Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh shitty shitty shit FUCK!

I desperately grasped at the edge of the enormous, steel gear, futilely attempting to stop its closure. The shrieks of a thousand damned souls echoed from the screeching metal until it finally met with its frame and began to seal us in. My hooves clutched at the surface until I was given the choice of either ceasing in the useless endeavor, or losing my hooves. That silly, rational part of my brain forced me into the former.

Panting heavily, I put my back to the Stable door and slid down to the floor. A final, exasperated gasp escaped me as I pondered this latest weight laid across our predicament. Not only were we now racing against the clock to save Tumbler’s life, but also trapped inside a nigh impenetrable steel box with the psychopath that had done this to her.

“Well, at the very least,” I thought aloud, sparing a glance at the mare, “things literally cannot get any wor-”

The lights above flickered for a moment, then winked out. The resulting darkness was far more engulfing than any I’d bore witness to before. Tumbler began breathing at a panicked pace and, just before the lights were completely extinguished, I noticed her eyes grow wide in terrified recognition. She began to struggle and moan hysterically, “P-please… no…. n-not again.”

I stared at my hoof, not a foot away from my face, and couldn’t even make out an outline.

“I really need to stop… talking,” I mumbled somewhat apologetically. Although I couldn’t see her face, I imagined Tumbler was most likely offering a look of desperate agreement. “But not right now,” I finished. “Sorry, but I just think better when I do it out loud.” Instantly I interpreted another one of her hidden glances, “But I’m not crazy, swearsies.” I offered a hoof alongside the manic promise, but didn’t receive the expected reciprocation.

“That’s right, you can’t see… or move,” I deadpanned before slamming my hooves against my face. “I’m a psychologist, how am I so bad at this?”

A concerned, questioning groan escaped the impaled mare.

“Oh great! And now I’ve just admitted to the only mare that needs one, that I’m not a real- I mean medical doctor,” I espoused exasperatedly. “Great, just peachy Crescent! Why don’t you just put her out of her misery yourself? Oh…” I trailed off.

A panicked gurgle emanated from Tumbler as a quiet squelching marked her struggle against the rebar spearing her.

“I didn’t mean it!” I cried. “I’m just, you know, not… very good at… my job.” I sighed, “I should be focussing on keeping you calm, not on myself. Ok, I can do that.”

I rummaged through my saddlebags, carefully pushing aside the array of healing potions. Despite the fact that I wasn’t exactly educated in medicine, I did at least have enough common sense to realize that attempting to heal the mare before the rebar was removed was not the best idea. Finally, nestled near the bottom of the sack, I withdrew one of my three precious doses of Med-X.

The long, steel syringe felt cool against my teeth, and I was at least somewhat thankful I couldn’t see the needle. Shots were just another one of the numerous fears that I had never been able to overcome.

“ ‘is ‘hould dull the ‘ain a ‘it,” I stated muffedly. I fumbled around the space until I felt warm, yet not nearly warm enough, flesh under-hoof. Taking a deep breath, I jammed the needle in. Tumbler stiffened, a pained gurgle escaping her throat, then fell limp as the painkiller rapidly spread itself through her system.

“There we go, finally doing something right,” I announced happily.

“Mmmuuhh huh,” the impaled mare mumbled weakly.

“Well, seeing as how we have some time to kill… uh,” I stopped myself. “I mean, now that it’s just the two of us, how about a story?” Stories were a fantastic method of provoking trust from a patient. Just like any relationship, personal tales built bridges of trust, and the more relatable it was only further reinforced them. But that usually took place in an office, a controlled and safe environment. For an impaled mare slowly creeping toward death and trapped in an impenetrable steel box, I was going to need one holy hell of a relatable story

“So, how about… uh…” I started drawing a blank, desperately wracking my mind for one that would be personal enough to start building a rapport with Tumbler, but vague enough to keep my true origins hidden. Although…

“Say, how likely would you guess it is that you’ll remember this conversation?”

“Abawwaahh?” Tumbler moaned.

