“Uh...” I twitched inside my armor, trying desperately hard not to pee myself. We were surrounded on all sides by a moving, raging mass of rotted flesh, and cold lifeless eyes. The undead horde we had thought been secured behind the ice sheet had returned and now had a hold of Crosshair and Mustang. They were all over us, trying to peel off weapons, armor and clothing, anything to get to the sweet pony meat below the hard surfaces.

Three of them were trying to yank off my plated armor and failing miserably, there hooves clanging loudly against my back. While it was freaking me out that they were this close, the sudden jostling helped to jumpstart my brain back into action.

I snap assessed the situation. This close and they were putting me in the explosive envelope if I were to use my missile launcher. Instead, I gripped my shotgun in my magic, unclasping the top of the leather holster reassuringly strapped to my chest. It was the only weapon that seemed to survive being around me, and in these close quarters, it would do just as much damage, if not more, than a rifle. Once I ran out of ammo, I could use it as a club in tandem with my Magi-Drill.

However, before I could pull it out, a green magical aura wrapped around it, keeping it in place. “Elder, you’re being awfully quiet! Why don’t you introduce yourself?!” Mustang half-shouted cheerfully much to my shock, whilst giving an extremely enthusiastic hoofshake to one of the ghouls.

Taking a moment to really look around, I finally realised what I’d been seeing. The ghouls were all talking at once, voices rushed and nearly babbling. They were excited for some reason, but in a happy manner, not a blood thirsty way. They weren't tearing off our clothing and armor, but they had stripped off my front leg armor...

Wait... WHAT!

An earth pony ghoul had unbolted my leg armor and was shaking his head, frowning as he examined it.

“Hey, give that back. I need that!” The ghoul pony ignored me, walking off with the piece of dismantled armor. Another ghoul was trying to pull the missile launcher off of my back, and yet another ghoul was tutting as she pulled out and began inspecting my shotgun.

“Fascinating,” The ghoul enamored by my missile launcher stated, examining the autoloader. “A Vultur-Gryphus saddle-bag. Never thought I’d see one of these babies again.” By this point I was definitely beginning to grow annoyed. Looking over, I could tell Crosshair was too. The zebra was standing on his hind legs and using his forehooves to keep the ghouls from touching his equipment by holding it all above his head. Mustang, on the other hand, seemed to be soaking up the attention, and he was even striking a pose or two, letting that strange subtle light out to dazzle the dull eyes of what I was hesitantly sure were a trio of female ghouls.

“You! Are you the idiot that changed the password?” A ghoul with a stained lab coat asked me, suddenly appearing in my face. I nearly retched from the smell, the filters in my helmet obviously failing in scrubbing the horrendous stench out.

“It wasn't exactly difficult. What kind of idiot makes the password, ‘password’?” I asked, whilst trying not to gag.

“It’s such an obvious password that no one would think to enter it.”

“Uh, I did. So your argument is invalid. Therefore, I’m smarter than you.”

“You're luckier, not smarter. Who else would think to make a bullet that shoots confetti?”

“That’s not smart, that’s just...bizarre! Who would want a bullet that shoots confetti?”

“Obviously a Ministry mare would want it, and it’s good for the kiddies to practice their shooting with safe rounds.”

“SAFE ROUNDS!” Stopping to think about it, I had shot Crosshair with one. “I um, yeah... That actually makes sense.”

“WHAT!” I turned around to see Crosshair and Mustang giving me concerned looks. The other ghouls in the room had fallen silent.

“Tell that to my one eye, Sprocket.” A ghoul at the back of the crowd called out.

“That’s DOCTOR Sprocket, and we all know we worked out that particular problem in the Alpha build.” Leaning in close he whispered a bit too loudly, his breath chilling my exposed legs. “The Beta builds were impact triggered, and deemed too dangerous for the kiddies. The Alphas use range reading magic to self detonate before actual impact. Proven to be safe 100% of the time in all test firings.”

“We only did ten test firings before the war!”

“AND every single one worked exactly as planned.” Sprocket replied curtly. “Ministry Mare Pinkie Pie herself, approved these rounds.” Somehow that didn't make me feel any better.

“Ten test firings from before the war is not a guarantee of safety from a stockpile of millions.” The same ghoul argued back. “No matter how many times Pinkie swore they were safe.”

“If it helps, we fired two more recently and they were safe.” I added, Sprocket beamed triumphantly at the ghoul in the back.

“Ha! In your face One Eye. I told you they were safe.” Crosshair was looking at me, eyes bulging and hooves trembling in what I presumed was anger.

“YOU SHOT ME WITH UNSAFE BULLETS!” Crosshair roared, causing the circle of friendly ghouls surrounding him to scatter.

“Now Crosshair, I was sure they were safe. Besides, I didn't aim anywhere particularly lethal.”

“You shot AT ME!” Crosshair repeated, stamping one of his hooves.

“YOU SHOT MY EYE!” One Eye shouted from the back.

“Hey, you've got my PipBuck Technician’s key!” A ghoul rummaging through my saddlebag grumbled.

“WHY ARE WE ALL FIGHTING?” Mustang bellowed, though not quick enough to stop One Eye and Sprocket from having the most hilarious hoof fight in history. It started with One Eye throwing a slow punch at Sprocket, barely landing it with a dull squelch. For a moment nothing happened, but then one of the ghouls in back of the onlooking crowd yelled out something along the lines of ‘Geek fight!’ and immediately the two stallions began to pummel one another.

And by pummel, I of course mean they slapped at each other with both forehooves, accidentally headbutting every once in awhile. While this went on, they would occasionally stagger and almost lose their balance, generally due to one of their own punches actually landing, not the other way around. At one point I was amazed to see that they actually started hoof bumping with one leg while hiding their faces with the other in the most non-effective defensive posture I had probably ever seen used.

Eventually, they fell upon the ground, twisting over one another in what I could only describe as one of the most disgustingly wrong, ghoul male on ghoul male action with clothes on, that I’d ever had the misfortune to stumble across. While I knew intellectually that they probably were trying really hard to hurt one another, the jiggling, rotted flesh, and decidedly unhealthy wheezes and groans really didn't help. Also, the condensation from one another’s frostbite inducing breath beading up on them decidedly gave it an air of an exotic rendition of post apocalypse smut.

The hooting and hollering females (and even some males) wolf whistling them on was just over the top.

