“I wish I had a limit break...”

“Get down,” I hissed, knocking the filly next to me through a nearby open door. It looked to lead into what was once a small shop, but that didn't interest me. What did have my attention at the moment was the robopony rambling down the road towards us. I didn't believe that it had yet spotted us. Leastwise it hadn't opened fire; so that was a good sign.

I discarded any notion of trying to take on the automated menace. I had learned my lesson last week. This time I was keen on opting for sneaking around it on our way back to the settlement's gates. It had taken us the better part of the morning, sifting through the homes of the more well-to-do former residents of Old Seaddle, to find a sufficient number of Aphrodite talismans. During our romp among the mansions of the Wasteland ruins, we'd managed to avoid running into anything more dangerous than a radroach. It was a welcome change of pace to go up against something that was vulnerable to small-caliber bullets.

We were getting closer to downtown now, though. On the other side of the heart of the city ruins, we'd find safety within the current bounds of Seaddle. This meant that robopony patrols would be more common on the main thoroughfares. We'd have to stick to alleys and back streets from here on out. It wouldn't be as direct a route, taking longer to get back to the gates; but it should be a safer path at least.

Though the interior of the shop we were in now was unlit, the light spilling in through the doorway and shattered plate glass window was enough to allow me to make out the far end of the store's interior. There was the outline of a small doorway leading deeper into the building. A back room, I presumed. Hopefully there was also a rear exit through there as well. I prodded Windfall and gestured towards the doorway.

We stepped gingerly past the shelves lined with all manner of rotted books and magazines, making our way as quietly as we could to the back of the store. Once through the door, and deeper into the darkness, I quickly spotted the tiny sliver of light spilling under a closed back door and moved towards it. I placed my ear against the mold covered wood slab and listened for any signs of movement coming from the other side. The last thing we needed was to blunder into a second robotic security pony while trying to avoid the first.

After hearing nothing for about ten seconds, I pulled the door inward and peeked out. It was an alley. Aside from garbage, bones, and the odd puddle of feted water; there was no sign of anything that could threaten us. I motioned for the pegasus filly to follow me and crept out of the shop. Hopefully, this would provide us with a means to bypass the robopony.

“What's a 'viper'?” the little filly asked.

“A kind of snake,” I replied softly, a little irritated that she had chosen now of all times to begin a quiz session. Then a thought occurred to me, “why?” I peered back at her.

My eyes widened. I saw the little white foal reading a message that had been painted on one of the alleyway walls.

VIVA THE VIPERS!

Horseapples! We were on gang turf. Hell, for all I knew, the gang lived in one of these buildings that we were walking past. The sooner we got out of here, the better.

I urged us to a quicker pace.

We hadn't gone more than a dozen steps when I heard something metal from above and behind us creak. My first thought was that somepony had stepped out onto a fire escape and was now lining up a shot to take us down. Reflexively, I drew my pistol and turned my head back in the direction of the sound, ready to lay down some covering fire as we made our escape.

My eyes caught the sight of a rat skittering along a gutter. I allowed myself to sigh with relief and continued walking....

...Which was about the time I tripped over a trash can and went tumbling to the ground in a heap.

Oh, how I hoped that we weren't anywhere close to a gang hideout. The sound of the can sliding along the pavement of the alley and crashing into a nearby wall had echoed rather loudly up and down the block. Even my pistol had slipped from my mouth, adding its own higher-pitched clattering to the cacophony. Windfall came to a stop next to me, her face a mask of terror.

At least she seemed to grasp how dangerous our situation was.

Uttering a string of hushed curses, I rolled back onto my feet and retrieved my weapon. I turned my gaze back to the offending metal cylinder, contemplating a swift buck of retribution despite the noise it would have caused, and promptly froze. The pegasus didn't look afraid because of all the noise that had been generated.

She had seen the body.

The pony hadn't been dead for very long. Relatively speaking, of course. Most of the city's streets were littered with skeletal remains of the residents who had died centuries ago during those horrific few hours when the balefire bombs had devastated Equestria; or who had died over the next couple weeks of the magical radiation the bombs unleashed. By contrast, this body had probably only been here two weeks or so.

The unicorn pony's coat had mostly fallen out, leaving behind a corpse of bloated black flesh surrounded by sticky residue. What drew my eye though was his attire: a blue and gold jumpsuit bearing the number “137” stenciled across the back. A stable resident. Or, rather, a former stable resident. No way to know how long he had survived outside before he'd died, but experience taught me that it probably hadn't been very long.

A sniffling drew my attention back to the little filly. She hadn't seen this sort of scene before. Dead ponies were nothing new to her, obviously; but there was a difference between a fresh corpse that at least still looked like a pony, and this bloated rotting mass. I frowned, but placed a hoof over her shoulder and carefully directed her to where she couldn't see the body. Hopefully she would be able to calm herself down; because I wasn't one to come to for sympathy over having seen graphic scenes.

My eyes scanned the alley again. No signs that my fall had been heard yet. Which was rather fortunate; since it would provide me with time to search the stable pony's remains.

I could already see the pipbuck on his left foreleg. I'd seen them around before in passing; and not always on their original owners. However, I'd never really gotten a good look at them up close. According to what I'd heard, they were supposed to be immeasurably useful. They kept navigational information, had a built-in communications suite, and even aided in combat somehow. I could probably get a lot of caps for something like that.

The dark gray device lay open, cupping the rotting flesh of the unicorn's blackened limb. I reached out and dragged it away for a closer look. It resembled a hinged tube, with a screen and buttons on one side. I tapped at a few of the buttons, but nothing happened, prompting me to frown. I didn't know what the battery life on these things was supposed to be like; but I was hoping that it was just out of power, and not completely broken. I imagine that a broken pipbuck would fetch a much lower price than one that simply needed a charge.

I stared down at the device for a moment.

Eh, what could it hurt?

I leaned down and placed my left foreleg into the device and snapped it closed.

Then I promptly screamed.

A lot of things happened at once. The first thing that happened was a sudden jolt of pain in my wrist. It felt like a half dozen needles had been jabbed into my flesh simultaneously. Though the pain hadn't been very severe compared to the sorts of injuries I'd had inflicted on me throughout my life, it had been a rather unexpected development.

Almost as unexpected as the lights that sprung up all around me. My vision was suddenly filled with words and numbers and symbols everywhere I looked. The writing seemed to somehow be physically attached to my eyeballs. No matter which way I looked, they stuck with me. I couldn't even make sense of half of what I was seeing. Some things were intuitive, like the little compass at the bottom left of my vision. Honestly, that was just about the only thing that made sense to me right away.

Whatever “AP” was, I had absolutely no idea.

Then words began to scroll across my eyes:

>>NEW USER DETECTED

>>...

>>TUTORIAL MODE AVAILABLE

>>ENGAGE TUTORIAL MODE? [YES/NO]:__

What the fuck was a 'tutorial'? Fuck it, I wasn't about to let this damn thing do anything until I'd spoken with somepony who knew how these things worked.

...So how did I select, “No”?

An “N” appeared next to the prompt just as I'd thought it, and the words vanished. The compass and a few other little items near the bottom of my vision remained though. Damn. Those things were going to be as distracting as fuck, I just knew it. How did stable ponies not go completely insane using these things?

“Are you okay?” Windfall asked, concern saturating her voice. An understandable reaction. After all, her survival was almost completely tied to my being able to perform effectively. If I had been handicapped by this device, while the two of us were out here in the middle of the Seaddle ruins, the chances of us living long enough to get back to the safety of the walled settlement diminished drastically.

“I think so,” I admitted, shaking my head furiously. The hovering numbers and text that were both there, and not there simultaneously, was instilling within me a slight sense of vertigo. It was playing hell with my depth perception, that was for sure, “it just surprised me, that's all. It's showing me all this writing. It's annoying.”

I'd had enough of the damn thing. With a sneer, I reached down and tugged at the seam of the device. It refused to budge. My eyes widened as fear nibbled at the back of my mind and I pulled harder, even lending my teeth to the effort to remove the offending pipbuck. Still, it remained stubbornly attached.

Maybe the release had to be toggled through some combination of button commands? I tentatively tapped at the three large red buttons arranged below the yellow and black display. However, all they did was cycle between three screens; neither of which seemed to possess a “remove pipbuck” option. Horseapples.

Well, there was bound to be somepony back in the settlement that knew how these things worked and would be able to do something about it. I turned to address Windfall, but paused with my mouth open. A new blip had appeared above the compass. I looked down at it; which earned me a rather concerned look from the filly as I suddenly went cross-eyed. Curious, I slowly looked back and forth, watching the little yellow dot as it moved from side to side. After a couple of nods, I realized that the blip was Windfall.

“Huh,” I muttered. Interesting.

“Uh...Jackboot?” the pegasus ventured uneasily, obviously a little confused by my actions.

“I think this thing shows me where ponies are,” I informed her, finally uncrossing my eyes, “wonder how far off it works?” I shrugged, “let's keep going.”

We reached the end of the alley and stopped. I peered cautiously around the corner one way and then the other. No sign of any roboponies. I nodded back at Windfall and we crept out into the street once more.

As the two of us made our way across the street as quietly as we could, the filly's eyes darted to the pipbuck on my leg, “what is that thing?” she asked in a loud whisper.

“Pipbuck,” I responded, “it's a computer thing that ponies from stables wear. They're supposed to be really valuable.”

“Stables?”

Right, isolated ranch pony, “stables were places that ponies went to when the bombs fell and destroyed the world. They kept them safe,” mostly, “some stables opened up after a couple decades. Some are still closed today.

“They say that every pony alive today descended from a pony who lived in a stable.”

The filly paused for a moment, “and what do you say?”

“Huh?”

“You said, 'they say'. Does that mean you don't agree with them?”

A small smile tugged at my lips. The filly may be a little ignorant as a consequence of her upbringing, but she wasn't an idiot to have caught that, “not every pony died in the bombing. The zebras only had so many missiles. They couldn't hit every little town. Some ponies were far enough away to escape the balefire.”

“How do you know?”

I glanced back at the filly slyly, “you're looking at one of their descendents,” that was a White Hoof 'claim to fame' actually: that their ancestors had not come from a stable but instead survived the apocalypse that befell Equestria.

The story was that a couple of outlying farms in the Seaddle area had survived the bombing. Their fields remained intact, their crops relatively untouched. Untouched that was, until the pegasi closed up the sky. The crops didn't last very long without the sun. It didn't take very long after that for the small community of friendly farmers to become a lot more ruthless once their food supply was cut off. Suddenly, the priority was: kill off competing tribes to reduce competition for the food present in the ruins of the city.

Windfall seemed to be somewhat impressed by the revelation of my heritage. Honestly, I didn't think it was very significant. Wherever your great grandmare was born, most ponies in the Wasteland today had been born out here. The filly wasn't really all that different from me; upbringing not withstanding.

“Anyway, these pipbucks are supposed to do a whole lot of things. Hopefully I can find somepony in Seaddle who's willing to pay a lot for one...and who knows how to take...it...off...” my words trailed off as something else distracted me from our conversation.

The pegasus cocked an eyebrow, “what is it?”

“Red blip,” I responded, going cross-eyed again. What was a red blip? I shook my head again and noticed that it wasn't moving as much as Windfall's blip had. Further away then, I supposed. I looked ahead, but there was nothing there except for a wall.

Then the blip split into two. Then a third appeared. I didn't like this.

“This way,” I hissed at the filly, darting towards a nearby open doorway.

We'd only just reached the door frame when I heard the crack of a rifle, followed instantly by a brick of the building's exterior exploding right by my head. A cackling laugh carried over the air from the direction of the blips. I risked a glance just before I ducked inside the abandoned apartment lobby.

So, apparently, red blips meant ponies that had a shooting disposition. That was good to know. Maybe this thing wasn't going to be entirely useless after all. I glimpsed three ponies; a unicorn and two earth ponies. They were attired in piecemeal barding that looked to have been constructed almost entirely of leather and zippers. Portions of their thick leather armor were painted a deep green, the color wrapping around their bodies in a helical pattern.

Vipers.

