If we had just kept moving, I would have never gotten us into this mess. How much further could it have been to the next town? We would have made it with no trouble. All we had to do was keep walking, and everything would have been fine.

All I can do now is ask myself, how did it even happen?

That day started out like any other day. Things needed fixing, and I was the pony to fix them. Word of mouth pointed me to the bar in the middle of town, and after a little chat with the owner—I forget his name—, I got to work.

While I was finishing up, I remember saying something like, “Who’d you have workin’ on this before me?”

Then he said, “Couple folks, to tell the truth. None of ‘em could figure it out, and the ones that did only got it to work for a few days before it would break down again.”

“Well it looks to me like somepony tried to half-ass a patch-up, and then somepony else tried to half-ass another patch-up on top of that.” I thumped the thing a few times with my hoof. “And anyone else that took a crack at this just banged on it with a wrench.”

The owner laughed. “Yeah, I figured as much. Anyway, the caps are yours, and I’ll give you a drink on the house if you like.”

That sounded good to me. I picked up my tools and followed him out to the bar. He turned his radio down, then swept his hoof toward the grubby-looking bottles on the back shelf, and I pointed to the gin.

“You plan on settling here? Goddess knows this town could use a pony that knows how to keep things up and running.”

I shook my head as the owner poured me a shot, then I took it between my hooves and knocked it back. It was good stuff, and I appreciated that.

“The wife wants to keep moving. I guess she thinks she’ll have better luck selling things if she’s got more competition.” I slid the glass back to him. “Besides, if I set up shop here, I’m gonna run out of things to fix pretty fast.”

He smiled and shrugged, then he said, “Usually it’s unicorns that know their way around maintenance, but I guess they don’t wander through here if they can avoid it.” I think he chuckled a little after that.

“Can’t say I blame ‘em,” I told him. I didn’t have a horn. That meant I wasn’t anything too special around types like him. But I was sitting in his bar, so just to be safe, I added, “Caps are caps, though. You do what you gotta do.”

He nodded a little, scooping up a rag and wiping down the counter. “Where are you headed, then?”

The gin’s aftertaste was fading fast. “Out to the coast. Manehattan.” I ran my tongue over my teeth. “Maybe Fillydelphia.”

That got his attention. “Me and my boys are from Fillydelphia.” He stopped polishing and looked me in the eyes. “If you end up in Filly, you oughta see about working for Red Eye proper.”

“Mind if I give you as a reference?” I asked, smirking.

“Oh yeah, sure, just put me on your resume.” After we got the laughs out of our system, he smiled and waved a hoof toward the door. “No joke, though. You put in the hard work; Red Eye will pay you fair.” He pointed that same hoof toward my chest. “Especially a pony that can fix things.”

I was about to say something when I heard shouting outside. There were already several ponies barging in by the time I had turned to look. At first glance, you might mistake them for raiders with the way they were dressed, but a slaver is just a tamed raider, really.

“We caught one of ‘em!” They shouted over one another. “He ain’t told us where the rest are yet!”

There was a colt with them that stuck right out, mostly because he had been battered until he couldn’t open his eyes. He was screaming too, but his were pleas for help. I realized a moment later that they were dragging him, and that was because his hind legs had been broken.

I got to my hooves, but the owner put his rag down. I remember him giving me this casual little nod as he turned the radio up again, flooding the room with music. “Sorry for the racket. I’ve gotta deal with this.” He trotted around the bar to join them, calling back with, “Thanks again for the help.”

At first, all I could think was, he can’t be more than a year older than my son.

As they held the colt down, I took the bag of caps off the counter, where he had left them for me. Then I looked down at my tools.

The memories started flooding my mind, drowning out everything else. There were five of them, plus the bartender; they all had their backs turned, focusing on the screaming, squirming colt. I asked myself, how fast could I club one of them to death? How quickly would they draw their weapons? How long would it take help to arrive?

Maybe if I were younger, I told myself, turning toward the door. Maybe if I didn’t have a wife and foal to take care of.

I could still hear the screams over the music when I closed the door behind me, but the farther I walked, the easier they were to ignore.