“This is just sad.” Crosshair said in mild amusement, watching the flailing scientists struggle with one another.

“Does this happen often?” Mustang asked one of the three ghoul mares clustered around him.

“Oh you better believe it, handsome.” One of the ghoul mares leaned in closer to him. ”Doctor Sprocket and Tester One Eye have been fighting about this for close to two hundred years now.”

“Alright you two, break it up. Ah said break it up!” A ghoul wearing a flame retardant suit, pulled the two ponies apart. “Alright now how many times ah’ve we got to go over-” He stopped mid-sentence as One Eye attempted to make another lunge for Sprocket, causing the hoof holding him back to fold up the wrong way, making a rather revolting squelching sound, accompanied with a dull, meaty pop.

“Oh, um. Sorry Tumblewee-” One Eye tried to apologize, but was smacked on the back of the head by Tumbleweed’s still functional hoof.

“Dang it, do you two know how long it takes to fix my legs?! Now I’ve got to put it back into place and hope I find some hydra or skele-gro. That stuff ain't exactly plentiful you know.” Tumbleweed complained, his leg flapping uselessly. The silence that followed threatened to pass quickly, so I decided maybe now was the time to ask some important questions.

“Alright, alright... Enough of these shenanigans, who are you ponies?”

“I’m a grif-” A voice tried to interrupt me

“Who are you people?” I clarified. Sprocket straightened himself out and adjusted his stained coat before speaking.

“We are the original scientists and testers employed by Trotsworth Independent Technologies, in Stable Vee-I-I (that’s roaman for seven by the way).” Somehow I just knew there were parentheses around that last bit. I don’t know how, but I swear you could almost hear them. “It got designated that way to avoid mix ups with the original Stable-Tec stables. We’re the people responsible for most of those lovely bullets.” Sprocket explained.

“And some of the cooler balefire eggs!” A stallion called out.

“And those delightful missiles and rockets that go really fast, and blow up extra big!” One of the mares latched onto Mustang added.

“Yes, yes. We made many wonderful types of ammunition, in the name of SCIENCE!” Sprocket shouted the last word, raising a hoof dramatically.

“Right...So what exactly do you people want?”

“Well, we’d like our stable back.” Sprocket stated cheerily. Heads bobbed up and down in agreement around him.

“We can’t just give you the stable back. Do you ponies have any idea how many times we were nearly killed just claiming it? One of the Mister Handies dissolved my brand new Western Equestrian Armaments M1918 automatic rifle into a puddle of plasma!” The ghouls had the decency to look uncomfortable, shuffling their hooves and trying not to look at me.

“Aw, that sucks.” One of the crowd said sympathetically. “I really like those...”

“How about we compromise?” Tumbleweed suggested

“We’ll give you half...” Crosshair stated charitably. “Of nothing.” Or not.

“I do the negotiating around here Knight Crosshair.” I said sternly. “And first thing on the agenda is giving me back my power armor!” The ghouls had skillfully stripped down my power armor while I was busy talking with Tumbleweed without my noticing. Now a small gaggle of them were poking their muzzles inside the exposed innards and jabbing at random things with sharp instruments.

“We can’t do that yet.” A ghoul levitating a small blowtorch responded. With a small spark and a hiss, it lit up menacingly close to my side. Dropping a welding mask on, his voice came out a little muffled. “These servos and spell matrices are a mess. And what did you do to the talismans? They look like something stomped on them.”

“The damage was caused by one of the robots. Specifically a giant four legged monstrosity that was much too big for the stable.” I retorted.

The ghouls not clinging to Mustang or working on my armor grimaced. “Ah, yes, we remember THAT robot. No idea what Stable-Tec or Trotsworth were thinking, when they put that abomination inside the stable.” Sprocket said darkly.

“I believe it was supposed to be a deterrent to bullet theft. We only ever kept that thing in the bullet storage level.” The griffin ghoul added helpfully.

“Well, it certainly won’t be stomping on me, I- I mean anypony anymore. I took care of it.” The ghouls let out a collective sigh of relief. Some even smiled, their decaying faces giving me quite a bit more nightmare fuel than I really wanted.

“To be fair, Mustang did do most of the work.” Crosshair added, oh so helpfully.

“I do not like to brag, but it was truly a battle that should go down in history.” Mustang said in a humble voice. “The great metal beast fell upon us, crashing through the steel roof like wet tissue paper!” Mustang dramatized the motion, jumping surprisingly high and landing with a loud slam.

“My Elder bravely distracted the terrible machine whilst Knight Crosshair kept it’s ranged weapons busy.” Mustang accurately mimed Crosshair’s firing technique, though he wasn't able to maintain his balance for long. As he came down, he swept his minigun back up.

As he was telling the story, his voice had slowly gained volume. So much so that he nearly bellowed the last bit while affectionately holding the minigun in the air with his magic. “When Elder Inkwell had to resort to a most daring hoof to hoof combat with it, I saw my chance. While it was disoriented, I sprinted to the floor above and leapt onto the robotic menace’s chassis, where I unleashed the full wrath of Hailstorm!”

Posing heroically, he activated the barrel motor for a short moment with a mechanical whine. Vague, barely audible choir-esque notes heralded a gentle light that seemed to come from everywhere but nowhere at once. Small sparkles shimmered along his well groomed coat, and a nice sheen of light gently flashed along any polished metal he was wearing. Muscles rippled under his flesh, undulating in yet another flavor of extreme male that was the sentient being of Mustang.

The three mares that had been waiting to get back near him immediately dove forwards, striking various poses on and around him that could have come straight from a comic book. One even splayed out near his front legs, one forehoof wrapped around his, swooning heavily.

Next to me, Crosshair smacked his hoof to his face so fast I was surprised there wasn't a sonic boom. “Aaaaand now I’ll never be able to read Sword Mares the same way again...” He said, somehow voicing my exact same thoughts. “I've never seen anything this wrong before.”

“Can we borrow him for an hour?” One of the ghouls still clinging to Mustang asked. There was a brief bit of whispering between the mares before she amended. “Make that two...?”

“I stand corrected.” Crosshair said, his face somehow turning a bit paler.

“Well I don’t know if-” I started, but was interrupted.

“Excellent, come with me ladies.” Mustang said in what I can only describe as the most gentlestallionly tone I’d ever heard as he escorted the rotted mares away.