A bolt-action rifle embraced in a cyan glow hovered near the unicorn—a satisfied looking mare with a brown coat and red matted mane. The bolt ratcheted back loudly, the spent casing springing free and twirling through the air with a clear ringing sound before clinking on the asphalt. Then the bolt slid noisily forward, locking another round into the chamber. Beside her, two earth pony stallions—one yellow and one green—stood gripping long scraps of sharpened metal in their mouths.

Three ponies, one of them a unicorn, and all the two of us had to defend ourselves was my 9mm. I supposed I could have tossed Windfall the .22; but I honestly believed that she'd be more likely to shoot me than the gangers if I let her try to help me in a firefight. My eyes scanned the room that we were in, searching for an escape route. However, most of the building seemed to have collapsed inward. Looking at the lobby now, I realized that the area near the door was just about the only area of the first floor that wasn't a wall of impassable rubble.

We were trapped.

Part of me wondered if that hadn't been the Vipers' intent, moving in on us the way that they had.

“Ain't no reason to die,” the mare yelled out to us, not bothering to hide her smug tone, “toss out yer guns and come along peaceful-like. We got some pertty new jewelery fer y'all to try out,” she and the two bucks flanking her started chuckling.

“Flip you for first run on the filly,” I heard one of the buck's snigger to the other.

They had us trapped, dead to rights. The only way out was past the trio, and there wasn't a lot of cover to be had. I never had been one prefer straight fights either. My mind raced to search for alternative strategies, but I was coming up short.

These gangers seemed to be interested in taking a slave or two though, and not just murdering us for our possessions. Maybe that could give me an out. If I offered them the filly without a fight, I might be able to convince them that it was a better deal than fighting me for her...

Be kind...

I felt Windfall press herself up against me, shaking. She was relying on me to keep her safe; had been since I took her off that ranch. I knew what they'd do to the little filly if I gave her over. A little yellow pegasus in the back of my mind did too; and she was begging me to come up with another plan. I reminded myself that it wasn't my place to get myself killed for this filly.

Be kind...

Even though this filly had saved my life more than once. Looking back, I sort of did owe her more than she owed me at this point. Not that that should really matter; what did I care about squaring debts?

Be kind...

Fine! I'd keep Windfall safe. But just this once! Damn if my psyche wasn't a stubborn bastard...

I put a hoof around her and gave the filly cowering beside me a brief little squeeze. I needed her to be clear-headed right now, so I was willing to give her a little comfort if it calmed her nerves. It didn't seem to do much for her though.

Couldn't blame her really. She knew that she would be useless in this fight; and up to now I hadn't exactly demonstrated myself as some kind of superpony when it came to combat.

Of course, these weren't roboponies that would just laugh at my pistol rounds. The barding that they were wearing didn't look to be much more robust than my own. Add to that the fact that the only pony with any ranged weapons was the unicorn with the rifle, and I actually had a chance. Not much of one, but enough that I was willing to take it over capitulation.

Plus, this time I'd be at the top of my game.

A linoleum tile at the base of the doorway exploded as a second rifle shot rang out, followed by the sound of a ratcheting bolt, “I said to come on out! Otherwise, we won't be very gentle with yer daughter there.”

“Stay here,” I whispered to Windfall, reaching into my saddlebags and fishing out an inhaler and a little brown bottle. I hesitated for a moment, and then I took out the .22 pistol. The filly looked at it with concern when I pushed it towards her, “if it goes bad, don't try to fight them.”

“Then why...?” the pegasus asks, gesturing to the weapon.

Funny, I couldn't bring myself to look at her, “that isn't for them.”

She was a smart filly. Hopefully, if this did go tits-up, she'd know what I meant. Asking a foal to think about doing that though...

Exactly how fucked up was I?

I shook my head and doled out a couple of the tan pills from the bottle. They were followed by a deep hit from the inhaler. Then the world became a very different place.

Everything was...clearer. Slower. Drawing my pistol from its holster sounded like unwinding a long strip of duct tape. The weapon in my mouth, I took a deep preparatory breath, and then I launched myself around the corner at a dead sprint.

Apparently, the three gangers had anticipated that the insinuation about the depraved acts they intended to perform on my assumed offspring would motivate me to surrender; since they all looked very surprised to see me barreling at them with my weapon drawn. I guess that many fathers were concerned about what happened to their fillies. I knew for a fact that not all were though...

As reckless and stupid as it was to charge three armed ponies on my own, I was smart enough to not run at them in a straight line. That unicorn mare's rifle was of a high enough caliber that it could have stopped a charging earth pony stallion dead in his tracks, even while pumped up on Buck. Instead, I was bounding from side to side in long smooth strides. The Dash kept the world moving along in slow motion, letting my mind carefully plan out where I was going to plant each hoof, and how best to push off for my next step. In fact, it was almost frustrating in a way; as to my brain's perception, the rest of my body was moving like molasses.

I saw a puff of dark smoke and fire burp out from the rifle's barrel. Then the thunderclap of the discharge buffeted my ears. A chip of pavement flew up past my cheek.

Now was my opening.

The mare moved like she was trapped in a whole other dimension of time. I could see the bolt handle slowly twisting around as the unicorn cycled the weapon. I took the opportunity to straighten up my body and line up the pistol on the mare's head. Curious that the Viper's expression remained unconcerned. She had to see how quickly I was reacting, and notice than my weapon had her locked in.

I tongued the trigger twice in quick succession. The slide jumped back, the muzzle rising; and again, launching two copper jacketed slugs at the unicorn's head. My body started to turn toward the two bucks when I noticed that the mare was untouched by the rounds.

I blinked in shock.

The Dash allowed me to move a little quicker, but I wasn't running at anywhere near the speed of a bullet. I should have seen the effects of my rounds. Instead, all I saw were two brief cyan shimmers, followed by two impacts on the distant wall behind her.

Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding!

This mare just had to possess one of the rarest magical talents in the world: kinetic deflection. I'd only ever really just heard about it before. No wonder she hadn't flinched away from my pistol.

Fine, then we'd do this 'old school'. I was better at it anyway.

I spit the useless pistol from my mouth, freeing my lips up for a guttural scream. This at least seemed to get a reaction from the mare. The bolt of her rifle finally slid back into place, but I wasn't about to give her the time she needed to line up her shot. With a powerful push of my hindquarters, I was airborne, arcing towards the unicorn's head. My left forehoof lashed out, batting the weapon aside with the casing of my recently acquire pipbuck. I then proceeded to twist the lower half of my body, swinging my hips around, and catching a now very concerned mare in the side of her head with my rear hooves.

The blue field of telekinetic magic wrapped around her rifle vanished instantly, and the weapon spun away, clattering to the ground off in the distance. The brown mare reeled back from the blow delivered by my double buck, stunned and out of the fight for the moment. I brought my right leg up to my mouth and drew the knife sheathed there with my teeth before finally landing upon all four of my hooves amidst the two bucks. Being the two attackers that still possessed weapons, they had become my immediate concern.

I could feel the world around me starting to ebb back to its original speed. The Dash was going to wear off soon. The bucks were as wide-eyed as the mare had been as they turned to engage the rusty earth pony that had jumped between them. Not a lot of ponies in the Wasteland were graced with much in the way of competency when it came to bare hoof brawling. So, to see it personally could be a little jarring to the unsuspecting.

My lip curled up in a satisfied smirk as I took in their reactions. That's right, assholes; 'daddy' has some skills. Now, to choose which stallion I'd garote first.

Right was always my preferred side.

With another powerful push of my Buck-enhanced legs, I sprung at the green stallion, swinging my head around madly in a figure-eight motion. My opponent recoiled, but his reactions weren't being augmented by pharmaceuticals, so he didn't draw back as quickly as I was advancing. The first of my strokes to connect swatted his improvised machete aside, the second split his lip and knocked his chin upward.

The third opened his throat.

My ear twitched at the grunt coming from behind me. I rolled to the left, falling just under the yellow buck's frantic swing with his own sharp, rusted, blade. Now on my back, I coiled in and lashed out with both rear hooves, catching him under his jaw. The Buck easily doubled the strength behind what would already have been a devastating hit to the stallion's head. Instead of a blow that would have normally merely sent his head spinning, I delivered a dual-hoofed kick that utterly crushed his trachea and shattered his cervical vertebrae. The ganger was dead before he hit the ground.

I rolled to my feet once more.

One buck dead, another sputtering and choking in the street behind me. That just left—

Oh, hello there normal-proceeding time, how've you been?

I cried out in pain as the ragged edge of the sword raked itself across my backside. I'm sure my barding did a little to mitigate the damage, but I doubted that it had been a whole lot. A bar at the bottom left of my vision lost about a third of its length. If that meant what I thought it did, then I really didn't want to let that happen many more times. Hell, I didn't want it to happen even one more time!

The floating length of jagged steel swung around to deliver another hit, but I fended it off with the casing of my recently acquired pipbuck—this thing was actually starting to prove really useful. Sparks flew as the sharpened metal edge glanced off the leg-mounted computer. I saw the machete, cradled in blue light, swinging around for another strike. The brow mare stood about twenty feet away, glaring balefully at me, blood running down her chin from a badly split lip. It looked like a live capture was no longer a priority for her. My resistance had prompted her to settle for one corpse, and a captive filly.

Distance was more her friend than mine; as was the case when facing unicorns in combat in general. Their telekinetic fields weren't particularly strong when compared to the kind of grip that a mouth could achieve upon a weapon, but the range was worth the tradeoff so long as the target was at least a few yards away; which I was. Her horn's range wasn't unlimited, and it would be possible for me to back far enough away that she couldn't deliver effective blows; but with her kinetic barrier spell, there wasn't anything that I could do to her from afar with just my pistol.

So, up close and personal it would have to be then.

I sprinted at her once more, noting that it was very different doing this without the helping hoof that the Dash had offered me just a minute earlier. It was actually a little worse as well, since the side affect of coming down off of a Dash high was muscle fatigue. Which, incidentally was also a side effect of Buck, which would likewise be wearing off any moment now. If I didn't finish this fight in the next few blows, the unicorn would steamroll me.

The mare backpedaled at my approach, trying to keep herself out of range of my knife. Though I was no longer assisted by Dash, the Buck was still working its glorious magic, letting my legs propel me faster than they could have otherwise with their more powerful strides. I ducked under another vicious swing and lunged forward. The unicorn leaped aside, in an effort to dodge my strike, but was only partially successful. I'd intended to catch her in the chest, but instead only managed to slice into her shoulder.

It was at least enough to make the mare stumble. I ceased my charge and rounded on the unicorn, rearing up. My fore-hooves pummeled her head, my strikes targeting her horn. The first caused her magical field to flicker, halting what had likely been a swing of the nearby hovering machete that was directed at my neck. The second extinguished the glow entirely as the concussion took hold. Magic, even simple unicorn telekinesis, took concentration. Disrupt it, such as with a hoof to their head, and you could break whatever spells they were casting.

Again and again I struck the mare's head, spreading my hits across the entirety of her face. The brown unicorn reeled under the blows, stumbling to the ground as she lost her sense of balance. She was soon prone on the ground, but I wasn't stopping...

It was raining. The older unicorn mare standing in front of me was looking up with terrified eyes. Her tone was pleading as she begged for me to grant her village an extension on the tithe they owed. Something about diamond dogs moving into the ruins they scavenged for us. It wasn't my problem what perils they faced in the ruins. I was just here for the tithe.

They didn't have it.

My father wasn't with me. He had other duties to attend to. But he had sent one of his lieutenants to observe and coach me on how to handle our vassal villages. They paid, or they died.

This village couldn't pay.

The old mare in front of me knew what was going to happen, I think. She'd accepted it the moment she stepped out to greet our contingent of warriors. I informed her that her excuses were meaningless, and the price for failure would be exacted. The village elder simply bowed her head.

I reared up, and began to beat the old earth pony mare to death. Behind me, the pony who served as my father's eyes and ears looked on intently, contemplating how he was going to report on my performance.

I think I was screaming again; but I don't know about what. I wasn't even sure how long I continued to beat on the unicorn Viper after she was dead. However long it took for the effects of the Buck to wear off, I guess; since when I did finally stop, it was only because I could no longer keep my legs steady under the weight of my own body. It was suddenly like I weighed three times more than I had two minutes ago.