My son—Slate—was playing with other colts and fillies a few buildings down, all of them squawking and laughing. He grinned and waved when he noticed me, but he kept on playing. Looking at Slate made me think back to what I had just walked away from at the bar, but I knew it would pass soon enough.

My wife—Lien—had put together a little stand out in front of the inn. She didn’t look too thrilled that nopony seemed interested, but seeing me raised her spirits. We shared a kiss behind the makeshift counter. That made me feel at least a little better, but she could probably tell that my smile wasn’t honest.

Lien also probably noticed the way my eyes were lingering on our son.

“Something happen?” she asked, cocking an ear like she always does.

“Nah.” I shook my head. “Just an old generator. Guy paid me pretty decent, too.”

“Well that’s good. At least one of us made some caps today.”

It got a little easier to smile. “Business was slow again, huh?”

“Slow? Try dead.” She sighed and gave her stand a little kick with a hind leg. “Haven’t sold a damn thing since we arrived.”

“I get the feeling you don’t like it here.”

“Not particularly,” she droned, furrowing her brow.

“Me neither.” I looked to the horizon, then back to my wife. “Wanna get a move on, then? Next town isn’t too far over. We’ve got a few hours of daylight left, probably make it by sundown.”

Lien scrunched her lips to one side, but before she could say anything, something else got her attention. When I realized she was looking past me, I turned around to see what it was.

The owner of the bar, and the ponies that had barged into the bar, were making their way down the street. I felt a knot in my stomach when I noticed that the beaten colt wasn’t with them. He grinned and waved to me, and I did the same, but hoped he wouldn’t stop and start chattering. My hopes were dashed pretty much instantly.

“Sorry you had to see that back there. We’ve been having some trouble with a group of ponies that think they have the right to attack our shipments and free our slaves, and, well, that boy you saw was one of ‘em.” Then the owner chuckled. “Told us where to find the rest, too. My boys are on their way to go deal with ‘em.”

I looked over at Lien in time to catch her frowning. “Ain’t none of my business,” I told him. She glanced up at me and I gave her a little nudge. “You do what you gotta do. Me and mine are thinking of heading out, though, especially if things might get hectic soon.”

The owner nodded, then perked his ears. “Shoot, if you’re gonna hit the trail, it’s only right that my boys see you off. You’ll both be headed in the same direction.” The grizzled stallions around him gave him an almost confused look.

It was Lien’s turn to nudge me. I turned to note the disapproval on her face, then turned back to the owner and shook my head. “That won’t be necessary. We’ve got a foal, and we’ll just slow them down.”

“Don’t you worry about that, now. Ain’t no rush to get out there.” He looked to the horizon, then back to me. “My boys will keep you and your family safe ‘till it’s time to part ways. You have my word.”

“Well, that’s mighty kind of you,” I told him, doing my best to look pleased. Slate galloped to my side, peering up at me with a curious look on his face. “If your boys don’t mind waiting a bit so that we can pack up, I’d like to take you up on that offer.”

He nodded, and the group of them continued on their way down the street.

As I knelt behind the stand, I heard him say, “That is a good pony there, boys. He did a fine job fixing up our generator, and he’s been helping folks around town, too. It’s only right to keep him safe and make sure other folks can benefit from his talents.”

Just before he slipped out of earshot, I heard him add, “Might even end up back home in Filly! Goddess knows Red Eye could use the help.”

Lien fixed a sharp, stern gaze on me. “I don’t like it.”

My eyes avoided hers the best they could. “I—”

“What if this is a trap?” She quietly but firmly struck the ground with her hoof. “What if they turn on us while we’re out in the middle of nowhere?”

I shrugged. “He seems decent enough.”

She bared her teeth and pressed her nose to mine. “He’s a slave trader for Red Eye.”

“But he gave us his word,” I calmly told her, leaning back, “and on top of that, he thinks we’re headed to Filly.”

“And what is that about, while we’re at it? I thought we were heading to Manehattan.”

“What’s Filly?” Slate asked, poking his nose between us.

“Fillydelphia is a terrible, awful place, Slate.” She looked me dead in the eyes, frowning. “We are definitely not going there.”