“But, but... Mustang! We’re supposed to head out to the mines!” Mustang was too engrossed with seducing and being seduced to listen to me as he trotted away.

“Pardon me, but did you just say you were going to the mines?” Tumbleweed asked, disbelief written on his face.

“Yes, we are. Is there a problem?”

Doctor Sprocket cleared his throat, a sound much like a bag of marbles jingling. With some meat thrown in the mix. “It’s not so much that it’s a bad idea, per se. More like a terribly stupid one. During the war, the local mining companies employed diamond dogs native to the far north. They lived and worked in those tunnels.” I didn't like where this was going.

“So you're saying that the diamond dogs...”

“After the end, they stayed in those tunnels. Now we've got Snowhounds. I suspect that’s where they make their dens.” Great, the only source of power armor parts and they were in the dens of Snowhounds.

“Actually, I doubt it’s snowhounds Elder.” Crosshair stated. “Snowhounds don’t take time to lay traps or put up warning signs. We’re probably dealing with an organised group that are particularly cautious and territorial.” I found myself suddenly hoping that it wasn't those cockoodling Enclave artarbiters. That was the last thing I needed, heavily armed and armored ponies with an entire nation most likely willing to send more reinforcements to one of their last mines.

After the short moment of internal worrying, I nodded to Crosshair. “Thank you, but I believe we’re all getting off topic.” I paused a moment to look around at the other ghouls and make sure none of them would interrupt me. “I think we need to work out some kind arrangement. How about we go to my office?” I tried to lead the way, but my power armor was proving to be remarkably heavy and cumbersome. In fact, I couldn't even move. It appeared one of the ghouls had induced a frozen state in the armature of my suit’s joints to prevent potential complications. Sighing heavily, I resigned myself to wait for the scientists to get done. “That is... We’ll go as soon as somepony gets me out of this power armor.” I said, doing my best to keep a positive smile on my face.

I sat in the faux-leather bound chair of the Overstallion.

Reaching out to rub the polished wooden surface, I wanted to think that it was my desk. In my Stable.

But I knew even though taking it had been relatively easy, maintaining a Stable, even one this small, would take a very large number of ponies. I’d need the small army of relatively sane Wintertrot ghouls to help maintain it. I’d need them to test bullets, fix weapons and armor, replace Stable systems when they became worn, and repair when they broke. I’d need them a unified, well oiled machine, and I didn't even need to take the last Mint-als I owned to connect the dots. Of course, I had still taken it anyways, mostly because for something this important I needed every edge I could get to keep all parties satisfied.

Taking a deep breath of the slowly recirculated air, I caught a whiff of dead, rotten flesh, with a hint of... mint, maybe? Opening my eyes, I surveyed those before me. Sprocket and Tumbleweed were standing on the other side of the desk in between us, with a select few others next to or behind them. It seemed evident in our previous conversations that they were the ghoul herd’s appointed leadership and top staff.

Before I could say anything, however, I was cut off by a smooth, lilting voice.

“I’m surprised this stable isn’t flooded with radiation.” Beaker the griffin, the one who’d interrupting me earlier, was examining the room with a geiger counter.

I hadn't known what to think of him when I got a good look at him. He looked like he was in too perfect a condition for a ghoul. All his feathers and fur remained; there were no flaps of hanging skin or missing bits. In fact, if he didn't occasionally let out a super chilled puff of air with every slow breath he took I probably wouldn't have known he was a ghoul at all. Completely ignoring my contemplative silence, he continued on rambling. “Just look at these soldering lines... Absolutely reprehensible. I mean, I had forgotten Trotsworth had cut so many corners, but now I’m surprised they even bothered with the radiation shielding.”

“You can examine the stable later.” I assured the griffin as he scribbled down some notes on a small pad strapped to his arm. “First thing I need to know is what you plan to do with this stable?”

Jumping forwards, Sprocket launched into a near explosion of animation for one so... damaged. “What do we plan to do? That’s easy young Elder. We plan to do SCIENCE!” He declared loudly, raising both of his forehooves and somehow remaining upright. The other ghouls in the room all raised their heads a bit straighter, some even adjusting 200 year old attire. For some reason their enthusiasm was extremely invigorating, and I had to suppress the urge to jump up right then and there and do something... anything that was, well, sciency.

“He means we all want to go back to making experimental bullets and stuff like that.” Tumbleweed explained explained a moment later. “It’s not exactly easy to make the more exotic munitions without the facilities of the stable. We were reduced to making... small calibre armor piercing rounds...” The three ghouls shuddered simultaneously.

“What’s wrong with armor piercing rounds?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “They’re incredibly useful against robots and most armoured targets.”

The ghouls gave me a disbelieving look. Sprocket grit his teeth in anger so hard a back molar popped out of one of his cheek holes. Levitating it back in with a squish, he locked his cold, hard dead eyes with mine. “Armor piercing rounds are simple! SIMPLE! They’re boring to work on, do you have any idea how dull it’s been for us?” Sprocket started pacing back and forth as he continued to rant. “I mean you can’t just sit idle for two centuries, you've got to keep yourself occupied. You have no idea how excited we were when we could finally make a nice explosive round. Many of us literally wept tears of joy. Some for days, even! Then, of course, we used it to kill a cluster of raiders trying to loot our home.” There was a brief pause as the group shared a nostalgic moment of silence, small hums of appreciation gurgling out a little frighteningly.

I coughed politely when the eventual silence began to stretch out a bit uncomfortably. “I can understand what you mean.” I said, trying to sound as sympathetic as I could. “I used to get terribly bored just tinkering and repairing equipment, back when I was just an initiate. I never got to try and improve the gatling lasers or build the experimental weapons from blueprints we recovered.”

“Ah good, you understand then! You have the heart of a tinkerer, I can tell! That shotgun didn't repair itself, did it! No cheating here!” He placed his front hooves on the end of the desk, “So can we have our stable back then?” He asked, whilst, I assumed, he attempted to give me puppy dog eyes. Due to his physical state, it wasn't a surprise that he failed miserably.

“Here’s my proposal.” I placed both my forehooves back on the desk, and clasped them together before me. “You get to live and work in the stable again, now for the Steel Rangers. We’ll bring you food, medicine, amenities. We’ll also provide weapons and technology to examine and fix from around Wintertrot as it becomes available.

