.

“Take it away, take it away!” I yelled in alarm. Mustang started inching away from me, and suddenly Crosshair was looking into the room from the other side of the doorway. Pausing for a moment, I reconsidered what had I just said. “I MEAN, FIX IT! FIX IT! FIX IT!”

“I’m trying to, just calm down. I’m surprised you’re not glowing.” Slicer galloped over to a fridge in the corner, and pulled out a bottle, a pack of radaway and a large magnet. He levitated a drinking glass and a tube of wonderglue down from a shelf. After wondergluing the magnet to the base of the glass, he then dumped the radaway and the contents of the bottle into it. Rushing back over he applied some more wonderglue to the rim of the mystery potion and then slammed it over my horn, attaching it onto the base of my skull.

“Yeowch~!” I screeched, my voice cracking a little. “What the hell?!”

Lifting up the geiger counter, Slicer let out a relieved sigh as the clicking came back, but at a more subdued rate. “Well, you’re lucky that it hasn’t fallen off yet, and hopefully this will prevent that.”

Gingerly touching head around the base of the glass, I couldn’t help but wince. “What is all this?”

“DON’T TOUCH THAT!” Slicer yelled, smacking my hoof away. “That glass is the only thing between everypony else and the radiation.”

“What about me?”

“Oh, well it’s going straight into you.”

“WHAT!”

“Don’t worry, the magnet’s attracting it away from you. I was just kidding.”

“What..? Magnets don’t work like that!”

“Oh really? Who’s the doctor here?”

“But... But SCIENCE!” I waved my hooves around, trying to emphasize my statement.

“I think the geiger counter knows better.” He stated, patting me on the head, giving me the worlds biggest knowing smile.

‘Doctor’ Slicer had me lay down on a medical gurney and then placed a breathing mask, connected to a cannister. As he turned it on, a strange smell entered my nostrils, making me lighthead. As my head rested on the bedding against my will, I looked over at my companions. Crosshair was having a whispered conversation with the doctor, both of them casting me odd looks. Clearly Crosshair was concerned over my health and just... comparing notes, yeah, that’s it... He had the most medical experience of our little group, after all. Of course Crosshair was just checking his suspicions.

“Fret not Elder, everything will be taken care of in your leave of absence.” Mustang’s honest sounding words failed to assure me, but moments later I passed out, making it a moot point.

Upon waking, I happily noted that my breathing was much smoother after Slicer had opened me up and finished what Crosshair started. There wasn’t a disconnected feeling I had in my ribs, just a very numb ache, and I’ll admit that it caused me no end of relief.

My surgery took a surprisingly long time. So long in fact that Mustang and Crosshair would end up finishing the tasks they had originally been sent out to do. Mustang had a large burlap sack tied onto his side, away from Hailstorm’s barrels. The extra weight didn’t seem to faze him as he stood mostly still, humming a strange tune during my examination.

We paid the good doctor for the surgery and the check up, which amounted to just testing every part of my body to make sure it moved correctly. Well okay, it did involve a bunch of other poking and prodding devices, their purposes alien to me. And then there was this weird suction device and I don’t even know what THAT was about but it felt freaking weird. After all, I specialise in weapons and terminals. Medical technology is sorely lacking in my repertoire of knowledge.

We bunked down in an old apartment flat, just outside of Snowridge. It was rented to us by a surprisingly kindly innkeeper. The interior of our apartment was very spartan in its decoration. No furniture besides an old dining table and a writing desk in what most ponies would consider their living rooms. The kitchen was likewise sparsely furnished, with only a fridge, a stove and a counter. Mustang, upon noticing the lack of furniture, dumped the heavy mailbag onto the writing desk, whilst Crosshair went exploring upstairs.

“Elder, come see what I found in the market. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.” Mustang said, whilst undoing the straps on the heavy bag. I stood next to mustang as he levitated the bag and carefully poured its contents onto the table. A jumbled assortment of weapon parts lay before us. Why Mustang would buy this stuff was beyond me. We were supposed to be getting rid of extra weight, not adding more.

“I know what you’re thinking Elder,” he said, but I highly doubted that. “Yes that is a Western Equestrian Armaments M1918 automatic rifle.” That piqued my interest, the name was one of the companies mentioned back at Trotsworth’s Headquarters. I glanced at the table, unsure of what part went where. Mustang clearly detecting that I wanted to see the rifle, began putting it together with his telekinesis.