“Perfect,” I responded, slightly more confident. I did have a story in mind, one that was fresh and personal enough for me to tell for Goddess knows how many hours. It wasn’t exactly a joyous tale with a satisfying and triumphant conclusion, in fact right now it didn’t even have an ending. Just a seemingly unending tirade of gut-wrenching horrors and the inequinity so rampant throughout this land.

“How about I tell you the story of my first day in the Wasteland?”

“Fis dah in wassabuhn?”

“Exactly.”

“Welcome to the Wasteland, Doc,” Mistglider said jokingly as she pulled me back to my hooves.

The green, slimy remains of the attacking creature began dripping off my coat and splattering against the ground. I raised one of my forelegs, looking on in disgust at the bile-like rainfall. “Wh-what in Celestia’s name was that?”

“Mole rat,” the Sergeant said simply. “Nasty lil critters. Hard as shit to detect too. I’ve seen swarms of ‘em burst outta the ground and take down full squads. Those fangs o’ theirs ain’t nothin’ to scoff at, even in power armor. Guess we’re lucky it was just the one, but we’d be smart to keep an eye out for more. They usually like to hunt in packs.”

I barely registered Mistglider’s explanation, my mind entirely dominated by a single desire, “Any likelihood that I can take a shower?”

The Sergeant chuckled, “Sure, and hey while you’re takin’ a nice, hot, luxurious shower, we’ll prepare the traditional five-course feast. We do it every deployment.”

“You’re mocking me,” I deadpanned.

She continued laughing as she rummaged through a nearby saddlebag, then tossed me a small package. It was the usual dark grey, completely non-ornamental packaging of military gear. In simple, black lettering, it identified itself as ‘Sanitary Wipes.’ “That’s ‘bout as good you’re gonna get. Say hello to military life, Doc. Ain’t exactly a vacation.”

I sighed, “Is there at least somewhere I can go for a little privacy?”

Mistglider rolled her eyes, “Hop back in the Verticbuck, I promise we won’t peak. However, I recommend trying to overcome your sense of decorum. When it’s just the six of us against the world, we’re gonna have to get real close if you wanna survive. ‘Cause I can guarantee that a group o’ raiders ain’t gonna respect your modesty, or hesitate to take a bite outta that cute lil ass o’ yours.”

“Well, at least they have good taste,” I jibed.

“I was speakin’ literally.”

“Of course you were,” I responded before climbing back inside the transport. The sliding doors hissed shut behind me, and I took a shaky breath before the tears started to fall. “What the fuck am I doing here?” I opined quietly, gentle sobs interrupting my speech. “I can’t do this, I can’t do this, I CAN’T!”

I collapsed onto the floor with a wet plop. The tears cut clean lines through the goop still clinging to me as the first of what I assumed to be many mental breakdowns raked across me. My teeth chattered relentlessly as I wept. “What the fuck was I thinking? I just had to be the big hero, when I could be nice and comfortable back in Thunderhead. Now all I'm going to do is die down here. Why was I so stupid? Stupid. Stupid,” I growled through clenched teeth, punctuating every ‘stupid’ by slamming my head against the steel floor.

A soft thunk cut through my muted cries. I blearily opened my eyes to see a folded piece of paper lying in the green puddle dripping off of me. My eyes widened and I instantly snatched it before it could become too saturated in the molerat jello. It must have been stowed away in my jacket pocket, but I didn’t remember taking it. I slowly unfurled the parchment, finding a letter scrawled within:

Our Dearest Daughter,

We hope this message finds you well. I know how much you hate us treating you like our little filly, but we just couldn’t let you go without imparting some measure of our love that you can take with you.

You know how much your mother and I worry, but that’s not the reason for this letter. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. No matter how much our hearts break knowing you’ve put yourself into such life-threatening peril, it can’t even compare to how proud we are of you. You were never one for military life, but similarly never content to remain safely at home. The drive and passion that has led you through this life has always been such a source of inspiration for us all. I know nothing we could have said would have stopped you from taking on this burden, to reunite us with our fellow Equestrians on the ground. So many echo the sentiment, but few could ever put their own lives at risk to build that future.