“You’ll need to follow some small, minor protocols to help function as an effective unit. Firearms training will be mandatory for any that aren’t yet skilled in at least basic self defense, and especially those going on excursions.

“In the long run, though, all you’ll really need to do is keep the stable running and see about categorizing the bullets on the bottom floor. It’s kind of a confusing mess right now. A wonderful, heavy, pointy mess of destruction, but a mess nonetheless.”

“WHAT!” Beaker screeched loudly enough to make us all wince. “Do you have any idea how long it took us to sort all those bullets in the first place? Which one of you messed up the bullet vault?” The griffin was uncomfortably close to me, leaning over my desk.

“It was like that when we got here. It was probably the rogue robots that made it.” I explained to the ice cold griffin. Beaker huffed in annoyance, retracting his talons from the desk.

“I suppose maintenance will get stuck sorting out that mess?” Tumbleweed asked Sprocket.

“Well the researchers would love to help, but SCIENCE! waits for nopony.” Sprocket stated boldly, garnering disapproving looks from the other two lead ghouls.

“The maintenance team and testers are not wasting their time sifting through and sorting piles of bullets. The researchers designed the bullets, they know how to categorize them best.” Tumbleweed stated bluntly, but patiently.

“But the researchers need to do Science! You know what happens when we don’t do some kind of experiment. Remember when old Doc Agon spent too much time looking after animals instead of doing research?” The ghouls shuddered again, this time in revulsion

“What did Dr Agon do?” I asked, genuinely curious. Tumbleweed and Beaker both gave pained looks while the others behind them made various gestures of warning. A few facehoofed. Suddenly, Sprocket flailed forwards beginning to work himself up again.

“He did the worst thing a scientist can do! He went NATIVE!” Sprocket shouted angrily. “We worked together for years. Invented whole new SCIENCES! And one little apocalypse later he decides to abandon our research and go live with normal ponies.” Sprocket was pacing again, probably out of habit. “I mean what kind of help did he think his expertise could provide to the wasteland anyway? His specialty was combustion weapons and animal cybernetics! Sure, Ministry Mare Fluttershy wasn't too happy about him trying to put animal brains on guns, but he was practicing real SCIENCE! for a while there! Last we heard he found some small town and was teaching ponies veterinary practices! Here! In Wintertrot!”

For a moment I tried to think of how that might be applicable to the extremely hostile environment I had recently been calling home. At best, all I could think of was maybe some medical expertise that paralleled doctoring, but it seemed a bit unbelievable. Maybe he was making cybernetics...? Might actually be worth contacting him, now that I thought of it.

“Okay, so we don’t want the researchers getting...antsy? Can’t we compromise?” I asked, glancing at the three ghouls hopefully.

“It would be so much simpler if you both agreed to a rota.” Beaker commented diplomatically. “Some of the researchers and maintenance teams work together to sift through and sort the bullets.That way it still gets done, but everyone can get some fun in the workshops as well.”

“That seems fair.” Tumbleweed said, nodding to himself.

“So long as we don’t spend TOO long in there we should be fine. Might even be good for a few of the scientists to look at some of our more successful creations.” Sprocket stated, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

“Okay then, now that that’s settled. How about we go and announce the good news?” I asked the ghouls. I moved to stand up, accidentally hitting the keyboard on the terminal. The desk shuddered, launching me almost all the way to the ceiling, the large autoguns popping out from under the desk.

“COCKNOODLES!” I screamed in terror, about to witness the death of innocent ghouls who promised to be better than any team of scribes a Steel Ranger contingent could muster. When they weren't immediately blasted away, I poked my gaze over my quivering hooves to glance at the terminal in confusion.

*No threats detected. Please deactivate or reset OSDef protocols.*

“I’m surprised that still works.” Beaker stated, getting close and examining the raised platform beneath the desk. Before long, the rest of the group of ghouls were poking at things under rim.

“I thought these got discontinued or scrapped after that one Overmare accidentally killed a Stable-Tec maintenance team?” A ghoul asked aloud.

“Probably another bright idea from the executives at Trotsworth. They were going to put one of their nephews in charge of this stable if I remember correctly.”

“Which one?”

“Does it matter? They were all so dumb it would give us headaches trying to figure out their means of communication.” Dark chuckles washed through the group, doing nothing to help with my tension.

“Can everyone stand back, please. I want to get down. You can all poke about and look at it when I leave.” The ghouls politely, and in some cases reluctantly, stepped back as I shut down the OSDef. The desk shuddered ominously as it tried to lower. With a metal shriek, it collapsed on one side, throwing me loose. Fortunately I landed on something soft. That something being Tumbleweed.

The desk collapsed and half sank into the floor, before finally combusting as electrical circuits fried and sparked dangerously. I stared in horror as the fire suppression system kicked in, blasting the ruined desk with chemical foam. Why couldn't I ever have nice things?

“See, I told them putting dual guns would be structurally unsafe!” One Eye declared triumphantly, whilst several of the other ghouls groaned and facehooved.

“Don’t worry young Elder, we can rebuild it...WITH SCIENCE!” Sprocket declared, whilst striking a dramatic pose. “But first, we need to let the maintenance teams do some structural repairs. Everyone please evacuate, remember to take the stairs!” A hidden floor panel popped open after being struck, exposing a tunnel at the end of a set of stairs.

“Why wasn't this on the map!” I asked, as we all began marching in pairs down the dark stairway.

“It’s a secret tunnel. Only the Overstallion was supposed to know about it, but obviously the maintenance ponies would know too. They did build it after all.” Tumbleweed explained helpfully. We trotted through the tunnel which became illuminated by a series of dim orange lights, not all of which turned on. We eventually arrived at the stable door, the entrance to the hidden tunnel cleverly hidden under a floor panel. We emerged to find Crosshair sitting by the stable door, simply watching us in mild amusement.

“Which one of you broke the elevator?” He asked cheerfully.

“Are you sure this is the same power armor?” Crosshair asked, failing to mask his awe at my fully repaired set. The protective plating gleamed, polished and buffed excessively after it had been hammered back into the correct shape and size. The pistons were practically silent in the legs when I tried bucking the air experimentally. The actuators ran in near perfect harmony, making it so much easier to move around in.

“Where did you learn to do this?” Mustang asked one of the ghoul mares who were thankfully not clinging to him anymore. Or sticking their tongues down his throat. I tried not to remember that with a badly contained shudder.

