~~~|*/\*|~~~

Got a little sidetracked, there! Where was I?

Mmmh… Is everything alright?

Oh, sorry. Yeah, everything’s fine.

Come back to bed, silly. She’s gonna hog all the sheets if you’re not here.

I’ll do no such thing.

I’ll be there soon; I just want to finish this part. I’ll keep it down, though.

Okie-dokie. Ni-ni.

Goodnight.

You know…

All things considered, I’m pretty lucky to have these girls. Sure, they argue and fight over me sometimes, but…

Anyway.

Uh... Rita and I hooked up in the bar... I followed her across the desert...

Okay, so after traveling for about a day, we duck into this cave to grab some shut eye. Right away, I could tell something had been killed in there not too long before we arrived. There wasn’t a body, and I still don’t know what happened in there, but Rita got real antsy when she saw all the blood. I was regrettably sober enough at that point that I couldn’t just ignore her pacing around, so I started a fire and tried to start a conversation. That didn’t go so well, and I think she insulted me a few times...

But, I guess me being there helped, because she eventually calmed down and came over to sit with me. Then she starts asking me about my childhood, and the Ministry Mares, and a bunch of other shit I didn’t really feel like answering.

Last thing she said before I got out my canteen of whiskey was, “How’d you get all those scars?”

And I say, “I got shot.”

“Oh yeah,” she says, “That’s the worst.” I nodded and took a swig from my canteen, and then she asked, “Do you wanna bump uglies?”

I sprayed whiskey into the fire, and a huge fucking fireball rolled up. I asked her to repeat herself.

She looked me in the eyes and said, “I’m bored, it’s been a long day, and I don’t have a deck of cards. Do you have any better ideas?”

I didn’t.

So we didn’t do much sleeping. We headed out a few hours later and stopped just outside the ruins of a town. We were up on a cliff overlooking the place, which was awesome for me because it meant I could study the layout and get a headcount on the raiders. I think I counted fifteen or twenty of them the first time, but I figured there were more tooling around inside the buildings. We had a few hours before dark, and I planned on waiting. Rita had different plans.

She looked at me and said something like, “What are you waiting for?”

“I work better at night,” I said. “More places to hide. Easier to get them to panic and make stupid mistakes.”

She sighed and pouted after that, but I wasn’t about to plow into a place until the conditions were right.

So we waited till the sun went down. I had noticed a pattern in their patrols and routes by that point, and bumped my headcount up to around twenty-five. That was good enough for me.

“Stay out of sight,” I told her as I got up. “Some of them have rifles. I’ll whistle for you when the area is clear.”

She shook her head and dug into her vest. When she pulled her claw back out, she had a little silver laser pointer.

“Get up on a roof and flash this when you’re done,” she said. Or something like that.

I nodded and started on my way into town, but I didn’t make it more than two steps before she called me back. She handed me a little blue inhaler and said that it might help give me an edge. I had seen dash inhalers before, but never really bothered with them. Since they had numbers on their side, though, I figured it couldn’t hurt.

She also said, “You should probably try and do this quietly.”

I grinned, but said nothing.

With that out of the way, I started heading in for real. The tallest building in the town was a hotel, about four stories and partially collapsed. I had spotted at least one sharpshooter on the top floor while I was up on the cliff, and fuck sharpshooters. The raiders stuck to their patrol schedule as far as I could tell, so sneaking through the streets and into the hotel was no big deal. I slipped in through rubble of the collapsed half of the building and ended up in a bedroom on the second floor.

The door didn’t look like it was nailed shut. I moved closer, saw light bleeding in from the hall and heard voices on the other side. Three voices, I think. I wasn’t sure where they were sitting, or standing, or if they were behind cover, so I started running through scenarios. Hundreds of possibilities depending on their positions, or if there was a fourth or even a fifth pony that just wasn’t saying anything. Maybe there were more in the other rooms. I counted down by my heartbeat the whole time, working myself up for what was to come.

I pushed through, out into the hall, and got right to business.

There were four of them, and they clearly weren’t expecting company. They hit the floor like sacks full of rocks without so much as getting out a word of warning. Each body was a potential lure, so I tucked landmines under two of them real careful. I was running on a budget, so I didn’t have enough explosives to booby-trap all of them, and I used my knife to kill two more on my way to the top because I knew I would need the bullets later. Getting up there without alerts paid off though.

Their sharp shooter never saw it coming.

I shoved her through a window and she screamed all the way down. Hit the street head first; huge mess. Six more broke patrol and came running, but they didn’t know what to make of it. I could see a few more on their way. While they were standing around looking up at the hotel, I pulled a few pins and dropped three grenades into the gathering.

The raiders occupying the place were less than thrilled about the explosion. The survivors of the blast started shouting for help, and the whole town came to life. Torches, flashlights, glow-sticks... a whole light show just for me. Most of them were buzzing around on street level, trying to stick to cover as they yelled out threats to me. One of them had the bright idea to get indoors. In minutes, ten of them had filed into the hotel. I could hear them through the walls, shouting out names that probably had belonged to the ones I had already killed.

When the mines finally went off, I had jumped over a ledge on the third floor and landed on the rotted mattress I was aiming for one floor below. The plan was to flank them as they went up through the building, and I took the rifle with me just so they couldn't use it against me.

A patrol of four came snooping through before I could get back inside, though, and I knew they would see me scrambling through the rubble. I got real close to the debris under my hooves, and when they passed, I went after them. They were basically moving in a straight line, so when I cut the throats of the last two and just left them in the dust, the other two didn’t even notice. Then, right when I’m about to knife the second in line, he looked back at me and does a spit take. I put my blade through his throat, but not before he could squawk something out.

Guy at the head of the line wheels around and starts unloading with a sub-machine gun. Thankfully they weren’t armor piercers or they might have gone through his friend and hit me. While he was spraying and shouting like a jackass, I just lobbed my knife at him and stuck him right in the forehead. He goes down, I drop his friend and put down a few mines. The rest of the night was really just rinse and repeat. I’d kill a few, make some noise, and wait for more to come looking. Luring the raiders out of the hotel again wasn’t even a challenge. They may as well have put the barrels of their guns in their mouths and waited for me to pull the triggers.

The very last one had enough common sense to hole himself up, in the restaurant Rita was trying to get to of all places. There was only one way inside the place, and he was watching it. When I tried to open the door with my magic, he peppered the frame with lead. When I lobbed a grenade in, he tossed it right back out with levitation of his own. I knew exactly where he was, and there just wasn’t a good way to get to him without getting shot in the process.

That’s when I remembered the inhaler she had given me. I had fought my fair share of dash users, and they were the only ones that were ever even close to matching me in reflex speed. Hours of scouting raider dens and being around other mercenaries had already taught me everything I needed to know about using the stuff.

I bit down on the mouthpiece, gave the bottle a push, and took a deep breath.

Looking back, that was the exact moment when taking hits of dash became a part of my tactics. I felt a little different, and everything sounded strange and drawn out, but other than that, I didn’t see what the big deal was. Then I tried moving. It was like nothing else I had ever experienced. It felt like I was slow, but when I let the dash inhaler drop, I realized I could wave circles around it with my forehoof and still catch it before it hit the ground. The odds were in my favor again.

Two rounds streaked by me as soon as I charged through the doorway, striking the wall behind me. I wasn’t fast enough to dodge bullets, but with the dash in me, I was definitely fast enough to move out of his line of fire before he could pull the trigger. That didn’t stop him, of course, and the sorry fucker emptied a whole magazine just trying to get me in his sights. By the time he clicked empty, I was point blank, breathing in his face, watching the sweat roll down his forehead as my knife dug into his wind pipe.

And that was it. I got up on the roof and started flashing the laser pointer. She flew down and went right inside without even stopping to check with me first. She was tearing the place apart and throwing around scraps of paper when I went to see what the deal was. She started rambling about treasure, and how it had been burned and used as toilet paper. I vaguely remember saying something about wall safes between fits of laughter, then she started ripping things off the walls, too. The very last thing she defaced was a bookshelf. It wouldn’t budge no matter how hard she hit it, so she started dumping everything off the shelves. The whole time, she was making the worst noise I’ve ever heard, until she found a button built into the thing.

It didn’t look like the raiders had known it was there, because the passage that was behind the bookcase wasn’t decorated with gore and bones. I told her to let me go down first, just to be safe. The passage opened into some kind of safe room that was under the restaurant, and it was full of comic books. There was a cardboard cutout of this blue asshole with a rainbow mane also, and I guessed she was the main character of the comics. Rita had started foaming at the mouth at that point, and I was actively trying to ignore what she was shouting, but the gist of it is that they were comics about one of the Ministry Mares and she was going to die of joy or something stupid.

I asked her where the real treasure was, she looked at me like I was a tap-dancing brahmin.

“This is the treasure!” she shouted.

I told her, “These are just comics,” and she started sputtering and ranting and raving.

She basically said, “Rainbow Dash is the coolest and I’m so gay for her,” which was great I guess.

There were huge fucking stacks of each issue, but she only took one of each. I told her that I figured if she came all the way out there to get them, she might as well take two. She liked that idea and gave me a little peck on the cheek. The last thing she wanted me to do before we left was to seal up the safe room and burn the restaurant down.

I asked why, and she said, “I don’t want anyone else to find them. They won’t appreciate Rainbow Dash like I do.”

“Whatever,” I said.

It was pretty clear that this girl wasn’t all there. A job was a job, though. I asked her about pay, and she said my payment was that I could keep three-fourths of whatever I found. Some of the raiders were carrying some good shit, so I couldn’t complain about that. We headed back into the desert as the restaurant burned behind us, with a cardboard cutout of a Ministry Mare strapped to my back.