You have singlehoofedly put into motion a movement that will change everything. No longer will our leaders be able to ignore the denizens of the Wasteland. Action will finally have to be taken, our people will become one again, and it will all be thanks to you.

We pray every day for your safe return. Remember that you are always in our hearts, and words cannot express how honored we are to be your parents.

Love you now and forever,
Mom and Dad

P.S Hey, it’s Gibbous. Dad wanted me to write something to you. So if you’re going to die on this ridiculous suicide mission, at least make sure you don't embarrass the family in the process.

Cordially,
Gibbous

P.P.S Don’t take your brother too seriously, you know how he is. He loves you too.

Goddess-dammit, the goal was to stop crying.

The flow only redoubled as I absorbed the loving words. Damp spots sprouted across the page before I hugged it close, desperately wanting those who’d penned the letter to feel the embrace. Had I said enough before departing? Had I truly let them know how deeply I loved them? Had I given a proper goodbye?

No, not goodbye. I would see them again.

I shakily brought myself back to my hooves and confidently wiped the tears from my eyes… then immediately regretted it as I only succeeded in smearing more of the green goop against my face. After a good round of sputtering and hacking the vile slime, I glanced once more at the letter, folded it carefully, and stowed it away in my saddlebags.

My family believed in me, and these soldiers had vowed to help make sure this operation succeeded, regardless of their own beliefs in its potential efficacy. The only roadblock stopping this mission from succeeding was my own confidence, and I would be damned if my family’s faith and the lives of Trojan squad would be wasted because of my cowardice. Now it was high time to grow up, and finally commit myself wholeheartedly to the cause that had led me to this hellscape to begin with.

But first, I desperately needed to clean myself.

I began peeling away the soiled, thick canvas barding and tossing the bits aside with wet plops. The package of sanitary wipes opened easily enough, and I was pleasantly surprised at the scent that wafted up from them, “Mmm, lavender.” So I guess military life wasn’t all business.

The damp pieces of cloth easily cleared the gunk away, revealing the vibrant, deep blue of my coat. As I worked down my flanks, a brilliant sliver of white began to shine through. A soft smile graced my lips as I took in the image of a waxing crescent moon lain over a field of twinkling, purple and white stars. Some had told me that my cutie mark was not dissimilar from that of the great Princess Luna herself. Although I was somewhat certain the meaning behind them varied quite widely. Otherwise I was doing a pretty crappy job of controlling the moon.

The marks were such a fascinating field of study, their contexts spanning across the entire philosophical spectrum. Some were incredibly esoteric in their connotations, signifying a powerful strength yet to be discovered, a world-altering destiny, or even overcoming a deep inner struggle that shaped oneself into the pony they were always meant to be.

And sometimes ponies were just good at knocking apples out of trees. It didn’t always have to complicated.

Personally I felt that, in the path I had chosen, my mark signified my ability to provide ponies with a new beginning. It was, afterall, the first phase of a moon following it fading from existence. A new moon was often seen as the extinguishing of hope, plunging the night into true darkness. However, I always believed it more the dawning of a new cycle, a fresh start for anypony that happened to cast their gaze skyward into the brilliant night. That assurance in the interpretation of my cutie mark was what had blazed my trail toward this final goal. I was to give the denizens of the Wasteland their new beginning.

My whimsical daydream was cut short as I felt some of the mole-rat soup trail down around my tail and toward…

I let out a disgusted whine and shuddered as I hesitantly inched a new sanitary wipe between my rear legs.

“Why me?”

The doors of the Vertibuck slid back open as I reemerged. The members of Trojan squad had begun dutifully clearing the area and setting up our base camp. Several tan, auto-deploying tents were tactically dispersed around the area, camouflaged amongst the rocky crags and sand dunes within the small canyon. A mare, Hertz if I recalled correctly, was busily setting up an array of complicated-looking steel boxes and antennas. The pilot, Steelwing, had exited the cockpit and was checking over every inch of our dual-rotored aircraft in an apparent post-flight check. He was the only member of the squad, aside from myself, not clad in the black, scorpion-esque power armor. Instead wearing deep gray fatigues and a matching cap.