It was all I could do not to pop another couple of tablets.

I'd been down that road before.

Panting in ragged breaths, I turned away from the puddle of pink and red mush that was the mare's head, and started walking unsteadily back towards the lobby where I'd left Windfall. My eyes locked onto a hazy blur of white and green standing in the doorway. When I got closer, and the filly came into clearer focus, I could make out the expression on her face. I recognized that look. I'd seen ponies look at me that way before. Often.

She was terrified of me.

I tried to take a step towards her. I'm not certain exactly what I was going to tell her, if I was even going to bother to say anything. Either way, I didn't make it very far. My foot buckled right out from under me the moment I went to put my weight on it. I collapsed in a most unceremonious fashion. It was when I attempted to get back up that I realized that I could no longer feel anything on that entire half of my body. Unfortunately, it must have been the only part of me that didn't feel; since the rest of me was hurting pretty good. Some parts more than others.

Oh, right. Sword. Back.

In the bottom left corner of my vision, I could see that little bar of yellow light shrink a little more. There was definitely no way that was a a good sign. I couldn't see the wound that the ganger's sword had left behind, but I could imaging that it was pretty bad. I glanced as far around as I could, and I saw a rather frightening quantity of blood dribbling over my armor.

The bar shrank by another sliver.

I strained my neck, trying to reach my saddlebags. However, I didn't even get close before the movement prompted a wave of pain to course through my body. I cried out and descended into a little convulsive episode, which simply caused even more pain. The whole ordeal left me panting through gritted teeth, tears welling in my eyes.

Horseapples.

After my second failure to reach the healing potions in my bags, I simply let myself go limp. I just couldn't take the pain moving caused any longer. My breathing was ragged, and I could barely move at all now. The pipbuck on my leg was visible, the screen depicting a rather simplistic image of a pony looking like he wasn't doing very well. His torso was composed of a dashed outline, while the limbs and head were made of solid lines. A little picture of a droplet blinked where the pony's heart would approximately be.

I didn't know a lot about what the information displayed on the pipbuck was supposed to mean in most cases; but I was pretty confident that right now it was letting me know that I was dying. As though I'd somehow be unable to come to such a conclusion on my own. Exactly how clueless were stable ponies that they needed a fetlock mounted computer to tell them they were hurt?

Dying out here in the ruins at the hooves of three ponies that I'd already killed didn't sit very well with me. I'll admit, dying in general wasn't something I looked forward to doing; but I'd long ago come up with a list of ways I would prefer to die. Such as having a heart attack at the age of ninety while getting ridden by a harem of young limber unicorn mares. That was my preferred way to die.

Bleeding out in the street while a filly watched was not anywhere on that list, interestingly enough.

Speaking of which, “don't just fucking stand there gawking, kid!” I spat, suppressing a cringe when I heard how tired I sounded. At least I wasn't frothing blood this time, “get out here!”

I swear, if that foal just stood by and watched me die, I was going to kill her. Not literally, obviously. But, just before I kicked it, I would come up with very clear mental scenarios where I brutally murdered the white pegasus. If I was going to die here, I'd take even small comforts.

Windfall took a frightened step back. Wrong way, moron, “I'm dying, stupid! Get out here and dig out a potion.”

At least this time she started moving in the correct direction, “that's it,” I breathed a little easier, “hurry up,” then my eyes widened again when I saw her begin running. The filly wasn't running towards me though.

She was running away!

Without thinking, I tried in vain to get onto my hooves, “where the fuck are you go—AHH!”

That was a bad idea. The moment my head whipped around to scream after the pegasus, crippling pain set me to writhing on the ground, which caused even more pain. Fortunately, it was not a completely self-perpetuating cycle and eventually it subsided. However, by the time the worst of it had passed, I was reduced to a panting heap of misery.

“...Come back,” the phrase was barely above a whisper. I wasn't sure that I could manage much more than that. The yellow bar had been whittled down to a quarter of the size it had been when I first put the pipbuck on. The picture of the pony on the screen was flashing now, and his eyes were closed. I could empathize. I wanted to close mine too.

Horseapples.

Just fucking die, the familiar voice of a young mare said in my head. I could see the smug look on the pale yellow face of my earth pony sibling, her eyes dancing with cruel glee at my suffering. Just the way they had when she'd ordered our father's guards to apprehend me, die, alone and worthless, like you always knew you would.

“fuck you,” I mumbled feebly to the pony in my mind, “I bet you're already dead anyway,” our tribe hadn't had a female chieftain to my recollection. Whiplash may have been ruthless to a tee, but sooner or later some big strapping warrior would have come along, challenged her, and then assumed the throne for themselves.

I bet I didn't die like a little bitch.

“I died killing three ponies,” I shot back weakly.

You died begging a little filly to help you after barely managing to take out three pathetic piece-of-shit posers.

Even in my own mind, Whiplash knew how to bring me down a peg. Fucking figured.

My sister's voice vanished, leaving me behind in silence. So I started doing what everypony does when something goes wrong: blaming anypony else for what had happened.

I blamed my father for being a piece of shit. He'd been a cold-hearted bastard to me; and I didn't give a damn that he'd justified everything under the pretense of 'preparing me to lead'. Under his tutelage, I'd been forced to murder over a dozen foals my age. I'd murdered, stolen, and raped; all because he'd insisted that was what I needed to know how to do in order to be successful in the world.

I blamed him for picking backstabbing pieces of shit to be his lieutenants. The ponies that were supposed to have supported his chosen successor after his death had instead run me out of my birthright. If my father had worked on instilling within his subjects a sense of loyalty, rather than fear, then I'd be enjoying the attentions of a couple of my wives right now.

Then I blamed Whiplash for slitting his throat in the middle of the night. My father had been a colossal ass, and had certainly deserved to be put down for the things he'd done; I wasn't going to dispute that. But then she'd paid off his lieutenants to try and kill me so that her succession wouldn't be challenged. Because of her, everything that I'd been taught about how to survive in the Wasteland became moot. Outside the White Hooves, and without the position of Chief, taking a passing mare and having my way with her didn't get me respect; it got me thrown out of brothels...or worse.

Then I blamed the Finders. If they wanted their caravans to remain unmolested by bandits, then they should have damn-well made them mark themselves as being under the protection of the Finders! How the fuck was I supposed to be able to know what traders I could get away with murdering and which ones would get a bounty put on my head?! Make them paint a bottle cap on their carts or something!

Next on my list of ponies whose fault all of this was, was Windfall. The little shit had run off and left me to die. And why? All because she'd seen me become a murderous psycho and pound a mare's head into jelly. It wasn't like she'd never seen me kill anypony...

Huh. Actually, this had been the first time she'd seen me kill with her own eyes. Still, she had to have known that it was either them or us. She knew what would have happened if they'd caught us...

Or, she would have if I'd ever bothered to explain it to her at some point.

...For somepony who decided to take a filly into his care and teach her to survive in the Wasteland; I was actually doing a really shitty job. I'd basically just been teaching her to shoot. Not to say that wouldn't be a valuable skill; but there was so much more to living through the day than being able to put rounds downrange. I'd never talked to her about slavers in any detail. I'd never covered 'law of the Wasteland' survival. I just kept her out of the way and let her shoot a pistol for an hour a day.

I was supposed to be training her to be a partner to watch my back; and I was treating her like a liability. Treating her like a foal.

The pegasus had lost her family and her livelihood. She'd even killed ponies. She'd borne witness to death, destruction, and suffering first-hoof; and had even managed to stay relatively sane so far. That little pony had even saved my life a time or two. Whatever her temporal age, she wasn't a 'foal' anymore.

I closed my eyes and sighed. I was still dying, and I'd run out of other ponies to blame.

Face it, Jackboot; you deserve this.

This time, it wasn't the voice of my father or sister that I heard speaking words in my mind. The voice was my own, you've killed, stolen, raped. You spread misery to everypony you ever met; just like your father.

And now you're going to die like he did: betrayed by a filly you were supposed to be protecting.

“Fuck you,” the words were barely a whisper, and they took great effort to utter. But I felt compelled to defend myself to...well, myself, I guess, “I protected her...”

You're using her. You have been this whole time. First to sell off for money, then as bait for a robbery. You treat her like a tool. Something you can abuse for your own selfish purposes and then ignore when she's inconvenient.

“Ain't...her father,” I could feel my breaths getting more shallow. I can't even be certain that I'd managed to say anything at all; but I had intended to utter those words at least. The one benefit of my imminent death was that this voice would finally shut the fuck up.

Funny, at least my internal monologue had the energy and ability to laugh, because you're acting a lot like your father...

I'll admit it, that last quip stung like hell. I wanted to refute it; but even if I'd still had the ability to, I wouldn't have possessed the nerve. That little part of me was absolutely correct. I had treated Windfall in much the same way that my own father had treated Whiplash. Perhaps without all of the incestuous raping, but I certainly hadn't regarded the pegasus with much more worth.

I was using her, and had been from the start. Manipulating her, and picking what I said around her in order to mold the filly into the sort of asset that I thought I'd need to help me continue my life of robbery and slaughter; which was the only life I'd really known up to this point.

The best thing that Windfall could have done to improve her chances at a decent life, was exactly what she had done: leave me to die. Whoever else she came across in the Wasteland, short of another White Hoof, would make a better guardian than myself.

Hope you're proud, Dad. Your little colt is following right in your own hoofprints. Even unto death.

I breathed out a resigned sigh, and waited for the last of the blood to flow from my body.

Then I felt the sensation of something—or more likely somepony—tugging at my saddlebags. I grit my teeth and opened my eyes, prepared to offer up one final epithet to whomever hadn't had the decency to wait for me to finish dying before looting my corpse. However, the words died in my throat when I glimpsed the tiny ivory wing and sprig of teal and veridian tail in the corner of my dim vision.

“Please don't be dead,” I heard her pleading, as though from a great distance, “I'm sorry; just please don't be dead!”

I remained silent as the little filly rummaged through the leather pouch and fished out a bottle of purple liquid. She tore off the cap with her lips and upended the magical contents onto the wound. Little tendrils of warmth began to spread throughout my body once more, and the pain ebbed, if ever so slightly. My lungs heaved suddenly, and I gasped as they took in the first full breath of air that they had in a good while.

Most of my body still felt like it was on fire, and I couldn't do much more than lift my head, but I was at least able enough to physically drink down the second vial of healing liquid potion that was offered, this time to my lips. I gulped it slowly, relishing the feeling of the pain leaving my body, and sensation returning to my extremities. The yellow bar in the lower left corner of my eyes had grown to almost a quarter of its original size, though a trio of letters continued to blink at me.

Finally, I was able to move enough to get a good look at Windfall. Her expression was one of shame, mingled with fear. She'd known that she was leaving me to die when she ran off. Guilt had compelled her to return. Remorse. Feelings that I'd only recently begun to experience for myself. In a reversed scenario, I wouldn't have come back. I knew it with certainty.

Yet, right now; if there did come a time when the little filly needed me to save her life...I think that I could bring myself to do it.

I couldn't decide if Windfall's presence was making me into a better pony, or a weaker one.

She continued to look at me in silence, her expectant eyes wary of what I'd say to the apprentice who'd betrayed her teacher. I suppose that I could have justifiably cussed her out. Beat her for the betrayal. Something told me that she would have accepted such a punishment without reproach. Few other ponies would have blamed me in this situation.

A week ago, I would have done it too.

Be kind...

But right now, I chose a different response.

“Thanks, ki...” no. Not 'kid'. She wasn't a foal anymore. She hadn't been one for some time. She'd saved my life on no fewer than three occasions since we'd met. That was more than any pony had ever done for me in my entire life. To include my own father. Windfall deserved my respect.

She'd earned my respect, “thanks, Windfall.”

Finally, the timid little pegasus looked up, her guilty eyes tearing up, “I'm sorry I ran,” she mumbled, “I was just...” She looked away, choking on her own words, unable to finish. She glanced up, seeking signs of forgiveness in my expression. So I kept my features soft when I supplied the words she'd likely been looking for.