~~~|*/\*|~~~

Chapter Four – Technical Difficulties

|[o’o ]|[o8- ]|[(  ) ]|

For the eighth time since settling in, Double Tap banged his head against the bulkhead as Paharita’s tank barreled over a rough patch. In the vaguest sense of things, he knew that they were to the south-west of Maripony. The two century-old piece of wartime tech that the little griffon had salvaged from Old Olneigh had held up for the entire trip around the edge of Splendid Valley, much to Tap’s relief. Once Paharita had been convinced that they were outside of hellhound territory, she spent a few hours working on the engine. For the duration of the trip, Tap had begrudgingly agreed to delay Rita’s dicking in the interest of returning home in a safe and timely manner, but his resolve was wearing thin.

“Oh, shoot…” A hollow, metal sound echoed through the tank, and the little griffon leaned all the way forward, hiking her rump into the air as she reached under a monitor.

The unicorn furrowed his brow, trying to squeeze his flanks and hocks together. “Nope,” he announced, climbing through the interior. “Can’t wait, sorry.”

Tap was already at full mast when she glanced back at him, starry eyed with both shock and excitement. He shuddered, throbbed, and put his forehooves at the base of her wings. Still holding her gaze, he brushed the head of his cock against her slit, feeling her tense.

“H-hey now,” she squawked, a shiver rolling through her, “you said—”

“I say a lot of things.” He put a bit of pressure behind his shaft, feeling her resolve crumble as she started to loosen up. Her wings fanned out a moment later.

Paharita inhaled sharply through her nostrils. “This is a really stupid idea.”

“I don’t see you backing out,” he teased.

“I have to keep my eyes on the road!” she whined, wiggling her haunches anyway.

Tap grinned. “Who said anything about your eyes?” He pushed again, spreading her slowly. She gave a breathless coo and balled her claws. “You just stay right here, and—” An explosion rocked the tank, nearly knocking them both onto their sides. “What the fuck!”

For a split second, Rita looked torn between carrying on and taking up battle stations. She shook herself off with a sigh and a pout, then started tapping away at her PipBuck. Tap glanced from monitor to monitor until he spotted an external feed. The sun had long since come up, the dull sunlight of high noon illuminating a desolate landscape dotted with burnt out homes and a few sickly looking trees. After a few moments of panning, the turret-mounted machine gun sighted a scattering group of five grizzled-looking ponies. At least one of them had fashioned an outfit out of belts and part of a tire.

The corners of Rita’s mouth pulled into a frown. “Oh, look,” she droned. “Your favorite, come to spoil the mood.”

Tap snorted. “So shoot them.”

A stream of lead crackled from the barrel of the remote-controlled gun, clipping one of the raiders as he dove behind a concrete barrier. The image on the monitor blurred as she turned the gun toward another target; a mare with a beat up looking missile launcher rigged up to her saddle. Just as Rita chewed her up with machine-gun fire, a missile shrieked toward the camera. With a flash, the feed was replaced with static.

“Go make them dead,” Rita groaned, pinching her brow. “Please.”

His erection waning, Tap grumbled angrily as he doubled back through the cramped cabin of the tank, putting his hooves on the ladder and climbing up through the turret. Just as he was about to pop the hatch, the sound of hooves on metal drummed overhead. He didn’t even have to stop and think about it to know that he would be climbing out into an ambush.

“They’re on the roof, Rita.”

Her voice was distorted by echoes as she called up to him. “I know juuuust the thing for that! Hold on… Ah!”

A quick succession of pops reached his ears, muffled by the armored hull. It was followed by a much harsher burst of metallic pings and twangs from above. The scramble of hooves was cut short, punctuated by a soft thud.

“Try it now!”

With both pistols out, he released the lock and cracked open the hatch, sweeping his visual sliver of the outside world. The machine gun had been reduced to a twisted heap of smoldering scrap metal. A tattered pony lay just shy of the rim, some of the blood trickling into the turret. The hull was pockmarked with points of impact, but no sign of penetration. It was his guess that the tank was equipped with some sort of anti-personnel defense system for just such an occasion. The hatch creaked as he pushed it up, stepping out into the pale light of day and scanning his surroundings.