Mistglider was circling overhead, apparently keeping watch for any incoming threats. She glanced down as I exited and swooped in to land right next to me. “All cleaned up I see,” the Sergeant praised sarcastically. “Lookin’ like that, I’m sure you’ll be the bell of the Wasteland ball.”

“I don’t think that’s a real thing,” I stated, smiling knowingly at the mare.

“Well Luna yank my tail and call me sweet-ass, seems like you’re finally catching on,” she chuckled, then suddenly turned serious. “So, now that introductions are out o’ the way, let’s talk strategy. You already know what’s expected of ya, no wanderin’ off on your own, no excursions until we’ve mapped out the route first, no contact with anypony we meet with until we’ve cleared them first, and anythin’ I say goes. Far as I’m concerned, you’re under my command until we’re all safe and cozy back in Thunderhead. Understood?”

I nodded and did my best to snap a salute, “I am at your command, mon capitaine.”

“Don’t do that,” the Sergeant said sternly.

I smiled sheepishly, “Just trying to get into the swing of things.”

“Don’t do anythin’ outrageously stupid and I think we’ll be fine,” Mistglider reprimanded before extending her wings and lifting off again. “We’ll be makin’ camp here for the night, so try and get comfortable, don’t wander off, and we’ll finish up scoutin’ around. See ya, Doc.” With that she ascended once more to continue her lookout.

I sighed and removed my saddlebags, searching through the contents and triple-checking to ensure none of the slime had seeped in. Satisfied that everything was relatively dry, I took inventory of what I’d brought along. A couple of textbooks, a bundle of notepads, dozens of quills and inkwells, and a small laser pistol issued to me before I’d been allowed to leave Thunderhead. I barely understood which end made the flashy, killy beam come out, but I guess protocol took precedent over my combat experience.

Bundled up at the bottom of the bag was the one comfort item I’d been permitted to take along. A big, fuzzy, antique blanket showcasing my favorite comic book characters, the Power Ponies. The six superpowered ponies, and their puny sidekick Humdrum, all stood overlooking the cityscape of Maretropolis, illuminated by a giant skylight. It had been a gift from back when I’d been accepted into university. Pre-war artifacts, even those that only existed as a novelty like this, were some of the most valuable items one could hope to possess in the Enclave. This blanket had been passed down in my family since the pegasi had first decided to seal themselves off from the world. It seemed fitting that it should accompany me on this mission.

I quickly looked around, finding the squad were still preoccupied with their various tasks, before nuzzling my face into the faded fabric. It smelled of dust, sweat (don’t judge, I didn’t want the colors to fade in the wash), and just vaguely of pine and rain… my dad’s favorite cologne. It summoned memories of brisk evenings from my childhood, snuggled together with the retired lieutenant as we gazed up into the night sky from the roof of our home. I could almost feel the warmth of his coat on mine, the steady, reassuring rhythm of his heartbeat, and his strong forelegs holding me protectively.

Oh how I longed for those days.

A subtle movement to my right snapped me from the memory and I hurriedly stowed the blanket away, a blush of embarrassment gracing my cheeks. “Oh hi, I was just… you know… taking stock of my supplies and-” I cut myself off, seeing that the movement had not come from one of the members of Trojan squad, but instead from behind a nearby rock. My heart immediately set off at a panicked rate as I pictured a horde of mole rats bursting from burrows all around and devouring me in an instant. I scooted backward, keeping my eyes locked onto the stone and the brief glimpses of something moving behind it.

Just as I was set to call out in panic toward Trojan, a small pony’s head peaked out. I squinted my eyes, trying to get a better look at them without moving any closer. It appeared to be a young, earthpony colt. He was a dark green, with a tuft of aqua mane styled into a little mohawk. As he further emerged from the hiding spot, I noticed he was absolutely covered in dirt and grime. Scrapes all across his coat formed a crisscrossing mosaic of injury, with a long scar running the length of his stomach. He wore a look of skittish fear, and he shook with nervousness.

“H-hi there, little guy,” I said soothingly. “What’s your name?”