“Two hundred years is a long time, we liked to trade skills and teach each other new things to pass the time.” She explained happily.

“Did anyone learn cybernetics?” I asked, whilst attaching my armored saddlebags.

“Doctor Agon was selfish and kept those skills to himself.” Sprocket practically growled. I decided it would probably be best to avoid mentioning Agon, unless I wanted to keep listening to Sprockets rather aggressive rants.

“Here’s the last of your stuff. We’ve repaired it and in some cases, improved it where we can.” Beaker explained, pushing our equipment into the stable door area on a heavy equipment trolley. He handed me my shotgun and missile launcher with ease, before assisting in reattaching the missile launcher to my battle-saddle.

“How did you get my rifle?” Crosshair asked, whilst he held the weapon experimentally.

“We picked the lock on your door, stepped over the tripwire you set up, and eased it out of your hooves with telekinesis. We barely caught that bucket of water you rigged to fall on yourself if anyone touched your gun.” One Eye explained, barely hiding his annoyance.

“You could have just asked for it.” Crosshair explained, smirking at the ghoul’s expression.

“We thought you’d insist on observing us. It’s hard for us to work calmly when people are looking over our shoulders.” The one eyed ghoul elaborated. I finished properly attaching all my equipment, I examined my two rangers and waited for Mustang to put on Hailstorm and his saddlebags.

“Alright everyone, we’re heading out. We’ll hopefully be back in a few days.” I stood stoically by the stable door, waiting patiently for Mustang and Crosshair to finish their preparations.

“Excuse me Elder, you forgot your helmet.” Sprocket said, holding up my gleaming helmet. I took it and held it to the side in my magic. Brushing my mane aside with a hoof, everyone suddenly gasped.

“What, what? Is there something on my head? Is my horn okay?!” I asked, starting to panic. “Get it off! Help!”

“Was your horn always that long?” Crosshair asked. “It’s just always been kind of hard to tell with your mane being in the way all the time.” My horn was fine, perfectly normal by unicorn standards. Everypony was just overreacting.

“My horn is perfectly shaped,” I retorted, taking a look up at it. “And not in anyway abnormally loooooOOOH CELESTIA!” When did this happen? My horn was definitely not this big a day or two ago! Maybe all the radiation... SLICER! That pony pretending to be a doctor did something to me, I just knew it! Looking around, I noticed a lot of enamored eyes checking me out. Taking a moment to think it over, the ramifications finally hit me. Suddenly I wasn't so sure how Slicer’s personal standings with me were. “It’s okay everypony, common occurrence in my family.” I lied casually, thinking quickly. I then waved a hoof in a placating manner and struck a pose. “Usually doesn't take this long to kick in is all. Just caught me by surprise.”

“I don’t think that’s how genetics work...” Mustang began uncertainly.

“Nonsense, I remember my cousin Gilded Ribbons going through a similar growth spurt. Her parents were surprised when she came back from college.” Sprocket stated cheerfully. “Biggest horn I ever saw on a mare. Oh the accidents that used to cause. I remember this one time when she got stuck on the door frame. It made her prime close quarters soldier material though.”

Saved by the ghoul and his bizarre family. I took the moment to let a wave of calm descend upon us to try on my helmet. It was a tight fit. Had my face gotten chubbier? And it nipped against my horn just a little, but eventually I got the helmet to sit comfortably.

“Test! Test!” I said, experimenting with the now more badass voice amplifier. I could feel the reverberation of the echo, even through my armor. Everyone in the room was cringing, holding hooves or assorted limbs over their ears. “Sorry!” I accidentally boomed again. Turning down the setting with my lip, I tried again. “Is this better?”

“Much better. Fortunately, not nearly as bad as the Royal Canterlot Voice of course.” Tumbleweed remarked, patting his fleshy ears.

“Before you deafen us further, don’t forget to take this.” Beaker said, passing me a thick sheaf of paper, barely held together by a tiny staple that was straining, its limits nearly reached. I scanned the contents of the first page, and just to confirm what my eyes were seeing, I read it again.

“What is this?” I asked, with a foreboding sense of dread.

“It’s a shopping list of course.” Beaker explained. After a moment of just staring at him, he continued on. “You know, a list of items you should pick up while you’re out of the Stable...?”

“Where am I supposed to find a dozen intact spark batteries? A tesla coil? The last group of Steel Rangers I was with only found one, and it was the first one we’d salvaged in over forty years!”

Beaker had the decency to at least look a little embarrassed.

“We’re scientists, we need certain scientific instruments and components to conduct new experiments!” Sprocket whined. “We can’t just make new things out of random scrap metal! There is a process to this. We’re finally going to be finishing off all of our old experiments, and we need to start new ones. Oh yes, that reminds me...” The ghoul fished inside a tiny saddlebag he was wearing and pulled out a cigar box, which he then hoofed over to me.

“Er, thanks? I don’t smoke though.” I said politely, trying to offer it back.

“It doesn't have cigars in it, it’s got some nasty ammunition for that shotgun of yours. I got the idea to give them to you, after looking at those unstable explosive rounds. Never would have considered using grenade machinegun ammunition to make shotgun shells. It’s so... so... AUDACIOUS! Just like real science!” Sprocket exposited excitedly, unable to stop gesticulating and pacing wildly.

“Okay, okay. I get the shells, but why a cigar box?”

“Oh, I need you to pick up some smokes while you’re out. I ran out about ten years ago and I’m getting desperate. It’s on the list.” I facehoofed, the hard rubber pad making a dull clunk against my helmet.

“Fear not noble scientists, we shall do our best to find the items on this list.” Mustang snatched the paper from me with his magic and began reading it. After a moment, he looked up from it. “Where would we even start looking for a working cloud generator?” Mustang asked, unable to hide his bewilderment.

“You can find one of those in the old Wintertrot Snowtrooper training grounds.” One of Mustang’s admirers added helpfully.

“No.” Crosshair stated firmly, whilst finishing adjusting his reconnaissance barding. “That’s right across Wintertrot, if we were to go there as well, we probably wouldn't be back for at least two weeks.”

“Sorry folks, we can’t go there right away.” I told the disappointed ghouls. “But we’ll definitely try and acquire some of the more... luxurious food items on the list.” That seemed to please the scientists. I noted that both my companions were ready to depart, Mustang tucking the ‘shopping’ list into his saddlebags.