A glimmer caught his attention; a bottle tumbling through the air, with a burning rag stuffed in the mouth. He reached out and caught it with his levitation. Before he could lob it back, the bottle shattered around a bullet, its contents whooshing up in a fireball. Tap swept back to avoid getting immolated, kicking the hatch closed before liquid fire could spill inside. Paharita called out to him from within, but he was more interested in spilling blood at that point. A glance to the left revealed the sender. A unicorn wearing a gas mask and some kind of fire suit was readying another molotov. The other two remained unaccounted for.

Before Double Tap could level his pistols, the tank lurched under him, its treads slowly churning up a hill of fragmented concrete. The gas-masked unicorn lobbed another fire bottle, following up by raising a sub-machine gun. Tap squeezed off several rounds as he slipped over the right side of the turret, a few streaks of lead zipping by overhead, the rest bouncing off the tank. Shattering glass and the roar of flame followed.

From cover, he re-evaluated the situation.

Judging by all the signs of life, it was his guess that the surrounding area had been a suburb turned settlement. From the looks of things, that had changed fairly recently. Most of the homes had been reduced to charred wooden frames, some still smoking. His eyes widened as he noticed several blackened corpses that hung from the streetlights. The sight made his blood boil.

He dismounted as the tank rolled past an overturned delivery wagon, tucking in behind it, listening carefully. The distinct beat of hooves stood out under the clattering roar of the tank, passing by his hiding place at a cautious pace. When he peered out, the raider appeared oblivious to his presence, lobbing one molotov at the rear of the tank and readying the next.

Tap broke from cover and crept up behind the gas-masked pony as the next fire bottle floated into throwing position. The bottle jerked, but Tap held it in place with his telekinesis. In that same moment, his magic welled up under the raider’s forehooves, forcing the unicorn to stand on their hind legs. A muffled, startled gasp reached his ears. He slipped a knife between the pony’s flanks, pushed down into the pony’s stomach, and pulled up toward the ribs. The raider’s muffled cry mingled with the heavy sound of blood and viscera spattering out onto the concrete. He stepped around, bucking the unicorn in the breast with enough force to topple it over.

The raider stared back at him, eyes visible through the visor, muffled pleas for mercy worming their way through the mask. Double Tap lowered the molotov to the gaping wound that spanned the pony’s belly.

“Fuck you,” he spat, jamming the bottle into the incision.

He stepped back and lined up his silencer with the bottle, grinning as it exploded into a fireball when he pulled the trigger. The pony let out a gurgling scream, writhing for several seconds before going completely still.

Satisfied, Tap glanced up from his work. The tank hadn’t gotten too much farther away, though it continued to burn in three different places. Thick, black smoke seemed to be pouring out of it as well. Wasting no time, he stepped into a gallop, sprinting toward the armored vehicle and bounding back onto the turret.

“Rita, it’s me!” he shouted down at the hull. “I’m coming down! Don’t kill me!”

A pool of flame had gathered on the left side of the hatch, slowly working on completely covering it. He took a deep breath, condensing his magic to a point, then he released, letting it explode outwards. The force of the gust made the fire lie flat before snuffing it out completely. At the same time, the fire-crisped corpse of the raider that had been perforated by anti-personnel mechanism tumbled over the side. A billowing plume of smoke rushed to meet Tap as he pulled the hatch open. Somewhere inside, Paharita was coughing up a storm.

“What’s going on with this fucking thing?!”

The griffon managed to squawk, “They hit the radiator! Or a vent, or something!” Between coughs, she added, “Whole thing is full of smoke!”

Tap stifled a cough of his own, covering his mouth with a fetlock. “No shit! You’re gonna suffocate in there if you don’t bail out!”

“Noooo! I’m not abandoning this beautiful machine! It’s too valuable!”

“Damn it, Rita…”

The unicorn leaned away from the hatch, inhaling as much fresh air as he could. His cheeks bulging, he descended into the tank, squinting through the smoke. Rita was right where he had left her. He wrapped his forelegs around her and tugged her away from the controls, grunting under her breath as she flailed and squirmed to get free. The rumble of the treads died down as the tank slowed to a stop.

“Come on! Think of all the caps! The caaaps!” She clawed at his fetlocks, causing Tap to grit his teeth. “Let me go!”

With a magical shove and a ruffling of feathers, the griffon sailed out through the hatch. She immediately spread her wings and doubled back in mid-air. Tap lunged to meet her, butting her in the stomach with the back of his head as she tried to glide over him. With the wind knocked out of her, she careened off course and crashed into a shriveled-looking bush. The unicorn dropped over the side of the turret, heaving a deep breath as he lay on his back. His gaze swept over the stinging claw marks in his fetlocks, a few trickles of blood rolling toward his knees. Rita lay curled up, coughing and moaning, not far from where he had landed.

“You fucking feather-brain,” he finally growled. “Just remote control the stupid thing like before!”

“I tried that when it started to fill up with smoke! They probably shorted out the antennas with the fire or the missile or…” She trailed off into a groan, covering her face with her talons. “What am I gonna do? I can’t leave this out here!”

Double Tap looked back to the hulking vehicle, still spewing smoke from the open hatch. “It’s a tank. I don’t think it’s going anywhere. How ‘bout we come back for it once we’ve taken care of Littlepip?”

Paharita turned toward him, sniffling, and gave a tiny nod. “Okay,” she mumbled, slowly rolling back onto her paws.

|[BAR]|[o’o ]|[  7 ]|

For the last few hours, Double Tap had been experiencing a horrible, unshakable feeling that someone—or something—was following him. Paharita’s PipBuck turned up empty each and every time he asked her to check it, and she was starting to shift from playfully sarcastic to irritable. He nervously scanned the rebar-studded horizon of Manehattan as his griffon companion hunched over a lock behind him. A soft, happy coo preceded the rusty sounding grind of a door swinging open. Tap refused to turn around, bumping his haunches against the wall until he finally backed in through the doorway.

“Jeeze, you’re really worked up about your Lucky Lady right now, huh?” Rita grinned as Tap met her gaze, still walking backwards. “What? Did a shadow wink at you wrong or something?”

“It’s not her. This is something else.”

“You made another imaginary friend?” Rita balled her claws, bringing them up under her beak. “Oh boy, does that mean you’ll be twice as crazy now?” Her voice dripped with feigned concern.

“You’re an asshole.” Tap wrapped the door in his magic and slammed it shut. “This is serious. Something has been following us since we ditched the tank.”

Paharita stepped away from him, rummaging through a broken down shop display. Judging by all the softly glowing terminals and computer parts, the door she had lock-picked apparently used to belong to an electronics store.

“Okay,” she murmured as she retrieved a metal cylinder with wire hanging off it. “How is this any different from what you usually see? It’s just faces and smiles, right?”

“No… And fuck you, she’s real, but… When I see her, it’s resi… res…” Tap grunted and put a forehoof to the side of his head, trying to get the word off the tip of his tongue.

“Residual?” the griffon offered.

“It’s an after image.”

Rita grinned smugly around her beak. “Re-sid-u-al.”

“Whatever. She’s not trying to hide from me; she’s just… not there. This is something actively avoiding me.” Tap glanced back to the door, relieved to find it still closed. “I turn around, and I catch glimpses of it. Lady Luck will actually try to get my attention. This thing doesn’t want me to know it’s there.”