He said nothing, just looked at the ground and continued to shake.

I pondered whether this was worth notifying the others, but quickly banished the thought. They were obviously busy, and it wasn’t like I couldn’t at least take on a completely unarmed and defenseless colt.

Right?

I trotted slowly back toward him, “It’s ok, I’m not going to hurt you.” Again he had no response, but neither did he run away. “Are you out here all alone? Where are you from?”

He shook his head.

“Don’t worry,” I said, smiling down at the colt, “you’re safe here. You can talk to me.” I laid a hoof on his shoulder, and he immediately stiffened in panic. His eyes grew wide with fear as the pupils darted around.

“My name is Doctor Crescent Harmony,” I continued. “I’m a psychologist from the Enclave. Do you know what a psychologist is?”

“H-hurts,” he groaned quietly.

“Oh no,” I responded soothingly. “I know I’m technically a ‘doctor’, but not the kind you’re thinking of. I’m not gonna try and jab you with any needles or anything like that.” I laid down in front of the colt, bringing our gazes level and attempting to make us seem more like equals instead of an adult talking down to a child. “A psychologist is somepony who treats owies that you can’t really see. If somepony is very angry or sad, and they feel like they can’t be happy again, I try to help them. I like to understand why a pony might be upset, and then come up with a way to make them feel better.”

I placed my hoof over his, “Do you think that there’s something you might want to talk to me about?”

“Hurts,” he repeated, looking back toward his side.

I cocked my head confusedly, then looked back toward his stomach. Now I could see that the long scar was fairly fresh, maybe even as recent as that day. The skin looked like it’d been cut deliberately, if a bit crudely. A sloppy stitching job had sealed the flaps of skin back together, but a red ooze still dripped from between the sutures. There was also a fairly obvious bulge just beneath the skin. “What in the world?” I said quietly.

“DOC HARMONY, GET THE FUCK BACK,” I heard Mistglider screech just before she slammed into the ground beside us, immediately about-faced, and delivered a bone-shattering buck into the colt. The child flew from the ground before smacking into the cockpit of the Vertibuck with a pained cry, leaving a red smear on the glass, then toppled to the ground on the other side.

I was caught off-guard by the sudden outburst of violence. My eyes widened, and my mouth gaped open, “What in the holy mother of fuck is wrong with-” I began, but was silenced by Mistglider slamming into me and covering my body with hers.

Immediately after, a deafening boom erupted from where the colt had landed.

It felt like the world was tearing itself apart. I briefly recalled an occasion where my dad and I had been caught out in a thunderstorm and were forced to take cover in a small clump of calm clouds.

Even that paled in comparison to the eardrum-shattering wall of force that slammed into us. Mistglider’s muscles tensed as she braced against the impact, keeping us rooted, and shielding me from the blast. After what felt like an unending storm of shrieking metal, shattering glass, and howling, otherworldly gales, silence fell back across the canyon.

I felt Mistglider’s weight slowly stand back up, then a soft nudge, “Get up, Doc.”

I hadn’t even realized that I’d sealed my eyes until I was forced to open them again. Cautiously, I stood and gazed back toward the source of the explosion. The Vertibuck was very nearly torn in half. Only a single rotor was still attached, whilst the four blades that had comprised the other were lodged in various bits of the canyon around us. A smoldering fire trailed a thick, black column into the air. Somepony was screaming.

The remaining members of Trojan squad immediately sprang into action, sprinting toward the sight of the explosion with buckets of sand and smothering blankets. Upon arriving, Hertz immediately turned back toward the others, “Steelwing’s down! Get a fucking medical kit now!”

My mind was a blur of thoughts, none of them quite able to form anything coherent, “Wh-what the… what the hell just…”

“Welcome wagon,” Mistglider stated, a subtle rage burning in her tone.

“Someone knows we’re here.”

Steelwing seemed to be slumbering peacefully, I suppose a medically induced coma was sufficient in creating that illusion.