“Scared?” the filly nodded, looking down again, “we're going to work on that,” I told her, offering a weak smile, “don't know how yet; but I do know that the two of us have a lot of work to do.

“But not right now,” I amended, slumping to the ground again and looking at the screen of the pipbuck. Back up to a third and holding. My eyes went to the caved in lobby, and then back to the dead Vipers. I'd seen the graffiti, this was their designated territory. The chances were good that some more of them might eventually wander this way. We couldn't be here when that happened.

A cursory examination of the pegasus reinforced my assumption that there was no reasonable way for the filly to drag me all the way back to the Seaddle city limits. I certainly didn't have the ability to get there under my own power, and I doubted that I could even muster the strength to limp there using Windfall to lean on. We still needed to get out of the open though. The partially collapsed lobby that we'd sheltered in earlier was looking like our only option. Hopefully, the two of us could manage to make it that far.

“Listen close,” I rasped, looking at the filly sternly. I needed her to be acutely aware of how serious our situation was, “we're in a very dangerous place. Those ponies will have friends nearby,” I nodded in the direction of the other three ponies that lay nearby, “we need to get out of sight. Help me get inside,” I jerked my head weakly back in the direction of the nearby building, “pull on my barding while I push with my legs.”

Windfall nodded and trotted around to my backside. I propped up my legs as best I could and mustered up as much energy as I thought I could manage in preparation for the filly's tugs. When I didn't feel anything for a while, I glanced back as far as I could, “ready?”

“There's a lot of blood...”

I heard the trembling in the young pegasus' voice. Damn but we did not have time for her to break down now. I bit back a scathing comment and took a breath. I needed her calm. If she locked up, we'd be dead or worse within the hour. Once I was confident I had my tone under control, I began to speak, “Windfall, listen to me: you have to do this. I can't get there by myself. I need you to help me. It's just blood. It's not going to hurt you.

“Now grab the damn barding a pull with everything you've got!”

I heard the young filly take a preparatory breath and bite down on one of my armor's leather straps. On my command, the two of us pushed a pulled with all the strength that we could muster. I screamed almost instantly, and I felt the overwhelming urge to relax and cease straining my vehemently complaining muscles. At about the same time, I felt the tension on my barding release. I went limp with a groan.

Judging by the smear of blood on the pock-marked pavement, we'd moved only a few inches.

“Are you okay?” I heard the filly ask worriedly.

Of course I wasn't fucking okay! Nopony could lose this much blood, scream this loudly, and be 'okay'!

“I'm fine!” I seethed through gritted teeth, preparing myself for another push, “again! Don't stop pulling until we're inside,” would I even be able to remain conscious until then?

Once more I felt Windfall take hold of my barding, and once more I commanded her to pull. True to my instructions, she didn't let go of the strap this time, regardless of how pained my outbursts were. I pushed with all the might that I could muster, but I could feel how feeble those efforts were. The slick pool of my own blood that I was being dragged through didn't help matters, as my hooves kept slipping. I could feel the wind from Windfall's rapidly beating wings buffeting my backside. The dust and debris that they whipped into my wounds compounded the burning pain that was already pulsing through my body.

But we were making progress. It was tortuously slow, but it was progress all the same. By Celestia's grace, we somehow managed to make it through the open doorway and into the interior of the old lobby. I urged Windfall to keep pulling me deeper inside when I sensed her slacking off at the door. We needed to be as protected as we could, and that meant being deep enough inside to be out of sight of cursory inspections of the area by wandering ponies. Few who ventured by here could be counted on to be anything but hostile.

Finally, I judged us far enough into the lobby to warrant a stop. Which was fortunate, since I wouldn't have been able to move any more even if I wanted to. I'd noticed that the little yellow bar had been shrinking for a good while now, and the trail of blood that we'd left in our wake lent considerable evidence as to the cause. I'd exacerbated my wounds and opened them back up again.

“Healing potion,” I croaked out. I should still have the one left.

Windfall didn't hesitate this time. I saw the little filly sprint past me towards the lobby's exit. She whipped around nearly in place a few yards from the doorway, scooping a purple vial up into her mouth from where it'd fallen out of my pack when she'd rummaged through it earlier. She then cantered back inside, slipping a little in my blood.

My eyes regarded the young flier as she fumbled with the vial's cap in her blood soaked hooves. She looked like one of those cannibal raiders from back east in Hoofington. He ivory coat was splattered with dabs of both drying, rust-colored blood, and fresh scarlet fluid around her hooves and mouth. Her teal and green tail was a matted bloody mess as well; turning almost black in places.

I thought to myself, a few more weeks, and she'll look just like me...

Windfall finally managed to dislodge the potion's cap and held the vial to my lips. I drank it down, feeling the pain ebb a little more. The pipbuck confirmed that I was recovering from my previously grievous state. Though a few concerning groups of letters remained on the visual display. I would need a lot more than what I had on me if we were going to make it back to the city limits.

“Alright, next,” I instructed the filly, “you need to go search their saddlebags,” Windfall looked over her shoulder with trepidation. Given how she'd reacted to the prospect of handling a living pony covered in blood, I could only imaging how much she relished the thought of rifling through the possessions of corpses. But it needed doing. Looting your kills was something that had to be done in the Wasteland if you hoped to survive, “potions, bottles, or any syringes that look like they might hold drugs: get 'em,” I saw her eyes go wide. The filly looked back in the direction of the carnage with fear.

I reached out with a hoof and directed her head to look back at me, glaring into her face, “yes, they're dead,” I stated firmly, “It's gross, and it's icky, and there's a lot of blood,” the filly's eyes began to tear up and I gave her head a little shake. I needed her to hold herself together a little longer in order to complete the task ahead, “but we need what they have, and I can't even stand right now.”

The pegasus swallowed and nodded again. Her movements were painfully hesitant and slow, but at least she was moving. I wasn't bleeding to death any longer, so there was a little time to play with. Not as much as I would have liked, I'm sure; and dangers certainly abounded. Those Vipers could have friends in the area. I hoped it was a slim chance, and that groups out looking to snag a few wayward ponies didn't want a lot of competition in the area, even if it was 'friendly' competition. I supposed that we'd find out how safe we were in due time.

A few minutes later, Windfall returned and laid out an arrangement of items in front of me. There was some Buck, a couple of doses of Dash, an injector of Stampede—I didn't know if I was going to need that yet or not—a couple doses of Rad-X, and an item that my eyes locked onto with intense relief. I weakly jabbed my hoof in the direction of the syringe, “that. Remove the cap an stick it into my shoulder.”

The filly gathered up the needle and stood over me, “which shoulder?”

I glared at her, “the red one.”

“Oh. Right,” there was a brief moment of pain as the hypodermic needle was jammed into my flesh, and then I felt no discomfort at all as the plunger was depressed. I let out a sigh of immeasurable relief as the last little motes of pain finally vanished from my back. A few other parts of me still ached, but the worst was far behind me. My injuries were no more healed than they had been thirty seconds ago, but at least I wouldn't scream with every little movement for an hour or so. Too bad those gangers had had any other healing potions on them.

Experimentally, I tried putting a little weight on the leg that had been most affected by the strike to my shoulder. I instinctively braced myself for the jabs of pain, but they were thankfully absent. However, it seemed that what healing had been done hadn't been enough to allow my leg the range of motion or stability I'd need to stand on my own power.

I'd need more drugs to make it.

My eyes went to the injector of Stampede. I bet I could make it back to Seaddle with that stuff coursing through my veins. I'd seen ponies hopped up on that stuff shrug off a hail of gunfire without so much as a falter. They died once their hearts were perforated of course, but aside from that, their bodies had seemed perfectly willing to function despite any physical wounds they suffered. Pain became something that didn't matter.

The strain though...I'd only recently come down off of Buck and Dash; which was likely compounding my current level of physical weakness. Putting that stuff into my system this soon might get me back to Seaddle, but I doubted that I'd survive the crash when it wore off. I'd need to wait a good while before risking it. Two hours at the least.

Which afforded me an opportunity to have a long overdue conversation with Windfall. I turned my head from side to side, my eyes watching for any red blips. When I saw that the coast was clear, I turned my attention to the pegasus filly. She was still watching me intently, seemingly ignorant of the blood drying on her own coat.

“Do you understand why I had to kill those ponies?”

Windfall swallowed and nodded her head, “yes.”

“Then tell me.”

“...They were bad ponies.”

I was unable to contain my derisive snort. It wasn't her fault though. She was young, and saw things in such a narrow view. Those 'Mare-do-Well' news reports that DJ PON3 put out every few days on the radio probably wasn't helping things either. The Manehattan DJ seemed to be just as black and white in his moral world view. You had 'bad ponies' and 'good ponies', and it was the job of the good ones to deal with the bad. Violently. Did it really matter who was doing the killing? 'Good', 'bad'; you were still an equicidal maniac running around killing folk. Bandits had families too. Mares and bucks and foals waiting for them back at their camps.

The only difference between the Mare-do-Well and the slavers she was slaughtering, in my opinion, was some radio personality's choice of words when reporting on her actions. When a raider killed a pony, they were a villain; when the Mare-do-Well did it, she was a hero. I'd just killed three raiders ten minutes ago, would that have made me a hero in PON3's eyes? Was I still a 'hero' even though I'd gunned down a family of merchants six weeks before that? Did it mean I broke even?

“Bad ponies,” I scoffed, “the world's full of 'bad' ponies. You go around killing a pony because they're 'bad', you'll wipe us all out. Liars, cheaters, crooks, killers; everypony out here does those things,” I informed the filly, noting her expression of disbelief, “No, I didn't kill them because they were bad; I killed them because they were a threat.

“Do you know what they wanted to do to us? What would have happened if we were captured?”

The filly offered a hesitant nod, “they were going to hurt us?”

“'Hurt' don't even begin to touch it,” I corrected, “those gangers would have beat the shit out of us, and then put explosive collars around our necks,” I began. This conversation was going to be hard for her to hear, as young as she was, but it was important that she understand the stakes out here in the Wasteland. We weren't on her parents' ranch anymore. The world that this little pegasus had been forced into was a cruel one, and she needed to understand that if she was going to deal with it.

That may have been one of the few things that my father had done right by me: teaching me how fucked up the ponies around me were, “I'd have gotten off pretty light,” I went on, “they'd have beat me up, made sure I wouldn't put up a fight. Broken a rib or two to put me in my place. You? They'd have raped you,” I saw the filly flinch away and shut her eyes. Maybe she hadn't been able to see what the White Hoof raiders had done to her mother from her hiding place in the barn; but I was willing to bet that she'd heard it, and that she was reliving the memory of those sounds right now.

I didn't stop, “those two bucks would have passed you around, had their fun in every hole they could find on you, and then given you to other bucks in the gang for them to do the same.

“For starters.”

It was clear on Windfall's face that I was upsetting her. Tears were streaming from her eyes and she was shaking her head fervently, quietly begging for me not to say any more on the subject. Tough. I continued to speak. When she covered her ears to drown out my words, I spoke louder, “when they were done with you, they'd have contacted the White Hooves. We'd have been traded for weapons and drugs; maybe a few bits too. After that? Well, it goes downhill from there.”

Sorry, Windfall, but the Wasteland is a harsh place, and you need to understand that if you're going to last longer than the average stable pony, “Me? I'm young enough. They'd have worked me to death in the mines; maybe the fields. If I was lucky. If I pissed somepony off, they'd put me in the arena. Let one of their younger warriors fight and kill me to earn a little prestige. Either way, I'd be lucky to see five more years.

“You? You'll wish you were me,” I spoke loudly, as Windfall had crouched down and buried her head under her hooves, “they'll rut you worse than the Vipers did. When your old enough, they'll give you to a warrior who's proved themselves. You'll bear his foals. You'll bear them until you either die in foaling, or get too old. Or until he gets himself a younger brood mare. After that, they'll probably toss you into a barrel filled with baby radscorprions and bet on how many stings it takes for you to stop screaming,” Windfall was bawling now. I couldn't stop yet though; not quite.

“So, yeah. I killed them. I saved our fucking lives! I get that you're scared. I get that this is all new to you. I'm sorry it sucks, but that's the Wasteland. It's a brutal place filled with death and bastards.”