“Spooky.” Paharita went back to scavenging, slipping green, plastic rectangles into her pockets. “What do you think it wants?”

“Whatever it is, I don’t think it’s looking for an autograph.”

Silence fell over the room as Rita busied herself with a flickering terminal, looking as though she were trying to pry it open. Double Tap roamed around anxiously, rearing up and craning his neck as he tried to get a glimpse of the world beyond the door through a barricaded window. He jumped as a loud crash reached his ears, spinning around with both pistols leveled. Rita cocked a brow at him as she picked up bits of scrapped electronics off the floor. She had knocked the monitor off the table to crack its case.

“What are we doing in this shithole, anyway? I want to go home. I’m tired and hungry and I smell awful.”

The griffon waggled her talons dismissively. “Oh, stop complaining. You always smell awful.” Tap’s gaze sharpened into a glare at that. Rita snickered and went back to rummaging. “I’m looking for components to fix the antenna array on the tank. I think I have most of what I need back at the shop, but I’m getting a few bits and bobs here just to make sure.”

Tap snorted and turned back to the window. “Are we gonna be here much longer?”

“Nuh-uh! All done!” Rita fluttered to his side, smiling up at Tap as he glanced down at her. She put her claw on the door handle. “I’m pretty hungry too. Let’s get going.”

He nodded, rearing up to take another look outside and make sure the coast was clear.

A single, whitish-blue eye stared back at him, the pupil expanding. For what felt like an eternity to Tap, time seemed to stand still. He became a statue in that seemingly endless pause, unblinking, unmoving. The eye and its owner held his gaze, frozen in time just like he was. Rita made some kind of sound. It may have been a question, or an exclamation, but Tap couldn’t be sure. Her voice broke the tension, and the blue eye on the other side of that barricaded window blinked.

All hell was about to break loose.

Paharita let out a dry squawk as Tap threw himself sideways, knocking her clear of the window. The hairs of his tail had just cleared the windowsill when the boards exploded inward. Long, sharp claws shredded right through. Before either he or the griffon under him had hit the ground, he had both pistols at the ready, pulling the triggers in alternation. The paw withdrew as the windowsill was torn up with gunfire. The pair slid a short distance after touching down. He could feel Rita’s heart pounding in her breast, her chest fitfully rising and falling as she hyperventilated.

Without warning Rita first, he focused his magic on himself, building enough pressure to push. He braced against the kick as he released, sliding to the far side of the room with his companion. The Punchline was loaded and ready by the time they came to a stop.

“Stealth buck,” he whispered. Rita trembled, barely managing a whimper in response. “When I get up, you use a fucking stealth buck and find somewhere to hide, got it?” With another whimper, he felt her nod. “Good. Ready?” Her claws wrapped around him, squeezing tightly as she shook her head. “You can do this. That thing is after me, not you. Now, on the count of three… one… two…”

A crumbling sound rattled up from below the floor. Rita had already let go of him to fish out a stealth buck. The word “three” never came to his lips. Instead, his magic coalesced under them, leveraging as much force as he could. In a heartbeat, he had shoved himself straight to the ceiling, all four hooves making contact, kicking off and twisting back toward the ground. Rita had been thrown across the room by the push, which was a relief for him. The very spot on which they had been lying dropped into a sinkhole, ushered by a set of razor sharp claws. He caught a glimpse of a canine muzzle snarling up at him from the darkness of the pit.

The resounding crack of the Punchline split the air as he pulled the trigger. Once again, it flew out of his magical grasp, bouncing off the ceiling and out of his sight. He followed up with the Comedies, unloading into the sinkhole as gravity pulled him back to the floor. Two empty magazines and a downpour of shell casings hit the floor with him. Rita was nowhere to be seen as he pulled back the slides.

It wasn’t until he had finished reloading that he began to wonder if a single shot had hit his target. He hadn’t heard any yelping, and he couldn’t hear any more burrowing. Contrary to his racing heart, the air had gone still again. He tossed one of his remaining grenades into the pit for good measure. A muffled explosion shook the shop, followed by complete silence. Tap waited, ears constantly swiveling. A sharp zap-like sound made him jump. Above him, Rita had curled up on a fluorescent light fixture hanging from the ceiling.

“Is it safe?” she whispered after a few minutes.

Tap lowered his pistols. “You tell me.”

“Uh…” Rita busied herself with her PipBuck. “EFS is all clear… But, do you… you know.”

“Do I what?” He took a few steps closer to the hole, trying to peer into it without getting too close. Not a speck of blood, he mused.

The griffon frowned, tapping the side of her head. “Do you have a feeling or something? Is it still around?”

“No, I think she’s gone.”

“She?”

“She was at Old Olneigh last night…” After a moment of hesitation, Double Tap holstered his pistols. “Never seen a hellhound track somepony this far beyond their territorial boundaries before.”

Paharita glided to the floor, practically pressing against him as she stood at his side. Tap snickered to himself as he led her to the front of the shop, looking through the freshly unbarred window. He spotted the Punchline to the left of the door, snagging it with his levitation. Rita snatched it out of the air and began to inspect it with trembling claws.

“Anyway, let’s get the fuck out of here. I don’t want to wait around any longer and risk that bitch getting back her nerve.”

With Rita still clinging to him like a shadow, they cautiously stepped back out into the muted glow of sunset.

|[ /_\ ]|[  7 ]|[  7 ]|

And a left here...

Double Tap was familiar enough with the ruins of Manehattan that, even at night, he could navigate them without Rita’s assistance. He had convinced Paharita to split up in the interest of shaking their mutant canine tail, and with minimal suggestion on his part. The griffon took to the skies while Tap did his best to make any attempts at following him extremely difficult. He had been at it for roughly an hour, and though he bolstered his strength with the occasional huff of dash, exhaustion was beginning to set in.

He panted quietly through his nose as he barreled down a cluttered alley, sights set on the rusty fire escape near its end. The ancient metal creaked under him as he ascended, climbing to the top of a mostly intact apartment complex. From there, he could see for several blocks around. Tenpony Tower loomed in the distance.

Everything blurred for a moment, followed by a feeling of dizziness that left the unicorn disoriented. He shook himself off, putting a dash inhaler to his lips and taking a small hit. The world slowed to a crawl as his vision focused, its edges sharper, its sounds more crisp and distinct. He slipped the inhaler back into its pouch and rolled his head, stretching his legs and back, savoring the razor edge of the amphetamine rush as it seeped into every part of his body. The world returned to normal speed soon after, but the feeling of sharpness remained.

Tap bounced on his hooves several times, then broke into a gallop, heading straight for the edge of the building. He left the rooftop behind as he leapt across the alley, touching down on the adjacent roof and continuing at full speed. The next building had no roof: a few intact sections of the third floor were exposed by missing chunks of wall. Tap heaved himself forward, bracing for impact as he aimed for the half collapsed structure. A light jolt of pain ran up his forelegs the instant his hooves struck exposed concrete. His momentum carried. He tucked his head and hind legs against his body, curling up as tightly as he could. His hinds pounded against the floor in unison, launching him forward as he stretched his forelegs ahead of himself.