“Hey, are those external parts winterized?” I asked, halting Mustang’s reassembly and yanking the gun over to me, examining it up close. I took time to examine the barrel, ammo clip and firing mechanism, the materials seemed to be camouflaged similar to the limited models of winterized power armor I’d seen in old posters.

“Show him his other surprise, Star Paladin.” Crosshair said, walking into the room.

“Ah yes of course.” Mustang muttered, digging through the mostly empty mailbag, before pulling out a brown object. The smell of fresh leather hit my nostrils and made me flinch, as it reminded me... reminded me of... never mind, it’s not important. Besides the smell was delightful, the leather was fashioned into a holster, made to be worn around the neck and over a pony’s chest.

“It’s for that shotgun of yours Elder, can’t keep leaving it in those steel saddlebags. Never know when you’ll need to engage enemies up close and personal.” Crosshair elaborated, I breathed in the scent of freshly made leather, grinning like a goof as I tried it on. The holster sat perfectly. Maybe a little too perfectly... did Crosshair take my chest size when he was patching me up?

Before more morose thoughts could plague my head, Mustang had finished assembling the automatic rifle. The gun was a bit of a beast, yet it looked like a colt’s toy in Mustang’s hooves. He double checked the gun, making sure it sounded right and everything clicked perfectly, before levitating it over to me.

“This gun is for you, brave Elder. Knight Crosshair told me of your valiant battle against two young snowhounds.” Those were young Snowhounds? I’d really hate running into an adult. “He told me of how you bravely risked your life to stun our zebra friend’s attacker, even after losing one of your primary weapons.” And here I was beginning to forget about losing my grenade machinegun. I had barely had a chance to use it.

Mustang helped secure the Automatic rifle into my battle-saddle. It felt good and weighty against my side, I placed my scratched up sawed-off into the leather holster, now feeling like a proper Steel Ranger, or at least a Steel Ranger with a good taste in lower-tier guns.

“You should rest Elder, I think we will reach the death t- I mean stable tomorrow.” Crosshair said, making his way over to one of the mats. Mustang was folding up the large mailbag, making it small enough to fit inside one of his saddlebags. He’d cleared off the writing desk and was setting up his battle-saddle, levitating a screwdriver and hammer as he clearly intended to do some minor repairs or fine tuning. I didn’t feel particularly tired, so I opted to assist Mustang with his battle-saddle.

Before going to bed, I removed the glass off my horn with some solvent that Slicer had prescribed, only to find the inner contents had frozen solid. Getting rid of that was humiliating, and let’s just leave it at that.

It felt strange... walking alongside Mustang and Crosshair I mean. Each day they seemed to surprise me more and more, Mustang revealing himself to be very inventive when it came to battle-saddles. Last night he’d taken the time to show me how he could angle and aim his heavy weapon so effectively, without the use of an interface like the built-in systems of my power armor, or the dexterity of Crosshair.

We left Snowridge early in the morning, I’d wanted to get an early start so we could reach this mystery stable before midday. Then I would probably have to spend a couple of hours figuring out how to hack the door controls, but that was future Inkwell’s problem. The snow started to fall after about two hours, growing steadily heavier, seeing what was ahead became quite a problem, often forcing us to stop and seek out street signs to determine where we were. The heavy snowfall made me thankful for my helmet, my two companions had trouble with snowflakes flying into their eyes.

As we travelled, the sounds of gunfire could be heard, just barely over the howling winds. Crosshair did his best to navigate us away from the fighting, no sense in getting tangled up in a firefight. Wintertrot had other plans though, the stable we were looking for, kept bringing us closer and closer to the gunshots. Eventually the din of the howling snow was eclipsed by the sounds of battle.

We all flinched as an explosion all too similar to my missile launcher detonated on the upper floor of a building down the street from us. There was no ideal cover nearby, or at least nothing Mustang and myself could crouch behind effectively. Crosshair on the other hand, was easily able to hide behind a pile of rubble, staying low as he readied his rifle.