“We’ll be back as soon as we can, please don’t blow up the stable.” We walked out the the stable, giving the small crowd a wave as we passed by. “And don’t leave the door unlocked and unguarded while we’re gone.” I added hastily. As we trotted out into the dimly lit tunnels, the stable entrance screeched shut.

“Celestia, damn it.” I said, suddenly stopping. Looking back at the stable door, I couldn't help but let out a sigh. “I forgot to ask for caps.”

“Cocknoodles, I knew it wouldn't be that easy.” I said.

We had found our path blocked by another wall of ice, only this block was so thick that the passage on the other side was completely obscured. We had decided to try and make the first part of the trip by travelling underground. Unfortunately, there were only three tunnels going in the direction we needed to go and we’d already tried those. The first had been blocked by a ceiling collapse and the other was full of far too many Wintertrot ghouls. Crosshair tried the service doors on the side of the tunnel experimentally, before looking back at us and shaking his head.

“It’s no use Elder, the lock is frozen shut.” The lock tinkled softly as he tapped it for emphasis. “We’re going to have to travel on the streets again.”

I wasn't fond of the idea, but it was our only choice. With a resigned sigh, I nodded and began backtracking to the last ponyhole cover we had passed. It didn't take long to find it, we just had to hope it wasn't buried too deeply under the snow above. I climbed the ladder, intending to be the first one out, especially since I had a helmet and so getting hit was less of a worry for me. The ponyhole cover groaned and held firm for a short moment, before it slackened and slid upwards, showering me in a torrent of snow and ice.

I pushed the ponyhole cover aside, and poked my head out into the street. The snow was falling lightly in thick clumps, meaning I had an excellent view. My helmet’s E.F.S was full functional and wasn't detecting anything hostile in our immediate vicinity.

“It’s clear, come on up.” I said, climbing the rest of the way up and trying to figure out where we were. Crosshair emerged from the tunnels whilst I spotted a rusted street sign and brushed the snow off. “It say’s we’re at-”

“Crystal Street,” Crosshair said without looking and finishing my sentence, to my ire. “We’re on the right path Elder. we’ll need to be quiet though. Crystal Street leads to Crystal Road and from there to the Rockbiter District where the mines are located.”

“You know all that just from looking around?” Mustang asked as he squeezed his muscular form out of the ponyhole.

“No, I lived here. I know these streets like the back of my own hooves.” Crosshair elaborated. “I’ll lead if that’s fine with you Elder?”

“Quick, how many stripes are their on your first leg joint?” I asked.

“What?” Crosshair asked.

“Just seeing how well you actually know the back of your hoof. Not a very promising start” I said teasingly. Crosshair scowled slightly whilst Mustang and I shared a short snicker at him.

“Okay, okay, all joking aside. Please lead the way Knight Crosshair.” I ordered, whilst trotting up to Mustang and walking alongside him. The snow continued to fall, growing heavier at a slow yet steady rate. Twice we stopped when he heard a great roar in the distance, but both times I wasn't able to spot any targets. We did see a mini-avalanche of snow come cascading down an apartment block, however.

The quiet and lack of targets on my EFS was making me jumpy, not helped by the distant rumblings of what I hoped was falling snow. The crunch of the snow below our hooves and the otherwise pervading silence was finally broken when Crosshair forced us to stop.

“What is it Crosshair? Do you see someone?” Mustang asked, I looked around carefully but my EFS wasn't detecting any kind of threat.

“Right there, look!” Crosshair was pointing at a patch of snow ahead of us, where the butt of a rifle was sticking out. I tried to approach it, but Crosshair held out a hoof, shaking his head. “It’s a trap Elder. You can tell by how the snow is displaced.” I stared at the snow coated ground, but I honestly couldn't see anything wrong with it. I cocked my head at my striped companion who promptly facehoofed.

“I’m not seeing the problem Crosshair, can you lead us around it?” I asked.

“We can’t use another route, whoever laid this trap must have anticipated that. No we’re going to go through it.” Crosshair paused for a moment before quickly mumbling under his breath. Turning my helmet more directly towards him, I was able to pick out the Zebracin word for minefield.

“What! A minefield? Why didn't you just say so?” I asked.

Suddenly stopping his quite rant, he looked up at me. “You speak Zebrican Elder? You, um... didn't happen to hear anything else I said in Zebrican? Did you?” Crosshair inquired, though I could tell by his eyes, that he was genuinely nervous.

“Not all of it. But I know enough Zebrican to get a gist of what you were saying.” I said, not easing his fear a single bit. “So how about you lead us through the minefield?”

“But, but you have the Power Armor? You should lead.” Crosshair argued, gesturing at me.

“I can’t see or detect the mines, you’re the only one who can… right?” I turned to Mustang who had been staying quiet.

“I am afraid not Elder, alas if only I had the eyes and skills of our First Knight. I would boldly lead us across this hazardous ground.” So that was a no then. Cocknoodles.

“Fine, I’ll lead the way Elder. But DO NOT! I Repeat, DO NOT! stray from the path I walk. We don’t have enough healing potions to reattach a dismembered leg.” Crosshair said ominously, before walking to the edge of the hidden minefield. He walked left and right for a minute or two, likely trying to figure out the best path. I spent this free moment going over some more of the ridiculous shopping list items.

* Two quarts of I.M.P
* The barrel of a bazooka
* Pinkie Pie’s pound cake mix

Before I could fully contemplate the ridiculousness of looking for cake mix, Crosshair was calling out to us.

“Come on Elder, follow the guideline I've made, before the snow swallows it up!” Crosshair called out cheerily, already ten feet deep into the minefield already.

“Over here Elder!” Mustang waved to me, I galloped over and saw Crosshair had made a path of carefully laid out hoofprints, that gave us a slowly evaporating path to follow. I glanced at Mustang and noted his horrible lack of proper leg protection, he’d definitely lose a limb if he wasn't careful. He couldn't just run away from a mine if it was activated.

“I’ll take the lead Mustang. Just stick close to me… but not too close.”

Mustang nodded, moving aside as I took the first tentative step into the minefield. I sighed in relief when I didn't immediately explode and took another cautious step and another. We followed the winding path carefully, treading in Crosshair’s hoofprints.