I gave up on holding eye contact and focused on packing her merchandise. She begrudgingly followed my example a moment later.

“I just told him what I thought he wanted to hear. And hey, it looks like that got us an escort.”

“You didn’t answer my question, though,” Lien said, still frowning. “What if they—”

I interrupted her very simply, but very quietly. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that… and if it does, I’ll be ready.”

“What happened at the bar?” she asked as she looked up the street, her gaze becoming distant.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Without saying anything further, I stood and looked down at Slate. I remember that I wasn’t haunted by the colt from the bar anymore when he smiled up at me.

“Let’s go pack up your things, kiddo.”

There wasn’t much to pack, honestly, but Slate raced on ahead of me, letting the door to the inn bang shut behind him. He was already slipping his toys into his saddlebag when I pushed my way into our room.

“So what happens in Fillydelphia that makes it awful?” he asked, with innocence that only a child is capable of.

“That’s where Red Eye is set up, and your mama doesn’t like that he uses slaves to get things done.”

He looked up at me and tilted his head. “Do you?”

I think I sighed right about then, and then I sat down on the bed. “No. But it’s not really my place to say what’s right or not. He’s… he might just make a difference in the wasteland, in time. I just hope it’s for the best.”

Slate had already finished packing. He climbed onto the bed and sat next to me. “And what if it’s not?”

“Well, then I guess somepony is gonna have to do something about it.” I lifted a hoof to the back of his neck. Stroking his mane made me feel more comfortable talking about it. “I just hope that, whoever takes over after that don’t end up even worse than the pony they’re replacing.”

Lien trotted in right after that. She still looked a little bent out of shape about our travel plans, but I guess she had accepted it by that point. A few more minutes of packing, and we were on our way out the door, and making our way toward the edge of town. The bar owner and his sons were waiting for us by the front gate.

Before saying anything, he smiled and gave me a deep nod. “Thank you again for your help around here. Now, my boys are gonna have to break off a little more than halfway to the next town to deal with our little problem, but this is all Red Eye controlled territory. I don’t think you’ll run into trouble.”

I nodded, and we stepped toward the gate. It slowly rattled open, and my family and his family stepped out into the wasteland.

“And don’t forget,” the owner called to me over the gate, “you’re always welcome if you’re ever in the area!”

The journey was a mostly quiet one. I could hear the owner’s sons up ahead of us, going over their strategy for the assault to come. Slate and Lien stayed close, but only Lien seemed uncomfortable.

Eventually, Slate asked, “So how come these ponies have been messing with your town?”

“Slate,” Lien scolded, looking more afraid than anything. “That’s not a proper thing to ask.”

One of the owner’s sons just chuckled. “It’s alright, ma’am.” He looked back at us and shrugged. “We reckon they feel like they have a right to attack us. Ain’t too fond of the fact that we’re a slave tradin’ town.” He snorted softly. “But just ‘cause they feel like they’re doin’ the right thing, that don’t make ‘em right. They been hurtin’ folks around town that don’t got nothin’ to do with any of it. They killed one of our brothers just last week.”

Another quipped, “Guess now we’re even, huh?”

The first brother spat, then continued. “Anyway, we been through the motions. Reasonin’, bargainin’, all that. Ain’t nothin’ left to do now but do things their way and put an end to it.”

It got quiet again after that. I kept my eye on the stallions in front of us, but every now and then, I let my eyes wander. The terrain was pretty rocky, almost mountainous, and while the path generally stayed on the high ground, there were plenty of canyons. It was getting dark when they started to slow down.

One of them looked back at me and nodded. “You folks go on ahead. I know pa already thanked you to Canterlot and back, but, well, thanks.”

There was a faint glow just over the next hill. They started creeping toward it, drawing their weapons as they went. Lien shook her head, and gently pushed Slate onward. I followed.

We had only made it a few paces before the shooting started.

Slate froze in his tracks, and Lien looked back, eyes wide. Mares and stallions shouted frantically, and were just as quickly cut short. I was standing behind them, and I remember having to force myself to keep my eyes forward.