A tall, slightly less collapsed building lay beyond the remains of the far wall. He jumped as high as he could, his hinds kicking against the wall, pushing himself two steps higher. His forehooves slammed down on the broken ridge at the top, and he scrambled up. Most of the windows had been blown out centuries ago, which meant Tap had a clear path as he lunged. Cubicles, overturned desks, and cracked computer terminals filled the interior.

Take a right…

Something hissed and growled nearby, but he ignored it and kept running, weaving through the dusty office and turning sharply. A radio tower of some sort had toppled over from the building across the street, cleaving right into the office. Double Tap repurposed the metal lattice as a bridge. He felt it ping and shudder under his hooves as he sprinted across. Tenpony Tower now lay directly ahead of him, an elevated train line running parallel to his course.

An explosion lit up the night, rocking the building he was running on seconds before he jumped to the next. He veered toward the edge as he kept moving, catching a glimpse of power armor-wearing ponies. Further ahead, he spotted more power armor, though the second group had painted their equipment. Several shrieking rockets cut through the air from behind him, striking one of the painted armor ponies and erupting into a rolling fireball. The painted armor group replied with the heavy thump of a grenade machine-gun.

Are they fighting with each other? Come on you tech-fucking whack-jobs, lightbulbs can’t be that scarce!

In less than a minute, the firefight was little more than a series of booming echoes. He was steadily closing in on the workshop. Tap slowed, slipped over the edge of a building, and slid down the walls of a narrow alley. The unicorn waited for several seconds once he had reached the ground. He felt completely alone. Content with that, he peered out of the alley, his gaze sweeping over the street.

A pack brahmin, a trader, and several merchants slowly marched away from Tenpony, loaded down with goods. Judging by the frustrated scowl on the trader’s face, Tap assumed Red Eye’s blockade was still up around the tower. He doubted Paharita would be willing to bribe the guards again, which meant they would be sleeping in the workshop. He waited until they had passed, then swiftly moved down the street.

When Tap passed the spot where he had killed the manticore, he noticed that its carcass was completely absent, bones and all. The only evidence that it had been there was the enormous, discolored spot where its blood had soaked into the ground, and the fire pit. He grumbled in frustration and kept moving, slowing down as he approached the alley which led to the workshop. A few blocks away, Tenpony Tower rose above the remains of Manehattan, illuminated against the rolling grey of the night sky.

Once he was finished admiring the pretty lights, Tap did a quick sweep of his surroundings, making sure he wasn’t being watched. He repeated the motion several times before entering their alley, approaching the rolling steel door at the end. After several failed attempts to remember the password for the terminal, he began to knock. No less than eight metal panels on the walls and floor of the alley slid open in unison, the barrels of turrets extending toward him. Tap held his breath as they beeped and clicked for several seconds.

“Knock-Knock,” he finally announced. “I kinda live here. I’d like to come in.”

Another long wait passed before the turrets retracted, the door rolling up soon after. He cocked his head as he noticed all the robots standing around Rita. She murmured something from their epicenter.

Tap took a few steps closer, unsure of what to make of the situation. “Uh?”

The little griffon looked up and pointed a talon at the enormous security robot that had been out gathering their illegitimate spoils. It looked to have been dented by gunfire in multiple spots, the black residue of an explosion smeared over a telltale crater in the robot’s chest.

With a deep bass rumble, the robot stated, “During our mission to retrieve supplies, we came under attack. All hostiles were eliminated with extreme prejudice, but we suffered a casualty in the process. Sir Handy, brother of Sir Gutsy, has fallen.”

Peering around the rolling security robot, he noticed the frame and most of the legs of one of the floating spider bots laid out across the floor. Rita sat beside it, completely silent. The other metal spider hovered beside her, a claw across her back. He opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it.

Feeling thoroughly put-off by the whole display, Double Tap turned toward the fridge. A pile of crates, sacks, and duffle bags had been deposited on the rug. He immediately changed course.

The contents of the containers in question were the standard fare of merchants, or at least, the standard fare of merchants that would be trading with mercenaries. Tap had no interest in the combat armor or helmets, and the majority of the weapons were incompatible with his tactics or vastly inferior to the equipment already at his disposal. The grenades quickly found a new home in his pockets. He was pleased to find a spool of metal wire amongst the more random junk. Lastly, Tap rummaged through a bag full of sloppily packaged food and drinks in dirty looking bottles. His levitation condensed around a slab of grilled meat and a bottle of absinthe.

From the couch, he watched as Paharita went to work on the security bot, the spider bot waiting patiently nearby. With care and precision, she removed the robot’s outer hull, examining the churning network of metal and circuitry within. Tap lifted the fillet to his lips, sinking his teeth in and tearing off a chunk.

Radigator, he mused to himself. Must be from Arbu. Maybe Rita can program Gutsy to cook like... oh fuck, I still need to get Skimmer a birthday present. Uh... No, she won’t like any of this shit.

He chased the savor of barbecue with a swig of absinthe, relieved that the two went well together. The brain-bot rolled by, case flashing as it hummed quietly to itself. Tap found that especially eerie. It began checking through the bag Tap had last opened, dragging it toward the fridge a moment later, where it began transferring the bag’s contents onto the shelves. His eyes widened as he watched the robot lift a bottle of grain alcohol out of the bag, stowing it in the freezer; its stay would be short lived.

Maybe Rita has some paint brushes lying around in the basement. Skimmer loves to paint. While chomping down the rest of his radigator, he tried to remember what was down there. Every attempt came up blank. Wouldn’t hurt to check.

A small console with two buttons had been affixed to the wall next to the hatch. Tap shouldered the green one and the hatch leading down to the basement opened with a pneumatic hiss. He descended into a dimly lit abyss that smelled strongly of mothballs. Gradually, his eyes adjusted, allowing him to search through Paharita’s collection of Ministry Mare related junk.

Some of the items she simply assumed, or was told, were once in the possession of a Ministry Mare. There were hundreds of tooth brushes, combs, and pieces of clothing for that very reason. Others items bore the likenesses of the Ministry Mares themselves. A cardboard cutout of the blue Ministry Mare caught his eye, giving him reason to pause as he briefly reminisced.

At the very back of the room, an enormous chest freezer sat between a generator, a fuse box, and a few other terminals that he didn’t fully comprehend. He doubted he would miraculously find the perfect gift inside the freezer, but he was running out of options. A rush of cold air swirled to meet him as he lifted the top back. Aside from a few bottles of whiskey he had been saving for a rainy day, there was nothing new. A set of panicked eyes gave him the same old terrified stare. Several beads of blood had rolled out of the bullet wound in the pony’s forehead before freezing, glistening like rubies.

Good old Freezer Corpse. He leaned closer, noticing a pair of sun glasses folded up on the pony’s kevlar vest, just under where the word “Tenpony” had been stitched into the fabric. I was wondering where those went! He levitated them into his bandoleer, then patted the frozen security guard on the breast and closed the lid. Thanks buddy.