“Please hurry Elder! You can’t keep tiphoofing along. The snowfall is becoming a blizzard, the path will be gone soon.” The snow was indeed getting heavier, the winding trail Crosshair had laid out was slowly vanishing. I picked up the pace, attempting to walk more quickly while trying to stick to the path. We finally emerged on the other side of the path, Crosshair sighing in relief as we exited the minefield.

“And you were worried we wouldn't make it.” I said, walking towards Crosshair.

*BEEP!*

“Cocknoodles.” I cursed, glancing down at the solitary mine. Crosshair facehoofed hard, groaning. The mine exploded, sending me staggering backwards and landing rump first on another mine, which promptly exploded. This one sent me cartwheeling towards Crosshair. Luckily, the zebra was quick on his hooves, sidestepping so fast there seemed to be two of him, as I dug a deep furrow in the snow.

“It seems everything blows up around me since meeting you, Elder.” Crosshair noted distantly as I groggily pulled my head out of the snow. “That noise will likely attract trouble, I suggest moving, now.” Crosshair urged, in that same tiny voice, helping me to my hooves.

“Too late.” Mustang proclaimed, the wind blowing through his beard as he aimed a hoof behind me. I gazed at him in confusion, trying to decide if he was being dramatic or urgent as I slowly swung my head around, I couldn't help but pause as Mustang seemed to shimmer, his features looking oddly feminine for a moment before it flickered back. Deciding it was probably some sort of snow mirage, I turned my head laboriously and saw Mustang was pointing at three, no, six... nine Super Stallions.

I noticed why the mutant ponies hadn't immediately charged. Three of them, wearing shiny masks, were barking orders at the others, forcing them to go around the minefield.

“They’re sending for backup.” Crosshair said, watching the mutant ponies through his rifle’s scope. “I Can’t get a clear shot in all this snow, we should retreat Elder.” Crosshair added, holstering his rifle.

“Alright Rangers, move out, keep sprinting and we should be able to outrun them before they get around the mines.” I tried to say. Instead I only managed to slur out some muffled mumbles. My head was spinning, and my hooves felt like lead weights as I tried to straighten out and focus on Crosshair or Mustang. I turned my attention to what I presumed was Crosshair who now looked like a striped blur next to the big green-blue I presumed was Mustang.

“Elder!” Crosshair squeaked at me, causing me to giggle at the ridiculousness.

Pinging sounds rang in my ears, like the patter of heavy rain, drowning out Crosshair’s frantic squeaking. “Guys! Hey guys, what’s that noise?” I slurred as loud as I could, half-shouting over the pinging sounds in my ears. I suddenly fell over as a loud roar seemed to emanate from everywhere at once. When it passed, I tried to stagger back to my hooves.

“He’s dazed, grab him.” Crosshair squealed. Then there were suddenly three Mustangs running at me and hurling me onto one of their backs with their heads.

“Hold on Elder!” Mustang boomed, directly into my ears.

“No need to yell!” I yelled, covering my ears, making my helmet clang as my metal hooves slammed into it. “Rude!”

Mustang snorted, running headlong down the street, as bright yellow lights whizzed past. The lights starting to move slower and slower, colliding like tiny stars against the surrounding area. I watched Crosshair shoot some flaming stars, one flying close to me, so I could actually see it wasn't a star, but a heat streaked bullet. A .308 T.I.T model, the tiny logo staring out at me boldly as it collided with a Western Equestrian Armaments 5mm minigun slug. The Two bullets slammed against one another in mid air, glowing red hot as they impacted, fusing together like a set of lovers, joined together for the rest of eternity. As they flash welded to each other, their intricate forces and emotions of physics blazed as hotly as a new sun forming before my eyes. A splash of sparks, too bright, etched new and wonderful designs upon each other, marking the other as it’s special somebullets. I felt only envy as their mutual destruction flicked the excess shards of themselves outwards, perfectly imperfect tiny baby bullets to patter in the snow and ice and concrete surrounding us.

Of course, right about then everything was ruined as I had a startling clear moment of clarity and I finally realised how cripplingly injured my head must actually be. A muffled screech like the cry of a balefire phoenix filled my ears as a missile soared above us, slamming into a building, causing spidering cracks to form and a cascading avalanche of ice and snow. Mustang spotted it and pulled Crosshair back as the path we were about to take was blocked off. The roar of falling snow and ice filled my ears, drowning out all the others as Mustang turned us in another direction.

“Need potion.” I mumbled, shaking my head to try and clear away the dizziness. Everything starting to speed up frighteningly around me, a dull ringing filling my ears as Mustang barreled through some old rubbish, which Crosshair set alight with his rifle. This didn’t deter our pursuers as it actually seemed to encourage them, a metal covered super stallion rushing through the debris, flaming debris clinging to his skin and armor as he chased us, laughing maniacally.

“I got this one guys.” I said, dipping into my saddlebag and pulling out two explosive shells, my head oddly clear as I loaded my shotgun. I looked up seeing the mutie was even closer, I smiled as I aimed perfectly, firing with a pleasing Crack-thoom! I watched in utter ecstasy as an alleyway door we had just passed burst open, revealing a howling Snowhound. Time slowed down enough for me to perceive the perfect moment of confused rage of the beast, it only having the barest slice of a second to realise it was screwed, before the miniature rocket grenade penetrated it’s forehead and its head exploded in a glorious plume of orange and red flames.

“I got one guys!” I declared proudly. As the door flew at us and into the chest of our closest attacker. “Make that two!” I laughed giddily, nearly falling off as the door slammed at Mustang's rear legs, barely avoiding a nasty friendship killing, via severed leg.

“It’s a dead end!” Crosshair wailed, valiantly trying to kick in a ice coated door. Mustang turned around, giving me an excellent view of the soon to be battlefield. Six Super Stallions were advancing, flames flickering behind them from the now burning building where the Snowhound emerged.

“They may have twice our number!” I yelled valiantly. “But we have twice their courage! And somewhere around at least 250% more brainpower as well!” I lifted myself bodily up Mustang’s solid back, placing my left forehoof upon the top of his head, and raised my drill at the advancing enemy. “Now take me closer, Mustang~!” I yelled. “I want to hit them with my drill!” Mustang glanced over at Crosshair seemingly unsure. “DID I STUTTER!” I yelled, banging my rubber soled hoof on his head as he stood there, unmoving.