I paused now, watching as Windfall wept. I think that now was when everything was finally hitting her. I'd thought that she seemed to be handling losing her family too well. After all, I'd known plenty of colts and fillies who seen their families die; sometimes even by my own hoof. They'd cried and screamed for hours and days. They'd shut down and given into their new lives as property of the White Hooves.

At first, I thought that Windfall might somehow simply have been strong enough, emotionally, to have dealt with that sort of tragedy. This was the Wasteland after all. Everypony suffered from an early age. Most ponies would at least loose a sibling or fiend at an early age, if only to sickness. It was looking like Windfall had been an exception though. She'd grown up in a sheltered existence. She'd never seen a raider or ganger before. She had a caring family, a livelihood, a safe place to stay...

Then in a day it was all taken away from her, violently.

Now it started to really hit her. This wasn't just some trip to town that was hitting a few bad patches. This wasn't a bad dream that she was having that would vanish at any moment when she sudden;y awoke safe in her own bed with her mother cradling her.

This was her life. What we had just dealt with today wasn't some random fluke; but perhaps an ordeal that could easily become a weekly occurrence.

When her sobbing began to subside, I reached out and placed a blood-soaked hoof on her shoulder. It did little to muss her already soiled coat. The touch drew her attention. She sniffled and looked up at me with reddened, teary eyes. I offered as much of a comforting smile as I could manage, but I was sure it looked pretty pathetic coming from a face that was haggard and splattered with blood and gore, “this place sucks, but...I'm going to do what I can to keep you alive. I just need you to promise to do the same for me.

“Deal?”

The filly looked up at me with her watery blue eyes. I expected her to nod, or perhaps even offer up a choked little acknowledgment. Instead, she remained silent for another couple of heartbeats. Then she launched herself at my neck, wrapping her forelegs around me in a tight embrace. I could feel her shuddering as she resumed crying into my shoulder. At least she'd had the courtesy to weep into the side that hadn't been cut open by the sword slice.

I sighed and patted her back, “I'll take that as a, 'yes'...”

I'd be walking with the limp for a while. All things considered, I'd gotten off pretty light. The Stampede had been enough to get me to the gate, and the guards were kind enough not to shoot two blood-drenched ponies charging them on sight. One more incident in which Windfall's proximity had likely saved my life, as the presence of the foal—who'd been running behind me, thankfully—was likely the only reason for the lack of a reception in the form of a hail of gunfire. Somehow she'd managed to convince the soldiers at the gate that we weren't psycho-cannibals, despite my frothing muzzle and our blood-drenched state. She even got them to call a trauma response team to treat me.

Despite the obvious severity of my own injuries, and the lack of any actual wounds on Windfall; the medical ponies had been rather keen to address any needs that the pegasus had first; even after repeated assurances from the filly that none of the blood was her own.

It could have gotten bad fast from that point on though. The trauma team wanted to take me back to the clinic for treatment. Somehow, I managed to retain the presence of mind to refuse them. They'd have needed to remove my barding in order to get at my wounds; and that would have led to a very awkward moment of revelation that the ponies working there would have reacted badly to.

I managed to coherently impart that my injuries looked worse than they actually were, and that all I needed was some Med-X for the pain, a little Fixer for the Stampede, and a lot of bed rest. The trauma team and guards had been understandably skeptical, but I was obviously injured and I had the bits to pay for the drugs, so they sold them to me and let us go on our way. Mostly.

The medical ponies had insisted that Windfall go with them so that she could be properly examined and cleaned up. Refusing that request would have caused a bit of a scene and maybe prompt some questions I'd prefer to avoid, so I bowed in to the demand. The filly had insisted that she didn't need to go, but by that point, even I was telling her to let the clinic clean her up at least. I needed to play the role of the dutiful parent. Which would typically also have meant going with my 'daughter' to ensure that she was alright.

I managed to dodge that responsibility by insisting that the only way I'd be able to cover the expense of her treatment was by selling what we'd salvaged that day; which meant getting to the shops before they closed for the day. I certainly wasn't about to be entirely truthful and inform them that I'd already lined up a buyer that would be paying generously for what we'd retrieved. In the end, the trauma team and Windfall relented and went to the clinic without me while I sought out the pony whose contract we'd been fulfilling.

Despite the trials we'd faced that day the trip had proven worth it. The pony who'd contracted us seemed obviously well-versed in the hardships of delving into the old ruins; she wasn't put off at all by my bloodied appearance. A lot of the ponies I passed on the street gave me a second glance or three though. Hard to blame them. I must have looked quite the sight with my bloody barding and pronounced hobble.

I don't know what the mare was planning to sell the talismans for; but she'd paid me three-hundred bits a piece for the three that we'd managed to recover from that neighborhood. The best part was that I hadn't immediately had half of that amount confiscated under the guise of 'taxation'.

My next stops were at various smaller traders to pawn off what we'd recovered from the Vipers that we'd killed. The rifle had proven to be in decent condition, and had fetched a reasonable price along with the rounds that went with it. I kept most of the recovered drugs, as it looked like I'd be needing them if Windfall and I had many more encounters like that.

After replacing the supplies that I'd used recovering from the fight, and selling what had been looted from the gangers, that left me with a profit of a little over seven hundred bits.

It would be enough to keep the two of us fed and sheltered for a couple of weeks at least. Plenty of time to get a good start on Windfall's orientation before we went back out on another contract. If I'd learned anything in the last few days, it was that I was starting to get too old to do this on my own. Windfall's assistance had proven invaluable thus far; and she would only prove even more of an asset with some competency under her saddlebags. Honestly, I shouldn't have waited this long to do that. Just wasn't used to having somepony around who was genuinely ignorant of the harsher realities of the Wasteland.

The business end conducted, I made my way to the clinic to retrieve Windfall. The building that served as Seaddle's primary care facility had once been an old apartment complex back in the days before the war. Some of the walls between adjoining units had been knocked down in order to create decent sized wards. Others had been left intact to create luxuriously sized suites for the more affluent ponies that sought treatment here. Since Seaddle was the seat of government for the New Lunar Republic, the majority of their governing officials made their homes here. When they needed medical care, they expected to be catered to here just as they were at their jobs.

My appearance prompted a speedy response from one of the nurses on duty in the reception office, but I waved her off quickly, “I'm fine.”

The yellow unicorn mare dressed in a faded pink and eggshell gown regarded me dubiously, “you don't look fine,” she gestured at the blood that stained my barding a coat.

“It's not mine,” I lied. The nurse quirked an eyebrow, her gaze shifting to the obvious laceration visible beneath the rend in my barding, “mostly,” I amended. I cleared my throat and shifted the topic of our conversation, “I'm here to pick up my daughter and pay for her treatment. The little pegasus filly that was brought in a while ago?”

Any concern that the nurse had for my well-being dried up rather quickly at that moment, “you mean the poor filly all covered in blood?” she asked coolly, “you should be ashamed, endangering her like that.”

Oh, I so did not want to have this conversation. Still, I had to make my role convincing, “you'd rather I leave her here on her own for days at a time? Waiting and worrying that I might not make it back?”

To her credit, the nurse didn't seem to view that as a much more preferable alternative, “what about her mother?”

“Died in foaling,” I quipped tersely, the lie ready at my lips, “I'm sorry that I'm too busy raising my filly to get the training for a nice safe job like yours,” I rounded on the nurse, turning the conversation on her and hiding my satisfaction at her rebuked expression, “it may not be as safe as I'd like, but what I do provides for her. Did she look like she'd missed a meal to you? Were there any scars on her body? No?”

I nodded my head back at the gouge in my shoulder, “I nearly died protecting her today; and I will die before I ever let any harm come to a single hair on Windfall's head,” my tone grew cold with my next words, dripping with ire, “imply that I don't care about my daughter again. I dare you...

“Now where is she?”

“Dad?”

Both mine and the nurses head whipped towards the hallway across the lobby. The movement was a little more rapid than my wounds would have liked and prompted a wince.

The little pegasus filly was definitely looking the better for her brief stay here. The blood had been scrubbed from her coat, mane, and tail. I'd never seen her looking better, honestly. Behind her stood a jet unicorn stallion with a blond mane and some sort of knife emblazoned on his flank. Odd mark for a medical pony, I mused.

With a parting glare at the nurse, I approached the ivory filly, “you doing alright?” the young flier nodded. She kept quiet otherwise, her eyes occasionally looking towards the staff ponies scattered through the lobby. We needed to play this convincingly, so I put on my warmest smile and stretched out a hoof, drawing her into a gentle hug, “I'm sorry about what happened today, honey,” I could feel the movements beginning to illicit pain. The stupendous doses of medications I was on were going to be wearing off soon. We needed to expedite this.

“S'alright,” Windfall said softly, leaning into the embrace.

My gaze shifted up to the black unicorn nearby, “you a doctor?” the stallion nodded, “she's alright?” I knew she was, but I had to be the concerned parent.

“Windfall is in good health,” the rich baritone of the physician informed me, “we cleaned her up, fed her, and I took the liberty of giving her a few precautionary vaccinations,” beneath me, I noticed the filly's face sour as she absently rubbed her hindquarters.

“I appreciate that,” I lied. It wasn't that I was against him having fed or treated her, per say. But I suspected that his actions were going to inflate whatever charges I was going to owe for the check-up anyway, “what do I owe you?”

“The vaccinations are free to foals,” the doctor informed us, “part of the Princess' new initiative to improve the lives of the Republic's colts and fillies. They are the future, after all,” that was fortunate at least, “the cleaning is just fifty bits. You can pay at the front desk.”

The doctor then bent his head down and addressed Windfall directly, “it was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Windfall.”

“Thanks for everything,” the filly nodded. She directed her gaze up at me, “can we go home now? I don't want to get another shot.”

Her remark prompted some smiles from a few of the staff. We gathered her things from the front desk and paid what was owed. I was relieved to find that our departure wasn't hampered. It was time for us to get back home.

The effects of the Med-X had nearly completely worn off by the time we'd reached the door to our apartment. The pain served as a testament to exactly how serious the wound on my back was. The chances felt pretty high that all of the walking around that I had been doing—to say nothing of the run here—had perhaps greatly exacerbated my injuries. Without the numbing affects of the analgesic, I couldn't even move most of the left side of my body without throws of agony. That I had no more Med-X to use was most most unkind reality to face when the full brunt of my condition became apparent as far as the pain was concerned.

I had been tempted to purchase additional syringes at the clinic; but I had been trying to play off the wound as nothing serious, and the quantities that I would have required would have either shot that story all to Tartarus, or gotten me marked down in their files as a doper. I might need pain management from them at some future time, so best to not be seen in that sort of light.

It was fortunate that the pain dulling effects of the Med-X kept the agony at levels that were just barely tolerable enough for me to make it to the bed. Shucking off my barding had not been possible though. I lay, fully clothed and bloody, on the bed, panting, for nearly a full minute before I was composed enough to speak. What was ahead would not be pretty, and probably wasn't very wise of me either. Unfortunately, this was not Flank or Appaloosa, where I could freely expose my bare shoulders to anypony without concern for what they would see. In Seaddle, letting most ponies catch sight of my brand would, quite literally, get me killed.

That left Windfall as my only reliable source of care for the foreseeable future.

“You ready for a course in battlefield medicine?” I prompted the filly, trying to pour a little wry humor into my words. Not really so much for Windfall's sake as my own. Things could got pretty bad for me in the next few days if this didn't go right, “help me get this barding off.”

I had to walk Windfall through nearly all of the steps involved; as this wasn't going to be like most of the times I'd shucked my barding after returning to the apartment. The boiled leather segments that made up the protective garment were connected by an array f buckles and straps. Most of these remained connected even during the normal disrobing process; needing only to be loosened a bit to allow for the armor to be more easily manipulated.

This time I decided that it was a better option to simply completely disassemble the armor. I could barely move without screaming as it was. Wiggling out of the stiffened barding was out of the question. It would be a pain to put it all back together later, but as I got a good look at the swaths being peeled off of my back, the more convinced I was that my barding was beyond a simple patch job. I would need a whole new set.