I sat beside the stallion’s cot, staring down at him and burning every aspect of his injuries into my memory. A mosaic of scarred flesh covered the entire left side of his light gray body, the skin on his face having been almost entirely stripped down to the bone. It had required a not insignificant amount of the team’s magical bandages just to cover the most egregious wounds. Small tufts of his rust-brown mane were still intact, but it had been largely burned away. His left eye was still relatively intact, but removal of the lids necessitated an enchanted patch to seal in the moisture. The pilot’s left foreleg and wing were now nothing but shrivelled husks, mangled beyond all recognition of their original state.

He was grounded now in every sense of the word, maybe permanently. Steelwing had been robbed of performing his special talent ever again.

All of it thanks to my own stupidity.

I heard the tent flaps shuffle a bit as somepony entered. I glanced briefly over my shoulder, finding Mistglider standing by the entrance, “You ain’t doin’ nothin’ to help him just sittin’ around feelin’ sorry for yourself.”

“What else am I supposed to do?” I mumbled miserably. “Steelwing’s crippled and… oh Goddess,” I moaned, all of past few hours rushing back to me in an instant. “That… that kid,” I couldn’t stem the stinging tears as they began dripping down my face. “Wh-who… wh-what kind of monster could do something like that? He was… he was just a-” my sobs broke through the sentence as I doubled over, covering my face and weeping. “This is all my fault.”

“Yeah, it is,” she replied simply.

“I guess you’re not here to try and make me feel better,” I said as my forelegs dropped and I stared forlornly at the floor.

“And why would I do somethin’ like that?” The Sergeant walked forward and took a seat beside me. With a sigh, she reached her forelegs up and undid the clasps on her power armor’s helmet. A hiss and a short burst of steam followed her removing it for the first time since we’d boarded the Vertibuck. A cascade of bright green braids tumbled out of the helmet, framing the face of a light purple pegasus with hardened eyes that matched the tone of her mane. A long scar crossed diagonally across her face, running over her left eye, and concluding at tip of her muzzle.

“I ain’t here to put a bandaid on your bleedin’ heart, Doc,” Mistglider began, her voice now free from the distortion of the helmet’s speakers. “I’m here to wake you up to the fact that your choices down here affect us all, not just you. This…” she trailed off, staring at her newly-crippled comrade, “... this was hard way to learn that. But if I’d been beaten down for every hard lesson I’d ever been forced to learn, well I would’ve bailed outta this life a long time ago.”

“You mean… you’re not mad,” I asked confusedly.

“Ain’t got the time to be,” she stated. “It’s not like you did this on purpose, and we all need to be able to rely on each other to survive down here. To an extent, I can control your unwise decisions. I can’t control raiders sending a foal-bomb right into our basecamp. So their actions are of much greater concern to me than yours. Besides, it ain’t all your fault.”

“What?”

“It ain’t all your fault,” she repeated. “If we’d managed to clear the LZ a bit better, if I’d kept a closer eye on you, if I’d been thinkin’ more than just ‘get that lil’ fucker away from the Doc asap’ and actually stopped to consider where I was kickin’ him, none of this would have happened either. We all made mistakes that led up to this. But a rookie second-guesses themselves and let’s it paralyze ‘em, a veteran learns from their mistakes and keeps movin’ forward.”

“I… thank you,” I sputtered, shocked by just how dutiful Mistglider could remain, even in the face of such a traumatizing event.

“Don’t get me wrong,” she continued. “I ain’t happy, and we are goin’ to have words about this. You need to understand that when I give you an order, I choose my words very carefully. I didn’t say, ‘no contact unless it’s a kid.’ I don’t give a flyin’ fuck if it’s a bunch o’ newborn bunnies, no contact means no contact. Hear me?”

“I do,” I responded, feeling my commitment to the words stirring in my gut. She was right, I had to start listening. Another blunder like this could get us all killed. I was so wrapped up in how dangerous the Wasteland was going to be, I didn’t stop to think how my actions could be just as lethal. “From this point on, I do what you say, when you say it. No exceptions.”

“Good to hear,” the Sergeant said, a bit of approval in her tone. “Because now we have a significantly more complicated situation on our hooves.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, a bit of conflicted hope seeping into my tone. ”Are… are we really going to finish the mission.”