Rita was still busy tinkering with the immense security robot near the center of the room when Tap came back to the surface. She had lowered her blast goggles and rolled up both her sleeves, reaching toward the hovering spider without looking away from the security bot’s internals. The hovering spider handed her a blow torch, and she went right to work. He realized that he probably wouldn’t get to live up to his promise of punishing her that evening. The alternative to boning his companion was sleeping.

With mild disappointment Tap grabbed the absinthe, put the mouth of the bottle to his lips, and began to chug. It was empty in less than a minute. He belched as a fuzzy feeling spread through him, like fire radiating in his stomach. Of course, he was looking for more than just a buzz. The brain-bot stopped humming as he levitated the empty bottle in what he assumed was its face, waiting for the robot to take it from him. With that taken care of, he opened the freezer and retrieved the grain alcohol. Instead of returning to the couch, he headed for the bed. The bottle bounced against the ancient mattress as he clumsily slipped out of his clothes, the absinthe starting to catch up with him.

Tap yawned and stretched, looking over at Rita again. She was still busy with the security bot, hunched over  and focused on whatever it was she was doing. The unicorn sighed and flopped onto the bed, feeling around for the bottle and snagging it with his magic. The first few swigs didn’t hit him at first, but about a quarter of the way through the bottle, his whole face lit up, the room rolling and spinning. A wonderful tingling sensation sprang up across his sheath, sending a shiver through him. His mind began to flood with memories; sights and smells of sexual conquests past.

He sluggishly rolled onto his back, slipping a forehoof hoof down his belly, nudging and prodding until he felt cold air around the head of his cock. With a wide grin and one last ray of hope, he glanced over at where Rita had been standing, hoping she would notice his growing erection and come running. She briefly glanced up at him, then went right back to what she was doing.

“Fuckin’ robots!” he loudly proclaimed, putting the mouth of the bottle back to his lips.

|[o’o ]|[BAR]|[(  ) ]|

Three things greeted Double Tap when he woke up.

The first was a steady rhythm of pounding drums and tambourines. A lady spoke over the percussion in a language he didn’t understand. Moments after she had finished talking, the heavy purr of a bass guitar rasped out of Paharita’s speakers.

The second was the glistening, pink ravine of a pussy. He didn’t have to look twice to know it belonged to Paharita. He spent a moment admiring the haunches, hips, and tight little star that accompanied it. A few milky beads of cum dripped onto his throat as Paharita shivered, tickling his nose with the tuft of her tail.

The third and final thing that came to his immediate attention was pressure around the head of his cock, joined by the occasional, gentle tug. He could feel the edges of her beak, but she was an expert, using the soft, feathery corner of her mouth, her long tongue steadily rolling along his shaft. He bucked his hips impulsively, pulsing in her oral grasp.

Paharita shuddered again, a warm breath rolling against his ridge as she moaned quietly. It was an open invitation if he’d ever seen one, and he wasted no further time. She moaned again, much more loudly, as he pushed his tongue into her snatch, making a full pass from south to north. He slathered the pearl of her clit with all the arousal he had gathered, circling several times before pressing in on it with the tip of his tongue. The griffon squirmed all the while, bobbing her head faster, digging her talons into his hind legs.

Double Tap nickered breathlessly and retaliated, pursing his lips to suck on her clit. It was sloppy, and a little clumsy, but Rita began to trill and groan, pushing her hips back against his face. His tongue undulated relentlessly, lapping in waves as he did his best to keep her sweet spot between his lips. Every sound she made reverberated through his cock, tension steadily mounting at the base, around his sheath. He released her clit for a moment, slipping his tongue further north and sliding it as deep into her as he could.

Gasping, he snorted into her, drawing a damp breath as he ground his face against her pussy. His nose and chin were drenched in the process, sticky with a mix of her juices and his saliva, but the smell of her nethers was one that he deeply enjoyed. Paharita responded with warbling cries for more, all of which were uttered around his throbbing length. He was happy to oblige, groaning into her, reaching with his tongue until it felt sore. All the while, he ran his fetlocks along her underside, her nipples perking up to his touch.

A light sweat had built up between them by the time Tap was nearing climax. Rita’s feathers clung to his coat as their bodies pressed and slid against each other. A few drops of salty water from Tap’s forehead stung his eye until he blinked them away. He could feel the griffon’s haunches tremble, growing weak with a combination of sexual bliss and physical strain. Because she had gotten a head start, however, he knew he was going to finish first. Tap held his breath and thought about something else. Try as he might to stem the rising tide of euphoria, the temptation to give one final thrust was too great, and he erupted into Paharita’s mouth.

Overcome with an orgasmic convulsion, he fell away from her, head flopping down against a pillow. Soft, muffled giggling reached his ears a moment later. Rita continued to nurse his erection, drawing every last glob of spunk out of him, her throat rolling as she gulped it all down. When she finally let him go, she gave a pleasant sigh and started to dismount.

“Don’t you want me to finish you off?”

Rita craned her neck back, peering at him over the curve of her left haunch. “Do you want me to want you to finish me off?”

The unicorn snickered, took a deep breath, and went right back to work. Rita swooned, massaging his inner flanks as he worked his jaw. Her breaths grew shorter and sharper, her legs starting to shake again, and he moved in for the kill. His tongue began to circle again, slowly at first, searching for the right combination of speed and force. Without his dick in her mouth, her breathy moans were much louder, but mostly unintelligible beyond “don’t stop!”

As she came closer and closer to cumming, he favored broader, rougher strokes over using the tip of his tongue, centering her clit and slowly dragging. The near-musical sound of her passionate trilling filled the air, broken up by gasps. She pushed back, nearly smothering him with her cunt as she locked up, letting loose with one long, happy moan. The little griffon tumbled off of Tap without any further fanfare, and he rolled to meet her, nuzzling into the side of her neck as she wrapped a foreleg around him.

“Good morning to you, too,” Tap teased.

After a few minutes of post-climax cuddling, they got up and headed for the bathroom.

“So what’s the plan here?” he asked as she squeezed toothpaste onto her toothbrush. “Are we gonna do the Ranger contract?”

“I actually had a few things I wanted to take care of first.”

“Yeah, alright.”  He levitated his own toothbrush to his teeth and started swishing it around. Moments later, he spat a mouthful of foam into the sink. “I’m gonna keep my eyes open, though. I don’t think we should let this slide for too long.”

|[(  ) ]|[(  ) ]|[(  ) ]|

Once again, a bizarre ritual was unfolding before Double Tap. He couldn’t be certain if it was just Paharita being eccentric, or if he was the odd one for failing to see the point. Regardless, there Handy was, welded back together and laid out ceremoniously on the cabinets in the back. Rita stood near the center of the table, the other robots standing on either side of her, all of them looking down in silence.

At the end of the lineup, the brain-bot's case lit up. A moment later, it focused a laser at the wick of its candle. The bot proceeded to touch the flame from its candle to its neighbors', until the line was illuminated in flickering firelight.