Mustang grinned up at me, baring his teeth as he charged forward. I fell down from the precarious position I had been in, and suddenly Hailstorm roared to life beside me. The mutants grew closer, their green and horribly stretched faces set in eager grins or bellowing as loudly as possible. We rode close, my slick grip on Mustang’s wet neck causing me to gradually slip. I tried to cling on desperately, ultimately failing as I fell from his back, Magi-drill screaming on full throttle.

I landed hard, rolling due to my momentum and colliding with a Super Stallion, bowling it off its legs. I slid to a halt on my back, looking up into the armored face of a Super Stallion who I could tell was grinning as he raised a thick hoof. I raised my hooves to protect my face, the mutant pony screaming as his own hoof was shredded by the still whining hoof-mounted drill. Pieces of shrapnel, bone and flesh coated my face, tinting my vision red as the mutant pony collapsed on top of me.

“Tinpony take leg! Tinpony Die!” The Mutant screamed, trying to bite my helmet off. I tried to push off the heavy pony, the servos in my legs whining, but the mutie proved too strong. In a panic, I reached out with my telekinesis and quickly rammed my shotgun into the frenzied mutant’s nostril and pulled the trigger. The head vanished it a flash of white as the explosion blinded me and temporarily frazzled my helmet’s visual sensor suite.

My audio receptors continued to function perfectly fine however, allowing me to listen in to the fighting around me as I tried pushing the corpse off of myself.

“BURNING!” I could hear one mutant cry as he thudded in the snow close by, no doubt trying to roll in it and douse the flames. Mustang’s minigun never stopped firing, adding a loud whining roar to the battle going on around me as I finally pushed the beheaded super stallion off of me. I clanged my helmet, the tried and tested method of field repairers everywhere coming through for me as my vision finally returned.

“Did you guys see that?!” I asked, looking around and finding nobody around me but two mutant corpses. “OH COME ON!” I shouted as Mustang and Crosshair returned. “Did you guys see any of that?” I asked.

“Elder, your voice is coming out muffled.” Crosshair said, no longer sounding squeaky. I would miss that squeaky voice.

Slamming my hoof to my helmet one more time, I shook off the blurry feeling in my head. “I worried what would break first.” I explained, my voice taking on a deeper tone. “My Helmet or my head...” Pausing for a second, I tried to process how I sounded from the echo. I noticed my breathing was now very audible as well.

Both Mustang and Crosshair stared at me, eyes as wide as dinner plates and their coats standing on end.

“That was.... really creepy sounding, wasn't it...” I said. They nodded and I struggled with the clasps on the helmet.

Crosshair was suddenly next to me, looking like he wanted to help. “If I take your helmet off, will you die?”

“It would be extremely painful...”

“You’re a big Elder.” He quipped.

“For you...” I returned, getting a raised eyebrow. “The suit has… preventative measures, the ghouls added in for me. Specifically a very, very nasty shock.” I elaborated.

“Well it’s not too intimidating... you just sound a bit like a movie villain I once saw.” Mustang explained, chuckling a bit. “That was quite a battle there Elder, how did you see that snowhound before it opened the door?

“Aaaah, the Snowhounds think darkness is their ally... they merely adopted the dark... I was born in it. Molded by it. I didn't see the light until I was nearly a stallion, and let me tell you, it was briiiight as cocknoodles...~!”

“I think he hit his head harder than we thought.” Crosshair said, shaking his head at me. “Shame you can’t get the helmet off, I would've let you use some Med-X to dull the pain.”

Immediately I redoubled my efforts, hooves scrambling ineffectively against the locking mechanisms, earning a small chuckle from Crosshair.

“In any case, perhaps we should move on?” Mustang suggested. “As soon as we loot the bodies.” The three of us split off, examining the equipment on the corpses. The weapons were in surprisingly good condition, definitely worn down a bit by the weather though. I picked up a super-sledge, swinging it like a colt with a baseball bat.

“Why is there a gnome in here?” Crosshair said aloud as he rooted through a pack, a pile of knick knacks and random loot piling up behind him. “I mean, I can understand these ammo boxes, but brushable unicorns and an alicorn figurine?” My ears peeked at the mention of an alicorn, I looked over at Crosshair’s hooves, seeing the black figurine. The super-sledge dropped into the snow as I trotted over, breathing more slowly and exaggerated as a strange sense of excitement creeped up on me.

Crosshair gave me a wary look, stepping back a bit. “Elder, what are you doing...?” He asked, fumbling in the mutie’s saddlebag as he tried to pull out his hoof.

“Can I see that... please?” I said, grabbing it with my magic without invitation. The figure floated in front of me, a lithe, black, female alicorn. She was in a lunging stance, wings splayed wide, eyes slanted and aggressive. The base read ‘Be Scary’. It was intimidating. Feral.

Also, very hot.

I would have bucked this alicorn until the end of days. I felt a tear slip out. “And maybe I was the one to adopt the Darkness all along...” I took a ragged breath, the noise echoing around us.

“Are you okay, Elder...?” Mustang asked from over my shoulder.

“Perfectly fine... just fine indeed…” I suddenly started laughing, raising the doll above my head. Crosshair and Mustang started to back away as my laughter became a manic cackle. Then I fainted.

Footnote

Inkwell: Level 4

Level progression: 50%

Nightmare Moon Statuette Acquired.

Item Perk Added: Intimidating Presence - In some conversations, you gain the ability to initiate combat while terrifying a mob of opponents, sending them fleeing away for safety or attacking you in fear of their lives.

Crosshair: Level 4

Perk Added: Diversionary Tactics - You've learned a number of tricks and tactics that can slow down your enemies and keep them occupied. Setting fires, collapsing buildings, just remember, each type only works for certain enemies.

Mustang: Level 4

Perk Added: Strong Back - Your strong back allows you to carry an extra 50 lbs of weight and not even notice. Of course, you will, but that isn't the point. Free weight, amirite?

Author's Notes:

Author’s Note
We did it, we got this chapter finished for Halloween and I kept my word about releasing before the end of the month. Mwahahahahaha! Hope you all enjoyed this chapter, will be working on Chapter 8 soon as I can. Not a 100% Spellchecked, so if you notice any spelling errors, let me know.

Gryphster Editor’s Note: Putting this shit out just in time for only the best fucking holiday of the year. @ v@