Windfall tugged at the straps, slipping them out of their various knots and buckles, while I did little more than scream. A lot of the segments of the barding had been bonded to my wounds by dried blood. Each time a piece was removed, it enticed fresh streams of blood to begin flowing again. Especially those swaths of leather that were around my shoulders and back. The little yellow bar started trickling away again.

“Potion,” I managed to get out through gritted teeth, already feeling the tendrils of unconsciousness tugging at the edges of my mind. Passing out now would be very ill-advised. The pegasus didn't know near enough about tending wounds to do the repairs that were required on her own. I had to be able to walk her through them if I was going to recover from this without serious permanent damage.

The purple fluid was brought to my lips. I felt the magic tingle through my body, but it was a much more subdued feeling than the other times. Those potions weren't meant to perform the sorts of repairs that I was demanding of them. They were more akin to stopgaps; a means of stabilizing a pony long enough to get them to a real clinic. But I couldn't go to a clinic.

“Jackboot?”

The filly's voice sounded distant. Like it was coming from behind a closed door. That wasn't a good sign. The room seemed darker too. I sincerely hoped that it meant the spark-battery powering the light was dying, but since I'd hooked up a fresh one from our trip to the factory a couple weeks ago; I knew that wasn't the case. Dash and Buck weren't going to help. I was out of Stampede and Med-X.

“Jackboot?!”

The only thing that I was hearing clearly right now was my own breathing. At least the pain was easing. Not that that was a good sign either. I felt cold too. Fuck. I was going into shock. Too much blood. I'd lost too much blood. Any second now, I was going to pass out, and Windfall wasn't going to have the first clue about what to do about fixing me up. She'd panic. The little filly would run to the clinic and bring the medics here to help me.

They'd see the brand...

Through my hazy vision, I saw the white blur of the young pegasus heading for the door, “I'm gonna get help!” she assured me, “It'll be okay, Jackboot; just hang on!”

No! I wanted to call out. I had to stop her. My body refused to move, despite all my efforts. The only thing that had kept me going since that fight had been an unhealthy concoction of drugs, and I'd bled most of them out onto the mattress by this point. No words came out. Not even a whimper.

Fuck. Damn it, Celestia! I kept her safe! I even promised to look after her, for real this time! Now you're going to let her get me killed like this? Fuck you, Celestia! Fuck you to the moon and back...

A soft yellow hoof combed through my blood-matted mane. I was able to clearly see the blue eyes framed by a pink mane that belonged to a pegasus who was more in my own mind than she could ever be in this room. My own brain entertaining its final delusions in the form of a statue come to life. If my subconscious was going to be kind enough to send me off to a sleep from which I would never awake in the arms of a mare; couldn't it have at least been a unicorn? Not that the yellow pegasus wasn't a hot piece of flank in her own right, but a lithe unicorn mare with a slender horn poking through her delicate bangs would have given me a bit more comfort in my final deluded moments.

Besides, I wasn't feeling particularly thrilled with this mare right now. She was why I was even in this mess.

Be kind...

Fat lot of good being kind did me...

My eyes fell closed.

I'll admit, I never expected to wake up again. In my mind, the likely scenario played out as follows: Windfall brings the medics by. They see the brand. They usher her outside and summon the guards. Soldiers arrive and put a couple rounds into my unconscious skull. The pegasus is put into fosterage. The end.

That was the most plausible scenario in my head; but I suppose it wasn't the only possible one. Maybe they might have suspected that the White Hoof hiding out in their capital was some sort of spy looking for weaknesses. Maybe they'd hold off on the execution long enough to pump me for information about what Whiplash was planning. I could then either plead the truth of my innocence or make up a bunch of lies. Either way, they'd still kill me eventually for the crime of being a White Hoof.

So, as surprised as I was to wake up at all; I was outright flabbergasted when I woke up still in our own apartment. The pain was gone, and I could feel somepony curled up next to me.

Great, I was still dreaming. It was the only rational explanation for how I could feel so miraculously better while not being in chains in an NLR dungeon. I was dreaming, and at this moment was being dragged into an interrogation room from which I would not be leaving alive.

Well, fuck it. If I was going to be allowed one final dream before waking up in hell, I'd at least make the most of it. I turned my head to look at the body curled up against me, expecting to see the yellow pegasus again. However, I turned out to only be half correct. While the pony in the bed with me was indeed one of the feathered variety, it was not the personification of the tiny statue that had so pervasively invaded my psyche these last few days days. It was Windfall.

I quirked an eyebrow, annoyed at the discovery. So much for getting in a little fantasy 'fun' before my impending bout of drawn out suffering. Thanks a lot, subconscious. Couldn't let me catch just a tiny little break, could you?

“You're awake.”

My head whipped around towards the back of the room, looking for the unanticipated speaker. The quick movement caused me to gasp as a spasm of pain shot through my back. Okay, so not a dream then, if I was still feeling pain. The bed was still a bloody mess too, if dried. I was really here; and the presence of the third individual in the room lent itself towards an answer for how that was possible.

“You,” I groaned quietly, still a little groggy, “what...?”

“Windfall,” Golden Vision supplied. The blue mare finished filling a small basin with water and levitated it over to the bed, setting it down in front of me on the mattress, “she tracked me down. Said you were in trouble.”

Without prompting, I drank the offered water. My throat was parched. After I drank my fill, and felt a little more capable of speaking, I ventured onto my second question, looking around at where my shoulder had been split open. Only, it wasn't open any longer, “how...?”

The unicorn cracked a wan smile, “Adz and his crew tended to get hurt quite a bit on their raids,” she answered, stepping closer to the bed. I felt a tingling sensation as little yellow motes of magic drifted down from her horn and danced along the sutured wound. The pain ebbed some more, “I was expected to patch them up.”

Made sense. Not like Adz was the kind of pony that could have gone to see a doctor when he got fucked up on a heist. Kind of like me.

Now, for the third question. One that I was genuinely having a hard one coming up with a probable answer for, “why?”

Vision was silent for a long while. Then, with a nod in the direction of the sleeping pegasus, “because she asked me to,” my eyes went to Windfall. The little white flier was snuggle up against my own rusty hide, sleeping soundly. I was mindful to keep my movements as minimal as possible so as not to wake her. The little filly had done well. Surprisingly well.

“She was really worried about you,” the unicorn went on.

“Can I ask you a question now?” Vision asked. I regarded the unicorn and nodded. Fair was fair, “why didn't you,” she choked out the next word, quietly, “mount...me?”

What was I even supposed to say here? How was I supposed to give her an answer, when I didn't even have one for myself? I could have told her that a little yellow statue begged me not to, but I doubted that Vision would feel relieved knowing that I was nothing more than a crazy pony who was rather good at killing raiders. That night, even when she'd been completely quiet and still, I'd decided not to take what was promised. Against my own desires, and even my own principles.

Why? For one stupidly simple reason that didn't hardly make any sense even when I said it aloud, “...because you didn't want it.”

In my head, my sister cackled, my father cursed, and the newcomer mare smiled and clapped her hooves. Quite the menagerie of insanity I was collecting inside this head of mine. A few more loose screws, and I could stop stressing over every little thing and just put all of my future decisions up for a damn vote! Barely felt like I was making my own decisions anymore anyway...

Fuck Seaddle.

I don't know what Vision was making of my answer. Probably not much more than I was. Knowing what I did about her past, I can imagine that my reply made little sense to her. Since when had it mattered to any stallion that ever mounted her whether or not she wanted it? The unicorn had been a slave; her desires were immaterial. Even in our little arrangement, she'd promised herself as payment. It's not like ponies were supposed to care about whether or not bits wanted to be spent. Why should it have mattered to me if Vision wanted me on her, when she'd already volunteered herself?

...because I'd all but blackmailed her into it. If she was trotting up to strange ponies she'd only just met at the bar that night desperately hoping for their help, then Vision had long since run out of options. I bet she'd already approached the guards and been turned down. She'd probably even put up a contract offering what few bits she'd had. Given how little she'd managed to scrape together to pay me with, no wonder there'd been no takers. So, the unicorn had been reduced to asking random bucks whom she thought capable or willing to take on raiders.

Going so far as to do something I bet she'd promised herself never to let happen again: let a stallion touch her the way Adz had.

Vision hadn't wanted me. She just hadn't wanted Adz to get her more.

I guess it wasn't crying mares that I couldn't stand after all.

“Thank you,” Vision said.

Awe, a gruff mare's voice cooed in my head, isn't she a sweetheart. Wonder if she'll let you throw it to her now, being that you're such a gentlecolt and all?

Shut up!

I shut my eyes tight, blocking out the words of my sister. My father's own opinion wouldn't be far behind unless I quashed things quickly. I hadn't spared Vision for her sake or her thanks. I hadn't done it to 'be kind' either, so that smug looking pegasus floating around in my head could stuff it too. The only reason I stayed off her was because I couldn't perform with a mare in that state. Put a mare like Saffron in front of me, and I'd rut her from now until the Second Apocalypse with a shit-eating-grin on my muzzle. If she demanded money when I finished, then I swear to Celestia I'd put a bullet through her fucking head too! Because that was how you survived in the Wasteland; and fuck any damn statue that said different!

I should sell that piece of shit to the next junk dealer I came across.

Not looking so satisfied now, are you, you little yellow bitch?!

Threatening a delusional manifestation of a souvenir statuette...I have completely lost my fucking mind.

“I don't want your thanks,” I rebuked the unicorn. I needed time alone. Had to get my head right again. There was a lot that Windfall and I needed to get done before I risked the two of us taking another trip out into the Ruins, “I helped you, you helped me,” I gestured cautiously to my shoulder, not knowing how long Vision's numbing spell would last, “we're even.

“Don't let the door hit you on the way out.”

The cyan mare recoiled slightly at my harsh tone, looking taken aback. Good. Maybe she'd take the hint and never let me see her again, “fine,” she responded tersely, heading for the door, “tell, Windfall 'good bye' for me.”

“Whatever.”

A yellow aura surrounded the corrugated steel portal leading out of the apartment and it swung open. Golden Vision cast one final parting glance back towards the bed. I imagined more for Windfall's sake than mine. Then she stepped through and closed it behind her.

It seemed that the sound of the door closing was enough to rouse the slumbering filly at my side. Windfall's eyes blinked open, a yawn escaping her mouth. When she noticed that I was awake as well, the little pegasus let out an elated gasp and rubbed her head up against my uninjured shoulder. I could feel moisture seeping into my hide from her teary eyes.

“You're okay!”

I'm healthy...ish. I doubt I'll ever be 'okay' though.

Outwardly, I offered the filly up a smile and a nod, “I'm alright.”

Windfall stood up on the bed and looked around the room. When she caught no sight of the cyan unicorn that she'd brought to my aid, the pegasus glanced back at me, “where'd Miss Vision go?”

“She couldn't stay,” I informed the filly, “she had to get back to work,” I had no idea where the mare had gone. I didn't care. Her presence only served to remind me of how much I'd changed since leaving the White Hooves. How weak I'd become.

“Oh,” the filly's ears wilted slightly. She looked at the recently sewn rend on my backside, “are you feeling alright?”

I inspected the cyan unicorn's handiwork too. She'd definitely had to stitch up her share of wounds in the past. The suturing she'd performed wasn't novice work, even for a mare who couldn't actually see. The pain was manageable, but I still felt really weak. I'd be out of action for a day or two at the least. Which was fine. We had the funds to languish for a while, and I needed to focus a little more on Windfall's didactic eduction about the Wasteland anyway. Then we could hit the range, do a little hoof-to-hoof work, find some decent barding...

“I'll be fine in a couple days,” I assured the filly. Then I added, “you did good, Windy. You did real good.”

The filly beamed and curled back up next to me. She scooted up against my side and laid her head over top her folded fetlocks, resuming her nap.

Isn't she just the sweetest thing, Whiplash's voice cooed, she's like the daughter that you'll someday be able to fuck; and have her thank you for it.

Fuck you. I resisted the urge to snarl aloud at my own psychoses. It wasn't easy. I wasn't my father, damn it. I wouldn't touch a filly.

She won't be a filly forever, the voice was keen to point out, one day, she'll be a grown mare. She'll adore you. She won't care what's etched into you spine.