“Sir Handy was a good friend,” Rita began, “and a brother, not just to Sir Gutsy, but to all of us. He was one of the first robots I had ever come across in Equestria, and he came with me all the way from Fillydelphia. He was a kind and gentle soul, always eager to please and assist whenever possible. He even saved my life on a few occasions. For those of you that needed convincing to join my cause, it was his programming that I used as a template. In a way, even though he was damaged beyond backup, he is still very much with us through all of you. Let us never forget his sacrifice. Praise be to the Ministry Mares. Amen.”

“Amen,” repeated all the robots in unison.

A soft, mechanical, but undeniably mournful tune followed, hummed in harmony by all the robots present. Rita attempted to join in, horribly out of key. After a minute of strange humming, the group all squeezed out their flames and went silent.

Rita clapped her claws together and looked up. “Alright! That was fun! Disassemble him and organize the components with the rest of the spare parts.”

Double Tap choked on a mouthful of radigator. The griffon pranced toward the refrigerator, grabbing a bottle of Sparkle Cola and a hunk of meat.

“C’mon,” she sang, “we’re going shopping!”

The unicorn’s jaw went slack. “Shopping.”

“Well yeah, silly, I need to get a new robot!”

He sighed, shook his head, and slipped off the couch. As he passed by the dresser, he levitated a plain outfit out of one of the drawers; one that he had picked up at Shattered Hoof some time ago. The blue jacket read “SHCF” across the back, and the undershirt had black powder stains smudged into it. After pulling it on, and slipping into his holsters and bandolier, he nodded to Rita and stepped up to the front door.

Based on the light level outside, he assumed the time to be approaching noon. The door rattled closed behind them, and they set out. Flapping beside him, Rita hungrily tore into the meat she had grabbed from the refrigerator. He wasn’t entirely sure it was cooked, or even what animal it came from. She washed it down with soda, tossed the bottle aside, and gave a tiny little belch.

“So you’re just going to buy a replacement,” he flatly stated as they approached the end of the alley.

“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when something breaks?”

“Yeah, but you just gave that robot a funeral.” They stopped just shy of the street, sticking close to the walls. “And I don’t even want to get into how you ordered them to take it apart.”

Paharita cocked her head, tapping at her PipBuck. “What’s your point, then?”

“I dunno…” Tap glanced to Rita and recieved a nod. He peered around the corner anyway, his gaze sweeping up and down the street. “Shouldn’t there be a mourning period or something?”

“Yeah, we just did that!”

Seeing that the coast was clear, Tap stepped out into the open, Rita fluttering close behind.

 “No, I… nevermind. Where are we going, anyway?”

“Tenpony Tower,” she answered.

The unicorn cocked a brow. “What about the blockade?”

Paharita sighed dramatically. “I guess we’ll just have to pay the toll, since whatever Red Eye’s guys are doing at the tower is so important. I would say we could go get one from the Steel Rangers at Bucklyn Cross, but I doubt they’ll let go of one of their robots if I don’t have another toy to trade for it.” Her expression soured, forehead crinkling. “Just think what they might have traded for that tank!”

They traveled in silence for a while after that, listening to the cracks and rumbles of distant warfare. Every so often, Tap would check over his wither, just to be sure their new canine friend wasn’t following them. He figured his intentions were pretty obvious, because every time he looked back, Rita would immediately start clicking away at her PipBuck to check her EFS compass. For some reason, he found that flattering.

“Does she have a name?” Paharita asked, as they came within sight of the base of the tower.

A few dirty looking foals ran across their path, laughing to themselves. An equally filthy mare chased them, demanding that they listen to her.

“Does who have a name?”

“The hellhound from yesterday.”

“What kind of…” The unicorn stopped for a moment, trying to get his head around what was being asked of him. “I don’t know, Rita! I’m sure she does, but we didn’t really take time getting to know each other.”

“You should give her a name, so that way we can identify her and stuff!”

“Oh wow…” He took a deep breath, exhaling with a chuckle. “Okay, fine. We’ll call her Fuckles.”

“Fu...” Paharita’s eyes widened, and she covered her beak with her claws, shaking her head. “I think you should call her Leaf Marine!”

“Leaf Marine.” Tap gave her a sideways glance as she nodded excitedly. “How about… The Brutalizer.”

“Ooooh! Yes! I like it!”

“Great. Now that we’ve named something that wants to kill us...” He trailed off as he noticed a pair of ponies that had set up a stand at the base of one of the Luna Line’s struts. They were selling manticore meat, and several of Red Eye’s soldiers had gathered around to buy.

“Huh.”

Paharita cocked her head. “Huh? What’s huh?”

Double Tap winced as he felt like someone had bucked him in the back of the skull, lifting a fetlock to the side of his head. His vision blurred as he tried to focus on the cracks in the cement. All signs pointed to a monster of a hangover. He took a hit of dash, but it didn’t numb the pain.

“Nothing,” he mumbled, squinting. “Hey, how long is this going to take?”

“Not tooo long. I just have to do a few things for a few ponies, and then I should have a shiny new-used robot lickety-split!”

The unicorn winced again, clenching his jaw. “Yeah. I’m just gonna wait at the bar.”

Paharita gave a nod, taking a few steps toward the edge of Red Eye’s camp.

The motion within was fairly casual; the soldiers didn’t seem to be doing much of anything beyond milling around aimlessly. None of them even took notice of Tap or Rita until the pair was just about in the thick of them. At that point, the soldiers readied their weapons and put on their intimidating faces. Tap was in no mood for any of it, returning their glares with a dead stare. They seemed to relax as Rita held up a bag of caps.

“We would like to go inside the tower, pretty-pretty please!”

“Oh, it’s you two again,” replied one of the slavers. “Yeah, let them through I guess.”

With a pleasant smile, Rita continued on, Tap shambling along behind her. She slowed at the other side of the camp and motioned to the security checkpoint at the main entrance of Tenpony Tower. Tap spent a moment going over his inventory, making sure he was satisfied with the equipment he was carrying. Whatever he didn’t think he needed, he gave to Paharita. When he was satisfied, he cast a light dampening spell on his horn.

“Are we doing the bag routine,” Tap murmured, “or spaghetti hooves?”

“The bag one,” she whispered.

He nodded and got behind the griffon, preparing for an exercise in sleight of hoof.

There were four guards at the checkpoint. The unicorn guard smiled as Rita approached, his expression fading as he noticed Tap following her. Shortly after they exchanged hellos, his horn began to glow, highlighting the various nine millimeter magazines and grenades she had on her. Tap knew that one of the more important parts of smuggling ammunition into the tower was to let the guards take a few things, luring them into a false sense of security. For that reason, every piece of live ammunition that Rita was carrying would be confiscated.

“Oh, darn,” Rita grumbled as she put her claws to her satchel. To an unpracticed eye, it would seem like she was struggling with the zipper, when in reality, she was forcing the teeth to jam. The other guards perked up, but stayed put. “I’m so-so-so sorry, mister guard sir; the zipper is stuck!”