I waited for their shock to wear off before taking another step. There were a few more pops of gunfire, but the screaming and crying kept right on going.

There was a filly somewhere in that mess.

Slate looked back again, then looked to me. I shook my head and kept walking.

“You said you don’t like it, either, papa.”

I stopped. “I said it wasn’t any of my business.”

“But what if Red Eyes wrong? If you think what he’s doing is bad, then how can you think it’ll turn out good?”

I turned around. “It’s more complicated than that, Slate.”

“No it’s not!” He stomped and furrowed his brow. “If you don’t like it, then you should do something to stop it before it gets worse!”

And that’s when I made the mistake. I started giving it thought. We were out in the middle of the wasteland. No one had followed us.

It was just us, and them.

“Measure.” Lien looked at me, then at the glow behind the hill. She frowned and shook her head. “Don’t.”

But she knew I had already made up my mind. “Stay here,” I told her.

And then I stepped off the beaten path, and made my way toward that hill. I had a revolver strapped to my chest, but I considered that a last resort. All the tools I’d need were right in my saddle bags.

I peered over the ridge, and saw what was left of the camp. They had clearly been there a while. Lean-tos made out of salvaged metal, with an actual hut or two, fire pits crackling. Its surviving inhabitants had all been dragged around to the far side of the camp. A few were clearly unharmed, but others had been crippled by their injuries, squirming and bleeding on the ground.

Their numbers were a little startling. I had only expected five or six, and there were closer to fifteen or twenty.

It was then I realized that the owner’s sons hadn’t gone there to wipe them out. A few of these ponies had died in the crossfire, maybe, but for the most part they would be fine with a little patching up. These ponies had a wagon on site, and now, the survivors were being forced onto it, one by one. There were a few younger ponies actually standing in the wagon, held there at gunpoint. They were the ones doing most of the wailing.

Five ponies with guns, three of which were distracted with loading the wounded into a wagon and keeping them there, and the other two standing guard.

Slinking up to the camp was no trouble. The fire cast plenty of shadows, and once I had found a hiding spot, it was just a matter of waiting for one of the brothers to come into range. As I waited, I remember feeling how heavy my wrench was. It hadn’t seemed that heavy back at the bar.

One of the brothers stepped past me and paused. I reared up, wrench between my hooves, and he looked me right in the eyes. I feel like, for a split second, he recognized me.

Experience told me that the sound wouldn’t carry. I brought the wrench down, right between his ears. He crumpled into a heap, and I dragged him into the shadows with me. He was twitching, trying to reach out. I clubbed him with the wrench until he wasn’t recognizable anymore, until he stopped moving, and then I moved on.

The next brother called out to the other side of the camp. I dropped to the ground, my neighbor a corpse, and waited. He passed, but not closely enough for me to take him down. I got up very slowly and followed.

They were beginning to realize that something wasn’t right, but I had expected that.

When the pony I was tailing was well enough away from the rest, I made my move. I cracked him across the back of his skull, but he stayed standing, staggering a few more steps. I hit him again, and he tumbled forward, whimpering something. I could feel his blood cling to my face as I finished him off, and it made my stomach turn.

There were only three brothers left, and they were starting to panic.

Sneaking around could only do so much good for me while they were grouped close together; I needed to scatter them. The brother I had just killed had been carrying a sub-machine gun. I got as low to the ground as I could, pointed it skyward, and gave the trigger a squeeze. Frenzied hoof-beats and shouting told me that I had gotten the desired effect. They tried calling out to him again, and when they didn’t hear a response, they started spraying at shadows.

While they were still gripped with paranoia and wasting ammunition, I made my way around the edge of the camp, staying low and behind cover.

They had switched over from cries of concern to guttural threats, and probably figured that one of the survivors had been hiding, waiting for a chance to fight back. I found a new spot and watched. Of the three that were left, two were slowly advancing, weapons reloaded and ready. The third—which I could now see had taken a bullet to the flank—stayed by the wagon, keeping a gun on their captives. He was my next target.

None of the ponies in the wagon raised any kind of alarm as I crept up on him. They knew to keep quiet, but that didn’t stop them from observing, silently acknowledging me.