I didn't reply to that. Windfall wasn't a unicorn though-

Like you ain't ever wondered what it'd be like to fuck a Dashite.

Shut up and go away, you bitch!

Make me.

I closed my eyes tight, gritting my teeth against a desire to scream. Why couldn't the voices just leave me alone! I didn't need, or want, any of their bullshit. It's not like they weren't telling me anything that I hadn't already considered a dozen times over.

Yeah, Windfall wasn't going to be a filly forever. That was pretty integral to my plans for training her up to be a partner to watch my back. I needed an ally out here. Preferably, one that could provide covering fire. Windfall was going to be that ally. Maybe there'd been a rough patch or two, some touch and go moments like this morning. She was still learning; and so was I to a degree. Still, things were generally working out so far. The filly was eager to learn, and she'd demonstrated on a few occasions that she was concerned with what happened to me.

My plan was working. At this rate, in a few years, she'd obey my commands without hesitation or reservation. She'd defend my life with her own. Anything I asked of her, she would do; and she would do it gladly.

I knew very well what I had asked willing mares to do in the past.

Would I regard Windfall any differently? Should I? Mares had needs, the same as stallions. Someday, she might come to me. On that day...

Be kind...

Another wince marred my features. Not even a minute to my own thoughts without somepony intruding on them. With all these voices in my head, it probably wasn't going to matter what I would do when Windfall got older. By that time, I probably wouldn't even be sane enough to care.

“And...go!”

At my command, the alabaster filly drew out the .22 caliber pistol from its holster on her left shoulder. Simultaneously, the pinions on her right wing manipulated a full magazine of ammunition, sliding it into the pistol's grip until there was an audible 'CLICK'. Her left wing pulled back on the slide and chambered the first round. The small firearm popped off rounds in quick succession as the little filly plinked the cans and bottles sitting atop the low wall at the opposite end of the range I'd set up.

Unexpectedly, and well short of the sixteen rounds that the magazine should have held, the slide locked back, indicating a lack of remaining bullets. I had intentionally stacked the filly's clips light without informing her of how many rounds each actually contained. The goal was to see how quickly she could react to an unexpected need to clear a jam or reload a weapon collected from a fallen enemy. You couldn't always count on getting your hooves on a fully loaded weapon in the middle of a fight, so being able to swap in a fresh magazine at a moment's notice was important.

To the filly's credit, her pause was a rather short one as she depressed the magazine release, her wingtip already fishing out a fresh replacement. Six seconds—according to the timepiece on the pipbuck mounted on my fetlock—after the pause in gunfire, the pegasus was able to resume her assault on the erected targets. She finished out the remainder of the rounds in the second clip before ejecting it as well and once more holstering the weapon. I noted the total elapsed time on the pipbuck.

The filly sat patiently on the asphalt, staring ahead at the cans. Her posture was a little awkward, as she was still getting used to the armored barding that she was wearing. It was newly fashioned by a tanner in Seaddle and still retained the pungent odors of the oils and turpentine that had been used during its creation. Barding sized for smaller ponies wasn't a particularly huge market, so Windfall's barding had required putting in a custom order; which the pricing reflected. Not that we had much else to spend our money on, and I certainly wasn't knowledgeable enough to make something like that myself.

In time the barding would soften up and stretch a little as it molded to her body, allowing the filly to sit and move more naturally. However, that required her to wear it as often as possible in order to encourage the armor to mold to her body.

The filly wasn't the only one getting acclimated to a new wardrobe either. My own leather barding had been beyond salvaging, just as I'd feared. I'd taken the opportunity to not only acquire a new set, but to get my hooves on more comprehensive protective barding. Much more of the ensemble was comprised of hardened leather segments, and even a few metal plated areas along my spine and flanks. It didn't hinder my movements as much as I was afraid that it might, but the weight was certainly going to slow me down for a while until I adapted to it. Not that my shoulder was going to allow for quick maneuvers any time soon. The pain was little more than a dull ache, but it still suggested that aggravating my injury would be an ill-advised course of action.

I stepped up next to the filly and peered down at the little flier. She maintained her forward facing posture, looking ahead, as I examined her weapon. I reached out with a hoof and tapped her left fore-leg, “you're crippled,” I stated flatly. The filly looked between me and her leg, confused, “safety's off. You shot yourself,” Windfall cringed, her ears drooping. Her left wing flipped forward, one of her feathery tips engaging the pistol's safety.

My eyes then went to the targets, drawing out my binoculars. I silently counted out the number of missing or damaged targets that I'd arranged, “fourteen,” I announced aloud. Out of twenty. Not horrible, given that she'd been practicing for only about a week or so. Still, she could do better. I glanced back at the pipbuck to note the elapsed time once more, “thirty-nine seconds.

“You're getting faster, but your accuracy still sucks,” was my assessment of the filly's performance. Windfall cringed again, looking down at the ground. I plucked two more magazines for the pistol out of my saddlebags and deposited them into pouches sewn into the filly's barding, “again,” the pegasus straightened up and looked determinedly at the remaining targets. I looked down at my pipbuck, “and...go!”

Gunfire once more filled the air, interrupted by a brief pause as the filly's pistol ran dry. She reloaded more swiftly by a full second and resumed firing. Her accuracy wasn't much improved though. That said, she'd have made the cut if the filly had enlisted in the Lunar Republican Guard. They required only a sixty percent minimum at their ranges for their soldiers; assuming that they maintained similar standards to the old Commonwealth. Windfall was meeting that mark with consistency.

I didn't share that fact with Windfall though. I'd been raised to see the Commonwealth soldiers as inferior to myself and the other warriors of the White Hooves. A bit of that biased still remained even after all of this time, and I doubted very much that the NLR had upped its standards since changing its name. 'Good enough for government work' didn't mean that it was good enough for me. Organized militaries could afford to slack off, since they could often rely on numbers to see them through a battle. With just the two of us, I wanted Windfall to be able to hit her targets a lot more often than about half the time.

Windfall's pistol went silent once more. I watched her as she cleared the weapon—remembering the safety this time, I noted—and holstered it. Her eyes were once more focused straight ahead, waiting for my appraisal of her performance. The binoculars went back up to my eyes as I scanned the range, “fifteen hits,” my eyes darted to the pipbuck, “thirty-seven seconds. Better. Again.”

My hoof fetched out two more magazines and passed them to the filly. She tucked them into the pouches on her barding and assumed a ready stance. I hovered my hoof over the fetlock-mounted computer and prepared to time her performance yet again, “and...go—wait..”

The pegasus nearly fumbled her pistol, her eyes regarding me curiously. I stared at the pipbuck in consternation. The screen wasn't showing me what it was supposed to; I'd hit the wrong button. Not the first time I'd made such an error since I'd begun exploring the device. Probably wouldn't be the last either. For a brief moment, I reevaluated my decision not to have one of the Seaddle residents give me a lesson in basic pipbuck operations.

Given the history of the Commonwealth's founding, there were still more than a few residents who owned pipbucks, or were at least familiar enough with them to know their fundamental functions. However, knowledge didn't come free, and they didn't seem to make it cheap either. No sympathy for the 'simple-minded' pony who'd stumbled onto a piece of pre-war technology that was beyond his ken. I must have seemed quite quaint to them. As stubborn as I was, I had made the choice to take the autodidactic route rather than giving any of them the satisfaction of being able to look down on me.

Foals Windfall's age were supposed to be able to use these damn things. No reason I couldn't figure it out...eventually.

In the meantime, I'd resigned myself to the inevitable stumbles that were bound to come with my trial-and-error method of discovery. So far I'd learned about the pipbuck's ability to monitor physical wellness, the timekeeping function, and how to turn on its spark-light. It seemed that I was about to discover yet another set of menus with whatever my errant keypress had been.

A list of words was visible on the small green display. Diary or journal entries of some sort, judging from the titles. On the other side of the screen were groups of numbers and dashes. They were similar to one of the strings of numbers near the top of the display, which I'd come to know as the current date according to the Anne Princeps calendar that ponies had used before The War. Judging from the divergence of these numbers from today's date, the entries were less than two months old.

“What is it?” Windfall inquired, seeing the curious look on my own face.

“Don't know yet,” I answered as I manipulated the selection nob on the pipbuck, guiding it to the earliest entry on the list. May as well start at the beginning, “let's find out...”

I tapped the button to play the recording.

The small speaker mounted beside the screen fizzled to life, and the heavily accented voice of a buck began speaking in a deep baritone, “Survey Log, Entry One,” he began, sounding rather grim through the grainy recording. Windfall leaned in close to hear more clearly, “this is Supervising Technician Ten Penny. The Overmare's asked for volunteers to go topside and see if we could reach any nearby stables and trade them for spare air purification talismans. I and three others drew the short straws. If we fail to locate any suitable talismans, we are to evaluate the feasibility of surviving on the surface.

“I'll say right now that I hope we can find the talismans. The radiation isn't as bad as we feared, but this place doesn't look anything like the pictures we had in the archives. Neighvada used to be some sort of lush green valley. Now it's a dust bowl.

“We're making our way to Stable 126 first. According to the archives, it's about twenty miles to the southwest. We should be there by tomorrow.”

The recording clicked off.

I looked pensively at the device. Presumably, the voice that we'd just heard had belonged to the corpse in the alley than I'd recovered the pipbuck from. It sounded like the buck had gone out with a group. Yet he'd been the only one that we'd found in that place. I wondered what fates all of his companions had met with. How many of these recordings would I make it through before I found out? The Wasteland had a steep learning curve, and stable ponies were rarely up to the surface's challenges.

My eyes darted to the nearby pegasus filly. Knowing what I did about the fragility of stable ponies when it came to their first experiences in the Wasteland, the little flier was about to get quite the eye-opening account about how much it sucked out here. If she hadn't figured that out by now, that is.

I selected the second entry and set it to play.

“Survey Log, Entry Two. Something went wrong,” the buck's voice trembled as he spoke. I could hear him swallow through the speaker, “I don't know what it was, but Stable 126...we found some working terminals. According to the records, Stable-Tec was trying some sort of...social experiment. 'Trying to make a better Equestria', or some shite.

“Well, they sure fucked up with this one. Big time. Apparently, Stable-Tec theorized that the war's chief cause was because ponies couldn't agree with each other and find harmony. Their solution? If everypony is actually the same pony, then they have to agree with each other.

Another long pause as the buck composed himself.

“Clones. 126 is...it was a stable full of clones. Bon Bon was her name. Their name. Seven hundred of them.

“There aren't any logs of what exactly went wrong, but we have a general idea. The end result is indisputable: they killed each other. On every wall is scribbled some variation of, 'I'm the real Bon Bon!'

“There are no talismans here. Most of the equipment was smashed in the fighting. Our next stop is Stable 131, to the west. Celestia willing, it's a...normal...stable.”

There were fifteen more entries after this one. Something told me that the next stable wasn't going to be any more fruitful than 126 had been. My own morbid curiosity spurred me on to select the third entry.

“Survey Log, Entry Three. Tack Weld died today. We ran into some sort of nest. A lot of giant scorpions poured out of a hole we got too close to. We killed the lot of them, but Tack was stung in the fight. The poison worked fast, and nothing we had made a difference.

“Three of use left now. One week out, and we're down a pony. I pray to Celestia that 131 has the talismans.”

One week. Not bad. They'd made it longer than some.

“Survey Log, Entry Four. 131 is a bust,” the buck sounded despondent now. Hard to blame him, given what he'd described encountering in just the first few days out of the stable. Life in the Wasteland was hard; not every stable-pony could take it when the hits kept coming like that, “We don't know if it's intact or not. Landslide buried the entrance. We don't have the tools or the time to dig it out. Next on our list is 108.”

I took another look at the list. There were still roughly a dozen more entries; and whatever details they held, I knew how the story ended: failure and death. I played the next one.

“Survey Log, Entry Five: We saw our first signs of pony life today. A group of ponies and some sort of weird two-headed cow-beasts. They were walking along a trail. We were heading to meet them, ask if they knew where to find any air purification talismans; but then they were attacked. Other ponies, wearing paint on their hooves, swarmed them.”

My eyes went to Windfall. I instantly knew how this tale was going to end; and I imagine, so did the pegasus. We were about to hear an account of a White Hoof raid.