A group of about a dozen ponies emerged from a side street, wearing dark blue winter gear and goggles. One of the blue coated ponies was hefting a missile launcher in a telekinetic field. These ponies showed up as amber on my helmet’s EFS, I readied my weapons anyway, I wasn’t taking chances with a group of well armed ponies.

They spotted us, but didn’t fire on us. Instead the group of ponies took up defensive positions, and simply waited. I glanced over at Mustang and Crosshair, both of them looked ready to wipe these ponies out. They were both looking at me and the other ponies, the triggers on their weapons cocked and ready to fire.

“Wait here. I-I’m going to go talk to them.” I said, with complete confidence, not stuttering at all. I was already moving, before either of them could think of stopping me. As I stepped closer to the other ponies, I could feel the tension increasing. I couldn’t get a read on how hostile they were though, since my helmet’s EFS spell crapped out on me. Probably from overexposure to the cold. I stopped advancing about ten feet from them,

“That’s close enough tincan.” A red coated earth pony addressed me in a commanding tone. “Any closer and we’ll see how well that fancy armor of yours protects an exposed horn.” I bristled mentally, but kept my cool, keeping the anger out of my voice.

“I believe introductions are in order.” I stated, whilst doing my best to look directly at the stallion who’d addressed me. “I am Inkwell, current Elder of the Wintertrot Steel Rangers.” The reaction I got, was not what I expected. The red pony seemed unperturbed whilst his underlings seemed confused. The leader made a slashing motion with his hoof, silencing the group.

“Elder eh? You don’t sound too old.”

“I’m not.” I replied flatly, leaning forward, making myself seem as intimidating as possible. “You still haven’t told me your name.” I added, my helmet’s voice amplifier whilst not making me more charismatic, does have the benefit of making me sound more intimidating (Badass).

“Tch, lookout boys, we’ve got a badass here.” The other ponies all laughed with him. These ponies were apparently immune to my infectious charm. “Alright tinca-”

“Inkwell” I growled, starting to lose my patience.

“Fine, Inkwell then. I want you and your two buddies over there, out of here.” I was, genuinely surprised. Most ponies would’ve asked for caps or our guns.

“But boss, they’re running around with one of them striped fuckers! We can’t just let them...” The complaining stallion was cut-off as the red stallion smacked him across the face.

“DO I LOOK BLIND TO YOU!” I flinched as the stallion was punched again, his nostrils making a horrid crunching sound. “I CAN FUCKING SEE THE ZEBRA!” He bellowed, landing three more blows to the face, before he punched the stallion in the stomach, leaving him to curl up on the ground.

“Uh...” Was all I could think to say. I mean that escalated quickly. One minute I’m annoyed at name calling, the next I’m witnessing a stallion pummel one of his own in front of me.

“Sorry you had to see that, the newbies don’t always remember they speak only when spoken to.” He apologised insincerely, as he wiped the blood off his boot covered hooves. I glanced back at Crosshair and Mustang. Crosshair had a neutral expression. Mustang looked particularly uncomfortable with the display.

“I’m afraid we won’t be leaving,” I said decisively. The red stallion glared at me. “we need to get through this area and we can’t wait.” I clarified, the leader buck chuckled to himself as if he’d not been expecting my audacity. I was getting fed up with this stallion and switched my rifle from safe to ready to fire. The group of ponies went tense, the click of the safety silencing the stifled chuckling. If it weren't for the howling wind, I think you could have heard a pin drop.

“Alright Inkwell, you want through here? Fine, but you’ll get torn apart if you try to go through these streets alone.” He smiled, I didn’t like that smile. “So lets work together, you three stick close to us and maybe you’ll get through here alive.” He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in. “Of course if you try to go alone, the other Snow Pirates won’t take kindly to your presence, probably riddle that zebra with bullets.”

“I’ll...discuss your proposal, with my Rangers.” I said, turning to trot back over to them. I approached my Rangers, Crosshair looking frustrated with me and Mustang looking relieved to see me.

“Elder Inkwell, that was bold. It’s not often somepony would approach a heavily armed mob of ponies, even with good armor.” Mustang said, giving me a unsure grin, probably blown by away my awesomeness.

“What did they say Elder?” Crosshair’s voice was flat, his face equally neutral as he stared down the scope of his rifle.