Bludgeoning him seemed too risky with a trigger between his teeth, so I switched to a screwdriver. I had lined up to stab him through the spine, but as I was coming out of the shadows, he turned with eyes wide. Maybe he had noticed his captives had their eyes on something. With his neck twisted, I went through his windpipe instead, drawing a muffled gurgle out of him.

A few rounds streaked by my face before I could knock his gun away. He staggered back, his wounded leg failing, and I wrenched the screwdriver out of his neck. It took three solid jabs though the eye socket for him to go still. I remember how horribly sticky the screwdriver felt as I pulled it free.

The ponies he had been guarding wasted no time in making their escape, but I wasn’t finished yet.

My revolver was out and I was behind a rock before the other two could get a clean shot. I dropped one of them as he stumbled toward the wagon, firing wildly as he went down, but the last of the five brothers forced me back into cover.

He had me outgunned, and I could hear him coming closer, swearing furiously over the clamor of suppressing fire. Their operation was a bust, and at that point, I figured all he wanted to do was mutilate me in retaliation. Can’t say I blamed him.

“I hate to do this to you,” I said, loud enough for him to hear.

Even though he had gotten a look at me, I don’t think he had realized who I was until I started talking.

I could hear him sputtering, and then finally, he roared, “Did you do this you motherfucker?!”

All I could think to say was, “I did.”

And all I figure he could think to say to that was, “Why? What the fuck did we ever do to you?!”

He was real close at that point. I had my doubts about whether or not I was a faster shot.

“What did you do back to that colt at the bar? What was gonna happen to the foals you rounded up here?” I held the handle of my revolver up to my mouth. “Caps are caps, but you gotta draw the line somewhere.”

His hoofbeats slowed just on the other side of the rock I was using as cover. I clenched the handle between my teeth, and ran my tongue over the trigger.

“Yeah? Well you stepped over the line when you crossed us, and now—”

There was a short burst of sub-machinegun fire. He stumbled forward and sprawled out onto his side, arching his back and screaming. I heard a gun clatter to the ground behind him.

“Let’s go,” Lien muttered.

She stood over the body of the last surviving brother as he writhed in agony. His back had been pockmarked, trickling out bright, fresh blood. He looked up at me, and I couldn’t tell if he was pleading or cursing my existence. I shook my head, leveled my revolver, and fired. When I raised my head, my heart stopped.

Slate’s was standing just a few paces behind his mother, staring at me like I was a hellhound.

I wiped the blood off my face and stepped away from the carnage.

And that was the end of it. Almost.

“Thank you,” I heard somepony say.

I turned to see a filly behind me. Others were slowly coming back to the camp, those that were able now tending to the wounded. She smiled up at me, trembling, but sincere.

I looked her dead in the eyes. “Don’t.”

Her smile vanished, replaced with shock. “But you saved us. You’re a hero!”

“No!” She flinched as I stomped. Ponies nearby froze, fixing their eyes on me. “I am not a fucking hero!”

I had their attention now, looking across the faces of the ponies I had saved.

“All of you listen to me, and listen good. If I hear about what happened here, and I don’t care where I hear it from, I will hunt each one of you down and fucking kill you! Do you understand me?!”

Some nodded, all were silent. I turned away, leaving just as quietly as I had arrived.

“We don’t talk about this,” I told Slate as we walked into the night. “Ever.”

Lien added, “What your papa did may have been the right thing, but we’re not proud of what we had to do.”

I nodded in agreement. “Tonight never happened.”

And all Slate whimpered was, “Okay.”

That was two nights ago now. We only stayed the night in the next town over, and spent the rest of the following day traveling, trying to put as much distance as possible between us and what I had done. There was no mention of it, word of mouth or otherwise, until this afternoon.

I was fixing up some giraffe’s auto-doc when I heard it. She had her radio on, tuned to one of the few broadcasts that’s not stuck on repeat. The music faded out, and the DJ started talking, like always.

“Hey folks, DJ Pone Three here… like you needed me to tell you that! So didja hear the one about the repair-pony that had a change of heart?”