“The cow-ponies fought, but they were outnumbered. The painted ones were screaming like madponies. They didn't seem to care about the gunfire from the cow-ponies at all. The painted ponies beat them all down, butchered the two-headed cows, and then dragged the ponies south. We didn't follow. We've agreed to keep away from any painted ponies, just in case they were that aggressive with everypony.”

It wasn't until the recording ended that I noticed the sound of sniffling. Looking at Windfall, I could see the filly glaring at the pipbuck on my leg with watering eyes. Her hoof ground into the asphalt as memories of the raid on her family's ranch flashed through her mind.

Before I could say and word, the filly reached for her holster and took the pistol into her teeth. I started to voice my protests. I hadn't told her to draw the weapon yet, but she ignored me. Instead, she slapped a clip into the butt of the pistol and turned to face downrange. Not particularly keen on confronting an upset pony who was carrying a loaded weapon, I chose instead to watch in silence as the filly vented her frustrations on the remaining targets.

Windfall opened up on the cans and bottles that had chosen to stand in defiance of her previous attempts to wound them. She didn't stand behind the firing line that I had set up though. Instead, she advanced on her targets, firing off a shot every second or so. The wall behind the targets spat puffs of rock dust, announcing her failures to score successfully hits on the arranged articles of trash that she was presumably trying to knock down. By the time the filly exhausted the first of her magazines, she was jogging.

Reloading a pistol on the run wasn't an easy task for anypony except a unicorn, and Windfall fumbled more than a few times trying to get her pinions to slot her remaining clip of ammunition into the jiggling grip in her teeth. She somehow managed it though, and resumed her wild firing at the targets until she was nearly on top of them. At the last moment, the young pegasus leaped into the air. Her tiny wings flipped out and buzzed furiously, becoming a pair of pale blurs to either side of the filly's torso. Her pistol continued to discharge the last of its contained rounds.

She didn't hit anything with her airborne end run, but I imagine that the dented empty can of beans that was her focus would have been more than a little intimidated by her assault if it was capable of perceiving its surroundings. Her fury at the metal cylinder was only compounded by its refusal to be shot. Windfall tackled the can off of its perch, stomping it into a misshapen disc on the ancient city pavement. Her pistol lay empty and forgotten nearby.

Sensing that I could now safely approach without risk of being shot by the raging filly, I slowly made my way towards her. Her sniffling was significantly more pronounced now. Fuck if I knew what I was going to do though. I'd seen her upset before; but never violently so. While I did feel a little encouraged by her demonstrated aggression, I wasn't yet positive how I was going to focus that energy into something productive. I remembered how my father had done it with me; but I was also painfully aware of the possible 'side affects' his methods had.

Especially where young violence-prone fillies were concerned.

I opened my mouth to speak, but Windfall beat me to it, “I miss my parents.”

Well. Not certain that's what I expected the filly to open with, but I could imagine that it was a very true statement nonetheless.

I'd caught her eye wandering to mares and their foals on occasion while we walked through town. Families eating at cafes. Foals playing in the street. I was pretty sure that every time she saw something like that, it reminded the filly of what had been stolen from her. Parents, siblings...family. Not one like the kind I'd had. The father who'd beat me to within an inch of my life, so that I'd learn how to fight. A sister who'd murdered her way to the top of the White Hooves and sicked a herd of hunters on me to remove the last threat to her reign. A mother who'd been little more than a brood slave that my father fancied for a brief period. I think he'd had her executed shortly after I was weened. Don't remember the reason.

He'd probably just wanted to watch her die.

Windfall, though...she'd had a far different experience where a family was concerned.

“Mama was really good with cooking,” Windfall continued, drifting into an unsolicited story. I stood by silently and let her say what was on her mind, “she could make anything taste good; even radscorpion meat,” a wistful, sad, smile touched her lips as she relived the painful memories of her life before the raid, “she'd whip some of the brahmin milk into cream. Really thick cream. It was so thick, it was almost like soft cheese. It was really sweet too.

“Every year, for our birthdays, she'd make us our own little cake out of that cream. Just for us; we didn't have to share if we didn't want to. I always shared mine though; I let her have the first bite.”

The pegasus wiped a fetlock at her glistening eyes and sniffled, “Hayseed's birthday would have been next week. He only let me have a little every year...” another sniff, then she looked at me, “does it make me a bad pony for missing my mama's cream cakes more than my brother?”

“I don't know,” I wasn't the pony to ask about what one was supposed to feel when they thought about family. The only blood relatives I had left wanted me dead; and I can't say that I felt much different where they were concerned either. I'd shoot Whiplash on sight if she ever showed up.

What did Windfall even want me to say here? Was I supposed to agree, and point out how stupid it was to prefer a milk cake over family? Did she want me to point out that he'd been a bit of a dick, so it was perfectly normal for her to not really miss him much? I couldn't relate to this sentimental bullshit.

It didn't look like I'd given her the answer she'd wanted though, judging by the way her head bowed. Damn it. I had to find a way to pull her out of this sulk somehow, or she'd be useless for the rest of the day. At the least. The armor had cost a hefty sum, so we needed to get back on a job pretty soon. The more training we got in the next few days, the better that job would go. Besides, I could already feel that damn yellow mare waiting in the wings of my mind. Be kind. Right. I got it!

Bitch...

“Look, it's alright to not miss ponies who die; even if they are family,” I said in an effort to reassure the despondent flier. Windfall raised her eyes to meet mine, wiping away another little sniffle.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” I didn't know if any of what I was saying was objectively true or not. All I could do was speak from personal experience. In any case, it looked like I was on the right track to pulling her out of these doldrums, “I mean, I don't miss my father much. He was killed by a White Hoof too.”

“He was?” Windfall's ears shot up in surprise. I'd been rather vague about my past with the filly; and I still was, strictly speaking. Given what the pegasus had been through, there was a lot about myself that I didn't want her knowing. Still, maybe putting out a few facts would help her to deal with her own issues at the moment.

“Yep,” I confirmed with a nod, “a White Hoof mare killed him in his sleep. Tried to kill me too, but I managed to get away,” I kept my expression even when I saw the sympathetic look on Windfall's face. She was about to waste that effort on the wrong pony, “and, no, I don't miss him. Not at all.”

Hell, that asshole fucking haunted me.

“But, he was your pa,” the filly protested, seemingly unable to comprehend how I could feel such animosity towards a pony whom I bet she had had a rather good relationship with herself.

“Doesn't mean that he wasn't an asshole,” I pointed out, a wan smile making its way onto my lips as some of the more memorable instances of him drifted to mind, “he broke my leg three times. Beat me and my sister. Never loved my mother,” I let out a mirthless snort, “he was a bad pony.”

“Oh.”

“That said,” I went on, “I hate the White Hoof that killed him more,” which was true, if only marginally so, “maybe he beat me. Maybe he was an ass. He probably even deserved to die for some of the things he did,” no probably about it, “but he was my father. The stallion who taught me how to fight...to survive in the Wasteland,” I hated giving that bastard credit, even where it was due, “he made me the pony I am today,” was that a compliment or an insult at his expense?

“Point is,” I tried to bring this awkward ramble of a pep talk to a close. Damn, I really sucked at this, “you don't have to love something more for it to have been important. Maybe you liked your mother's cakes more than your brother; but you still miss your brother, don't you?” the filly nodded, sniffling, “well there you go then.”

Windfall looked away once more, prodding the flattened tin can, “what about what I did though, during the attack?”

“What'd you do?”

The filly delivered a fierce kick to the stomped scrap of tin with her fore-hoof, “I hid! I hid under a pile of hay while everypony else...” her words trailed off. She didn't know what had happened to then. Not exactly. Killed, taken, the filly had never seen. That had to be pretty frustrating, to know that something bad had happened to ponies that you cared about, but not know exactly what. Windfall didn't know if she was supposed to be grieving, or holding out hope for some sort of miraculous reunion in the future.

“I should have fought...”

“Is that what you really believe?”

Windfall looked at me in consternation, “of course! I should have helped them fight,” she seethed, frustrated that there was nothing else nearby for her to vent her rage on, “if I'd been there, maybe I could have done something! Maybe we'd all still be together!”

“Oh, you'd be together all right,” I frowned at the filly, “chained together at the neck in a White Hoof camp. Until you were sent off to where you were needed. The bucks to the mines and the arena; the mares to worthy warriors.

“Is that what you think your family wanted for you? To be a White Hoof slave?”

“If I'd been there, maybe we could have won!” the pegasus protested.

“Bullshit,” I shot back, causing the filly to recoil slightly, “what were you going to do? You'd never even fired a gun before I met you. You'd certainly never killed a pony!” Windfall winced. It was clear on her face that she knew the truth of my words; she just didn't want to believe them, “you'd have been a liability in that fight. A distraction. You're father would have been more focused on his little filly than the enemy.

“You did exactly what you should have done. You stayed quiet, and out of sight.

“You survived.”

There were tears streaming down Windfall's face, “I'll never see them again!”

“Good!” I snapped. The filly drew up, her eyes wide at the sharp tone in my voice. A yellow pegasus was looking at me critically, but I ignored her. Sometimes, you have to be cruel to be kind, “because I know they don't want to see you!” at the look of pain and confusion on the filly's face, I elaborated, “your mother doesn't want to see some White Hoof stallion plowing her precious little filly while you wail for him to stop!”

A look of horror crossed the flier's face. The yellow pegasus in my head wasn't looking much more composed either, “and you don't want to see them either, Windy, trust me on that. You don't want to see your brother getting his skull bashed in by a young warrior out to prove his mettle. Or see your mother getting fed to a pit of radscorpions because she didn't thank her master for raping her last night.

“Whatever your last memories of your family are, those are how you want to see them. Trust me on that.

“You hid, and you survived, and I know your parents are thanking Celestia every night that you did just that.”

“But you fought-” the filly began, but I cut her off. Is that what this was about? Windfall was comparing herself to me? The pegasus was about to have another little part of her personal world shattered if she was putting me on an alter of aspiration.

“The fuck I did,” I snorted derisively, “I ran my little flank off getting away, and didn't look back.”

The filly looked shocked, “but...your pa...”

“Was dead,” I confirmed, “me dying too certainly wasn't going to help him. I didn't fight them, Windy. I ran, and I hid. Just like you did. There's nothing wrong with that.”

Windfall's shoulders slumped, “it sure feels wrong...”

I approached the filly now. She wasn't sounding quite as distraught as she had before, but I sensed that she was a long way from being alright. Weren't we all, “I get that you feel guilty for not doing more. I wish that I could have done more,” though I doubt for the reasons that Windfall was entertaining. If I'd been able to fight off my attackers and somehow kill Whiplash that night, I'd have been hailed as a worthy leader of the tribe and enjoyed a life of infinite prosperity and pleasures.

Instead I'd run and was now eking out a tenuous life of survival out in the Wasteland. For reasons very similar to the ones Windfall had, “but sometimes the odds are stacked against us, and all we can do is run. Maybe we get a chance to make things right someday, maybe we don't.

“But instead of letting that guilt eat at you, use it,” the filly looked at me, questioningly, “let it drive you. You feel bad about not being able to help? Learn what would have let you help: marksmareship, hoof-to-hoof fighting. The White Hooves hurt you? Find ways to hurt them back: kill their warriors, intercept their slave shipments.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Windfall asked, spreading her wings pitifully, “I'm just a filly...”

“For now,” I agreed, nodding. I took up a seat next to the filly, “but someday you'll be a grown mare. By then, you'll have the money, guns, and knowledge that you'll need to hurt them,” I wrapped my arm around her armored shoulder, “trust me.”

Windfall looked up into my face, “you'll teach me how to kill White Hooves?”

A smile touched my lips, “I'll teach you how to kill whoever you want.”

The filly's eyes wandered down to her flank. Though the barding hid it from view, I knew that she was looking at her cutie mark, remembering the events that had transpired during its appearance. When her gaze met mine once more, I could see the look of fresh determination in them, “give me two more magazines.”

Footnote: Level Up
Perk Added: Bloody Mess -- +5% overall damage, and enemies suffer more violent deaths.

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