“They want us to tag along with them. At least until we reach the other side of the battlefield.” Crosshair lifted his eyes from the Snow Pirates, shaking his head slowly.

“This is a bad idea, Elder Inkwell.” Crosshair stated firmly.

“That reminds me, those pirates have some kind of grudge against you.”

“We have a bad history with one another Elder. That’s all.” Crosshair said with contempt.

“I don’t like them either Elder; some of the stories I heard in Snowridge. Well, they make raiders seem tame by comparison. Didn’t you see those other ponies? They didn’t even flinch when their leader started beating one of them to a pulp.” Mustang exposited, the amount of discipline or fear those ponies had drilled into them was unsettling.

“Joining forces with them is a bad idea at best, suicide at worst.” Crosshair lifted his hoof and made a chopping motion. “The best thing to do is kill them all right now and be done with it.” I got the distinct impression that Crosshair really didn’t like these ponies.

“I agree with you both.” Both of my Rangers looked relieved. “Getting involved with these Snow Pirates is a bad idea, but we don’t have much of a choice.” Crosshair glowered at me, whilst Mustang looked uncomfortable. “We have to work with them, if we don’t it could take us days to go around and avoid fighting them and the Super Stallions.” Crosshair made a frustrated groan, before cursing in what I could only assume was the zebra native tongue.

“Elder... I’ll support your decision.” Mustang spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. “But... If these snow pirates show even a hint of betraying us, we can’t hesitate.”

“As soon as we’re through this warzone, we’ll deal with them.” I promised. “Besides, what’s the worse that could happen...?”

Travelling with the Snow Pirates was awkward to say the least. Half of them looked like they wanted to shoot Crosshair now that he was up close, and the other half looked like they just wanted to get away from him. I felt a little blind, walking without my helmet’s EFS. I’d gotten used to seeing all the little warning blips it provided when working at optimal capacity.

We could hear gunfire from as little as two streets away, the red stallion who hadn’t saw fit to share his name, was leading the way. I decided to mentally name him Red, until I could figure out his name. Red spoke into a small radio on occasion, probably with other Snow Pirates in the area.

We’d been wearily trudging together for roughly an hour when we were attacked. Three super stallion’s came exploding through a nearby wall, screaming and bellowing, and slammed into the group of snow pirates. Behind them two abominations lumbered forward on mismatched limbs, coming straight for me.

With a manly squeak, I fumbled to pull out my shotgun. Abandoning that, I instead aimed the holster at the nearest mutant and telekinetically pulled the shotgun’s trigger. The buckshot ripped into the face of the freak, blowing off a few waving tentacles. With a gurgling bellow it collapsed forwards.

Letting out a relieved exhalation of breath, I turned towards Crosshair. “See? Nothing to worry abou-” Suddenly my vision cut out. “What?” I was suddenly lifted up by my head and flailed around like a foals rattle. “CROSSHAIR, HELP ME! IT’S TOUCHING MY FACE!”

I heard screams and shouts as the Snow Pirates fought the super stallions and the roaring of Mustang’s beast Hailstorm in the background. The monstrosity slammed me into the ground like a walnut, futilely trying to crack open my power armor. It didn’t hurt but it did wind me and leave me feeling dazed.

As the mutant lifted me up, it let go, the tendrils going limp as I fell. I hit the ground with a heavy thud. Struggling to take in a breath, I glanced up to see the abomination flailing around on fire.

Crosshair walked over to me, grinning like a cheshire cat. “Get up Elder, there’s more fighting to be done.”

Crosshair was right, I’d already been humiliated. It was time to make up for it. I pulled out my shotgun, contemplating a heroic pose and deciding on a one-liner. Unfortunately I was lifted from behind by my tail, and swung like a baton, sending Crosshair flying through the air and into Mustang. And then came the slamming into the ground again, at which point I lost my telekinetic hold of my shotgun.

I was left with very few options, my missile launcher and rifle were both pointing away from the abomination. As I impacted against the ground, my legs played out and I saw my magi-drill. OF COURSE! Activating the drill, I curled up, bringing the drill close to my tail and slicing through the abdominal appendages gripping it.