My breath caught in my throat.

“Way out in the badlands, this guy was traveling with a band of Red Eye’s cronies, and when they split to round up some fresh slaves, he took them down all by himself. Didn’t even ask for a reward!”

I had stopped moving entirely, staring at the radio in disbelief.

“I know doing the right thing can be hard, but sometimes you’ve just gotta do it yourself to give other ponies the right idea. If you’re listening out there, keep up the good work!”

My heart raced in my chest. At first, all I could do was dwell on my memory of the bar. The bar owner had his radio turned to the same frequency when I had been there. I thought back to his sons barging in, dragging a foal with them, only this time it was Slate that they had beaten near senseless.

Cringing, I tried to reason with myself.

What’s the chance that he had heard the broadcast? I asked myself. But I hadn’t exactly been discreet during my stay, and our departure was hardly candid. Paranoia hijacked my train of thought. Even if he doesn’t figure it out himself… it won’t take a genius to put two and two together.

There was no arguing with that. I knew it would only be a matter of time until someone figured out who I was and what I had done.

Right on cue, I realized that the giraffe was giving me a curious sort of look, and then she started to smile.

“It wasn’t me,” I growled. “Ain’t no business of mine to mess with slave traders. Caps are caps.”

Her smile faded, and I finished my work so fast that I almost forgot to collect my pay.

The walk back to the inn was spent puzzling over what to do, or if anything even needed to be done. If anything could be done.

I doubted that Red Eye would be getting involved. Were that the case, he would have already sent reinforcements or an alicorn long before my arrival.

In the broadcast, I was not given a physical description beyond repair­-pony, which ruled out trouble from Red Eye sympathizers. There had also been no mention of my family, which I was immensely grateful for. But, the bar owner knew who I was, and he knew I had a wife and son.

There was no doubt in my mind that I had made things personal.

I figured he wouldn’t come for me himself. He was easily twice my age. What he lacked in youth, however, he made up for in wealth. It had been readily apparent to me that, even though he lacked a title like mayor or sheriff, it was his town we were passing through. Assassins and mercenaries were in no short supply, and that meant they were inexpensive as well.

I tried my best to hide my worries as the inn came into sight.

Lien had put together another stand outside, smiling as she haggled with a customer. She glanced up and gave me a little wave, then went right back to it. I decided not to spoil her mood with what I had heard on the radio. There would be time enough for that later.

Slate sat by the doorway, watching other foals play in the street. He put on a half-hearted smile when he saw me.

“Papa?” he said at barely above a whisper. “I know you said we wouldn’t talk about it, but… I still think what you did was right, even if it was scarier than I thought it would be.”

“It should never stop being scary,” I told him. “The fact that it did scare you means that you’re a good pony.”

Hearing that seemed to relieve him. He smiled, and I kissed him on the forehead.

I didn’t find the courage to have that talk with Lien until hours later, after Slate had nodded off for the night. We were on the bed; Lein had her nose in a book, and I was tired of pretending to sleep.

There was no reason to beat around the bush. I rolled over and told her, plain and simple: “I heard something on the radio today.”

“I heard something too,” she said, looking up from her book. “Not on the radio, though. Chit-chatting with customers.”

Without realizing it, I had asked for confirmation. She just nodded, sighing.

“What are we going to do?”

She shut her book and turned her eyes on me without turning her head. “We need to leave. Not too suddenly, but first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Where will we go?”

“I have family in Manehattan.” She nodded again, more to herself than anything. “We should be safe staying at Tenpony.”

“I’m sorry,” was all I could think to whisper.

“Me too.” She set her book aside and turned away from me. “But we can’t take it back.” After several moments of silence on my end, she added, “Try to forget about it and get some sleep, okay?”

I remained silent as I slipped off the bed and crossed to the far side of the room. Somewhere in the back of my mind, the urge to run had taken hold. I can still feel it there, telling me to leave, but that’s taking too big a risk. Even if I were to split off from my family, I have no guarantee that Slate and Lien would be safe.

And that brings me to now. My only real option.

Sitting here, with my eyes on the door.

Watching.

Waiting.