Tap managed to keep a straight face as the unicorn guard took the bait, stepping away from his post and approaching the griffon. She turned, her wings unfolding in the process, and he followed until his back was to Tap. With Rita’s feathery screen up, all three of them were effectively concealed. As far as Tap was concerned, at that point, the trick was knowing not to push his luck. Two magazines was a humble gamble, made marginally more risky by the grenade planned on smuggling in with them. The magazines were easy enough to slip into the guard’s armor, since they resembled the magazines the guard was already carrying. The grenade, however, was a bit trickier. Very, very carefully, he slipped it into a pocket on the guard’s armored barding, breathing a sigh of relief as the guard failed to notice.

The entire exchange had taken place in half a minute at the most, and the other guards had only just begun to get suspicious. Paharita dropped her wings back to her sides when Tap clicked his teeth, signaling a successful reverse-pickpocket. Not long after that, the guard managed to get the zipper open with Rita’s help, gathering up all her still-glowing hardware and depositing it in a lock-box. She stepped through the checkpoint, said goodbye, and made her way inside. Tap snickered to himself as the guard stepped up to him next. He forked over his pistols and watched as they were unloaded.

“No funny business from you,” the guard sternly ordered.

Tap re-holstered his empty pistols, pushing past the guard. “Yeah, sure thing.”

He entered Tenpony proper just in time to watch Rita vanish around a corner. The guards at the checkpoint had gathered together, watching him from the other side of the revolving door. One of them pointed his way, and they all broke into a fit of laughter. The urge to stomp back out and buck their teeth in was overwhelming, but he resisted. If he wanted to recover his grenade and mags, he would need to wait for the unicorn that searched him to get off duty so that he could steal it all back before the guard could reach the armory. Worst case scenario, he would lose easily replaceable equipment.

Several ponies in fancy dresses and suits were staring at him when he turned his attention back to the fancy hallway, all of them regarding him with expressions twisted by disgust. He gave them a big, toothy grin, then spat on the floor before continuing on his way. It was a fairly straight shot to the bar. He stepped into the elevator, ignored the other passengers, and got out on the appropriate floor. The sound of merriment was mostly hushed as he walked into the Crystal Ball Lounge, the regulars looking away, the travelers carrying on oblivious, or asking why the room had suddenly gone quiet.

Double Tap took his usual seat at the bar, propping his head up with a fetlock. Foam, the bartender, regarded him as one might regard an insect.

“You look like shit.” Foam grinned, setting down the glass she had been polishing. “Where’s your griffon friend? Aren’t you two attached at the hip?”

He glared back at her. “Just give me something to drink, you cunt. Something strong.”

Foam tilted her head, putting her forehooves on the counter. “Do you have the caps to pay for something strong?”

“I... uh...” Tap looked away, feeling mildly humiliated by the display the bartender was putting on. Rita had all the caps. “Can’t you put it on Rita’s tab or something?”

“What a stupid thing to say! How can I put something on somepony’s tab if they aren’t here?” She leaned over the bar, grinning. “Get out of my bar, you scar covered fuck.”

Double Tap took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

He was across the bar and on top of Foam before she knew what was happening. The bartender barely managed to choke out a noise as he hammered her teeth down her throat. Several patrons screamed. He kept battering her face in even as he heard security drawing their weapons from the doorway.

-0-

He opened his eyes and shook off the daydream, grinding his hooves against the bar. Just as he was about to turn and leave, a small stack of caps clattered down in front of him.

“Make it two drinks,” a girlish voice said from behind him.

When Tap turned around to tell the mare that he wasn’t anypony's charity case, the words died in his throat. The voice belonged a tiny unicorn, and at first, he mistook her for a filly. Sharply contrasting her stature, her eyes looked like they belonged to a pony three times her age. He knew her face.

A bomb went off in the back of his mind. Alarms sounded, telling him to run, but his body wouldn’t respond. He couldn’t even look away. Double Tap sat there, transfixed and horrified, as the pint sized unicorn took the seat next to him.

Foam, with resentment smoldering on her face, dropped glasses in front of both of them and poured the drinks. The mare picked up the glass in her levitation field and tossed it back, dumping the contents down her throat. She immediately gagged and banged her foreleg against the counter, scratching the polished wood with her PipBuck.

“Celestia’s molten monthly menses,” she choked out. “I thought you were ordering a drink, not paint thinner! Can I get something a touch on the lighter side?”

As Foam poured another, more brightly colored drink, the little mare donned a sheepish smile. “I’m not much of a drinker. In fact, I really shouldn’t drink at all, but you won’t be telling anyone, will you?”

Tap was barely aware that he shook his head.

The mare took up her new glass in her magic field and sipped at it, her smile becoming more relaxed. “You know, you really need to pick your fights better.” Tap’s mouth felt like it was full of wool; he nodded, still locked up with panic. “I mean, you gotta know when you just aren’t gonna win.”

She took another sip, a ruddy color was coming to her cheeks already. “And did you really think it’d be that hard to find your griffon pal?” The unicorn tapped her chin in thought. ”Rita, right? Can’t be too many griffons in this place. I’ll bet you I could track her down in minutes.”

Tap thought of his bullets, still strapped to a security pony by the gate, and all of the knives and explosives stashed in his room upstairs. His eyes frantically darted around the bar, searching for anything sharp, anything he could throw, or at the very least, something he could inflict a wound with to buy him time to escape.

“What are you giving me that look for?” The mare slurred a little, leaning towards him. “Oh.” She inhaled sharply and put a hoof to her forehead, her face crimson. “Right. Oh, Luna, fuck me sideways.”

She cleared her throat and put her hooves in her lap. “I want you to understand, I just bought you a drink because you looked like you needed it.” She looked him hard in the eyes, “But we’re not gonna go down that road. So why don’t you just drink your drink,” she tapped him on the knee and leaned in to whisper, “and keep your... pistol holstered.”

Tap rattled his glass against the bar as he struggled to wrap his magic around it, nearly spilling it as he shakily lifted. He threw the amber contents at his mouth, most of it landing on the dry slab of his tongue. When he swallowed, he felt like he was taking the shot glass with it.

“There you go,” the little unicorn said with a laugh.

She took another sip of her drink and put down another few caps in front of Tap. Foam scraped the caps across the bar and into her register before pouring another shot.

“Life is unfair,” the mare said, staring into her mostly empty glass. “It’ll force you into a family and, if you’re lucky, you might meet someone who will put up with you. Sometimes, you’ll catch a glimpse of a little something called happiness. And then...”

She downed the last of her drink. “It’s not your fault. Not all of it anyway. But you’re still going to have to deal with it.” She gave him a sad little smile. “Even if you haven’t got a chance in hell.”

She pushed herself off the barstool and onto shaky legs. “See, this is why I really shouldn’t drink. I can’t shut up.” She laughed and tipped to the side, all but falling against the bar. “Anyway, drink up, smile big, show your girl a good time.” Littlepip’s face was crimson as she gave him a wink.

“After all, you’re not dead yet.”

|[OUT]|[OF ]|[ODR]|