The now tongueless beast reeled back and let out a guttural howl of pain. Taking the advantage, I launched myself forward onto it. I stunned it by slamming down on its head with both hooves, I grabbed it around the chest with one hoof and plunged my magi-drill into its chest. I let out an unarticulated scream that matched its death cries. When it finally stopped moving I stood up, and looked around. Everypony was still fighting the surviving two super stallions.

“AWWWW COME ON!” I moaned “DID EVERYPONY MISS THAT?!”

“KIND OF BUSY ELDER!” Mustang replied, not even turning around. “PERHAPS YOU COULD LEND A HOOF?!” Mustang was firing Hailstorm in bursts, taking care not to kill the Snow Pirates, which was no easy task as the mutant ponies were fighting them in melee. One of the super stallions was using his hooves and firing two battle-saddle mounted rifles whenever the Snow pirates got too far from his hooves. The other surviving mutant pony was slamming down a ferocious super-sledge with abandon, laughing the entire time.

Red and three Snow Pirates were trying to kill the rifle wielding super stallion. I ran up alongside Crosshair and Mustang, taking aim with my rifle and picking my target. I chose the super-sledge wielder, because he was a much easier target to aim at. The rifle practically growled as I fired it, its report being more subdued than I would imagine.

I missed the super stallion... unfortunately I hit one of the snow pirates trying to fight him. He howled out in pain as his hoof was shot, causing him to stagger backwards. The super stallion took great glee in pummeling him with the super-sledge, laughing maniacally even as the other snow pirates took the opportunity to barrage him with gunfire.

Okay, that could have gone better, but I could fix this! A well placed missile could probably take out that maniacal menace. I activated the missile launcher’s HUD systems, and aimed the super mutant. My helmet’s HUD flickered, but I didn’t need to be all that accurate with this weapon anyways. I aimed roughly between the stallion’s legs and his body, knowing I’d at least cripple him. I bit down on the trigger, and the missile roared away on a pillar of fire.

At the last possible moment, during the super stallions wild swinging. The tip of his super sledge grazed the missile, sending it careening off course. It’s new trajectory flew over the the heads of the remaining snow pirates, only to explode on a collapsed inconspicuous building behind them, peppering them with concrete and shrapnel. Suddenly a secondary explosion went off behind them, sending everypony stumbling away, followed incredibly by a third, and much larger explosion.

To my well tuned ears, I could pick out the sound of grenades, missiles and at least three types of ammunition going off in large quantities. All I could do was cry at the waste of so much unused ammunition. A heavy door flew out of the building, flipping in a low arc to embed itself through the super stallion and into the ground.

“RAAAAAH! Stupid ponies, must KILL!” The stallion gurgled. Even sheared in half it was still trying to fight.

I found myself galloping towards the mutant, gaining momentum as I ran. My forward advance culminated into a solid right hook, cracking the mutant pony’s jaw. “YOU SONOVABITCH!” I cried, manly tears running down my face. I began slamming my hooves into the mutants face, letting my unbridled rage seep out. “ALL THAT... ALL THAT AMMUNITION! THAT GLORIOUS, GLORIOUS AMMUNITION! GONE! BECAUSE OF YOU!” The super stallion seemed to not feel my punches, as it tried to ineffectively hit me. Regardless I continued to land blow after blow on its tough skull.

“Elder are you okay?” Mustang asked, placing a hoof on my shoulder. The now limp mutant lay cooling on the ground, its blood already freezing it to the ground.

I looked up at the burning ammo dump and sniffled. “No...” I warbled, before latching onto Mustang and crying like a foal. Crosshair and the leftover Snow Pirates watched me with mixed expressions of concerned confusion. None of them understood my pain.

“If it’s any consolation, that was one of our smaller ammo caches.” A snow pirate said, trying to be helpful. If anything I cried harder; they had more ammunition than ME! I cried on Mustang’s shoulder for several minutes. By the time I was done, the dead super stallion was buried under an inch of snow, and everyone was looking distinctly unsettled. Probably because of the snow piling on them.

“Better?” Mustang asked, smiling uncertainly. I gave him a quick nod.

“Right, well if you’re done crying, we need to get moving. We’re all soaking up radiation, and there’s no point sticking around since you blew up all our ammo.” I think Red might have been just a tiny bit upset with me. “Penknife, Goldtooth. I want both of you to scout ahead, I want no more surprises for this last leg of the trip. Be ready to fire on my orders.” Two stallions with rifles nodded, before galloping off into the snow.