“Normally, not a fuckin’ chance in hell,” Mistglider responded. “Were it up to me, we’d be callin’ down evac right this second. This operation might just be in the runnin’ for quickest to go from zero to tits up. The issue is that Hertz just informed me all of our communications are bein’ jammed.”

“Jammed?” I questioned.

“Someone is makin’ sure none of our transmissions are gettin’ out,” she elaborated.

“Couldn’t the equipment have just been damaged? That was pretty big blast.”

“Nope,” she responded instantly. “Listen, Doc. I hoof-picked this squad. They are the best of the best at what they do. Hertz knows radios better than anypony in the entire Goddess-damned Enclave. So if she says that everythin’s workin’ fine and someone’s jammin’ us, then I’m inclined to believe her.”

“So what does that mean?” I asked hesitantly.

“I told you, my squad are the best of the best,” she gestured at Steelwing. “Him included. These operations ain’t exactly thrown together all willy nilly. It’s months of scoutin’ and observation. Trackin’ the movements of local gangs and factions, creatin’ reports of behavioral and migratory patterns, all to ensure that we are safe as possible when we deploy. Steelwing knew the paths we were supposed to take, and he’d only deviate if it meant avoidin’ any more trouble. I trust that’s exactly what he did. It’s possible some random raider just so happened to catch sight of us landin’, and just so happened to already have a bomb stitched inside some unlucky colt, and were close enough to get him here before sepsis took him.”

Mistglider shook her head, “But combine all of that with our transmissions bein’ jammed? Doc, I don’t know how to tell you this, but I’m thinkin’ somepony tipped ‘em off.” She levelled her gaze at me, drilling the severity of her coming statement into the icy glare.

“Somepony back in Thunderhead wants you dead.”

“I couldn’t believe it, myself,” I told Tumbler, the impaled mare having fallen silent during my recitation. Don’t worry, I checked to make sure was still breathing, she was just being quiet. Maybe I’m just that enthralling of a storyteller, or maybe Med-X is a bit more heavy-hitting than I gave it credit for.

“How could somepony want to kill me? All I wanted to do was help ponies, reunite Equestria, forge a brighter future for us all. They wanted to stop all of that, and for what? Some political points? Pandering to the isolationists who just want to wait for the world below to die out before we start anew?” I spat, disgusted at the idea. “How could anyone be that heartless?”

“Hambwaaah?” Tumbler mumbled exhaustively. Then she let out a pained whine.

“Oh no,” I said worriedly. “Is the medicine wearing off? I don’t know, is it too soon to give you another dose? BAAH! Why can’t Wasteland medicine come with instructions? It’s so irresponsible! Don’t they understand that accidental overdoses account for almost as many deaths as the sicknesses their meant to cu-”

“MMMMM!” Tumbler cried tortuously. Yep, medicine was definitely wearing off.

“Alright, alright,” I acquiesced, withdrawing a second syringe and clutching it in my teeth. “Le’s ge’ you ‘ome ‘ore.”

Just as the needle was about to pierce the wounded mare’s flesh, a hail of loud booms and cracks echoed through the Stable’s halls. I yelped, dropping the syringe and wincing as I heard it shatter against the steel floor.

Tumbler immediately began to panic, tugging and pulling at the rebar. That is until she started screaming out as it wriggled throughout her body. Though I couldn’t see, I did feel a splash of something hot and wet spurt against my coat.

“Oh fuck!” I cried before rushing to the mare’s side. “It’s ok, it’s ok. We just need to calm down now. Everything’s fine. I’m sure the others just found the pony that did this to you and now they’re taking care of it.” I grabbed the final syringe. “Le’s ‘ust ge’ ‘his i’ you an-”

Another scream crashed against my ears, this one from further in the Stable. But not a stallion’s like the voice on the intercom, it was another mare. Soon a stallion’s cries did join the first, then another. Soon a chorus of tortured wailing was passing through the halls, underscored with the blunt thumps of gunfire. Then, just as quickly as it had begun, the orchestra of death fell quiet.

“Oh ‘uck,” I swore again.