“Is it wise to split up like that?” Mustang asked, seemingly asking everypony.

“You were here just ten minutes ago right? You saw what those super stallions and their scuttler pets can do.” Ah, so now I had a name for the abominations I killed. “The last thing we need is to wander into more groups of waiting mutants or worse.” I dreaded to think of something worse than a super stallion squad. Snowhounds maybe?

“Elder, it’s time you took a radaway.” Crosshair said, holding out a bag of the orange liquid. “Be quick Elder, the liquid inside can start to freeze if left out too long.” I grimaced as I levitated the pouch over to me, first splashing some of it on my exposed horn and then lifting my helmet to drink the rest of the foul medicine.

The sounds of distant fighting grew fainter as we trotted alongside the few remaining Snow Pirates. What had once been a formidable attack force was reduced to five ponies, two of whom were scouting ahead. I’d learned from Crosshair that the one super stallion to escape the battle had ponynapped two injured Snow Pirates. Mustang to my surprise, proposed following after them. but Red was adamant about pressing on, stating that they were probably dead by now anyway. I gave Mustang a questioning glance, to which he replied with a firm shake, and a look that suggested to the contrary. How he knew what I was thinking without seeing my face, I didn’t know, but I found it unsettling he could read me so easily.

Red occasionally spoke into his radio, speaking in some kind of code that seemed to involve a lot of metaphors. I kept my eyes out for any sort of identifiable landmarks, in case we had to pass through here again. We did pass an old gun shop, the sign faded and marred with rust. It looked like it had been looted some time ago, but I made a mental note to check it out if we passed through again.

Over time my eyes began to itch as the radaway coating my horn slowly seeped down, and in irritation I kept forgetting my helmet was on as I brought my hoof up to scratch my face. The repeated clanging was causing everyone to stare.

“You okay Elder?” Crosshair asked.

“Oh yeah, yeah. I’m totally fine. Just doing some field repairs.” Everyone gave me strange looks. “Oh yeah, you just gotta whack it here and there to get the... HUD back up...” Cocknoodles, nopony was buying it.

In the end Red just shrugged it off, pointing ahead. “We’re nearly there Tinca- I mean Inkwell.” Red said, warily eyeing a large clearing up ahead, possibly an old autowagon parking lot. “We can part ways up ahead, and then I’ll have the delightful task of explaining how I lost most of squad with wastelander reinforcements.” I winced a little, feeling a little bad for the red unicorn. Sure he was a colossal cocknoodle, but considering what some contingents of the Steel Rangers did to somepony who messes up this badly, I’d really hate to see what Snow Pirates did to their screw-ups.

We walked a little farther until we came to a small junction. One street leading off around and behind the parking lot.

“I think that’s far enough.” Crosshair said calmly, stopping in his tracks. He aimed his rifle at the Snow Pirates who reacted as expected, stepping away from him so they could aim their weapons. Mustang responded by standing next to Crosshair, revving up his minigun menacingly.

“What the fuck, Tincan! Call off your zebra psycho.” Red growled, shifting his aim between Mustang and Crosshair.

“Don’t listen to him Elder. This has all been a setup from the start.” Crosshair explained, cocking the rifle when Red moved to turn on his radio.

“Check your Helmet’s EFS Elder, it should let you see the two ponies waiting in ambush.” Oh... right. I hadn’t told anyone about my HUD being a malfunctioning piece of crap. I went with the tried and true method of field repair and dinged the side of my helmet. The HUD flickered back to life, showing critical damage failure messages and my EFS detecting two flickering blips ahead of us.

“I can see them Cros-” was all I got to say before everything went white. A explosive blinded me, my recently healed ribs were saved only by my power armor. Mustang’s minigun roared, the sound of ponies dying filled my ears as my vision came back to me. Red was gone, his two subordinates were dead, reduced to flaming pulp by Mustang and Crosshair. My helmet’s HUD showed a fleeing red blip approaching two blips moving on the upper floors of a hardware store. Hey my HUD and EFS were working again, the explosion must’ve given the helmet a jolt.

“Crosshair, they’ve got two snipers on the upper floors. Can you take them out?” I asked, moving down the street that would take us around the open parking lot.

“I can’t Elder, the scope on my rifle got shattered.” Well that sucked, so much for sniping the Snow Pirates.

“Might I suggest we move underground?” Mustang proposed, as he cleared some snow from a partially obscured ponyhole cover. No way his snipers could get us down there.

“Mustang you genius, passing underground will be perfect.” We would be able to find the stable we were looking for as well. Stable’s built beneath cities usually connected to the underground tunnels or sewer systems at some point. Normally they kinda overlapped or interconnected when they had to. I tried lifting the ponyhole cover, but found much to my horror that it had been frozen in place.

“Stand back Elder, let me aid you!” Mustang declared with gusto, shunting me aside. I could do it, I’m not weak, honestly I’m not. The cover was frozen by like several inches of ice. Mustang took a moment to properly position his hoof, before hammering it down with a resounding crack. Mustang then dug his hoof under the lid and flipped it off.

“I’M NOT WEAK!” I yelled without a trace of petulance.

They looked at me in concern. “I’m alright, see?” I dinged my helmet in a totally convincing manner. “Right as rain, right as rain.” If anything they were giving me even more worried looks. Buck, they must think I’m going senile already.

To escape their judging gazes, I leapt down into the tunnel, with a brief “I got this.” I landed surprisingly well. My power armor taking enough of the shock from the fall to prevent me from hurting myself. I lifted my hoof to turn on my helmet’s floodlight, but before I could a large weight slammed me to the ground.

“AHHHH!GETITOFF!GETITOFF!” I screamed explosively, the air being forced from my lungs. I flailed my hooves in a desperate attempt to dislodge my attacker.

“Elder calm yourself, it’s only little old me.” Mustang replied amiably.

“Hnnngh,” I croaked, trying to breathe under his considerable bulk. Mustang took the hint and moved his large form off of me. I gasped loudly, taking in a choking breath and prepared to turn on my helmet’s floodlight again, when I was suddenly slammed into the ground again.

“AHH! MUSTANG! GETITOFF! GETITOFF!”

“Inkwell calm yourself, it’s only Crosshair.”

“How did you know it was me?” Crosshair asked, still sitting on my back.

“Uh... I heard you falling.” Mustang answered.

Before Crosshair could respond, I tossed him off my back and regained my footing. Once again my hoof was stopped short from turning on my floodlight, but this time it was of my own violation.

“Did anyone hear a hissing sound?” I asked.

“That’s not good.” Crosshair and Mustang said in unison. I turned on the helmet’s light and felt my heart flutter with joy as I saw a sign proudly proclaiming T.I.T. Stable number VII.

“Huh? That went better than expected.” My floodlight’s beam lowered, revealing a horde of ghouls. They turned as one, raising their heads and let out the most bloodcurdling roar I’d ever heard.

Ah, cocknoodles...

Footnote:

Inkwell: Level 3

Perk Added: Attention Addict - Because of the way you act, you attract a lot of attention. Sometimes this is a good thing, sometimes not so much...

Crosshair: Level 3

Perk Added: Vigilant Watcher - If something is off or feels suspicious, you’ll probably notice it. +2 Perception whenever an ambush is about to take place.

Mustang: Level 2

Perk Added: More Dakka - Get the lead out! With either magical or mechanical means, you manage to fire ballistic weapons 50% faster than they are meant to. (Magical Energy Weapons are not affected by this perk.)

Author's Notes:

Author’s Note: Wooooooo! Finally. This chapter is a miracle, it took so damn long to write, and went through several rewrites. Not to mention the number of distractions that kept popping up on a daily basis. Still, I managed to finish this chapter with my awesome editor and we surprisingly got the perks done in less than an hour this time. We even went back and changed some of the formatting on earlier chapters. XD

(Gryphster Editor’s note: Oh, mai, Celestia. 12k words right there. That’s like... ALL the words. Except the ones starting with a Q. Because we don’t use those. Go ahead, CTRL+F that. Prove me wrong. HAH. Made you look! Also, I should start charging for my services. :D I even had to edit Tonto’s AN. /facedesk Okay. I’m all done here. Post it. No, keep this in! WARK~!)