Appleloosa, a few moments before Riptalon’s arrival:

The stallion coughed and wheezed as he stumbled into a long-abandoned tavern marked The Salt Lick, blood dripping off his face and pooling in small puddles on the wooden floor. Scorch marks covered and dotted his gunmetal-gray and black armor… or what was left of it at least. Half of it lay shattered and in pieces behind him. What was left of it consisted of simple torso armor and two blood-red shoulder pads. If the stallion had to make his best guess, there was probably a helmet that went with it. From what the stallion could tell, this armor he was wearing was probably full body armor once. Well, it had to be a guess given its ruined state.

The stallion turned to look behind him, and saw a burning hulk of scrap metal behind him. Sadly however, making out what it was was impossible. This was rather largely in part due to the rapidly melting steel and the flames consuming it. The stallion continued forward into the tavern, its roof completely missing. From the looks of things, some tremendous force had blown it off. Thunder rumbled in the distance as dark clouds began gathering on the horizon.

“Wonderful… Just bleedin’ wonderful. ...Stuck out in the middle of fucking nowhere and first place I stumble into gets its roof blown off. And there’s a storm risin’,” the stallion grumbled out in a raspy tone. “It’s like somepony high up actually wants to mock me. Ah, to Tartarus with ‘em.”

Taking one last lingering look at the burning wreckage outside, something hit him. Loud thunder or something that sounded close to it filled his eardrums. It repeated, almost like it was cycling again and again. Almost like… Cannonfire. Voices, not his own, came next.

“Sir,” a male stallion’s voice yelled, almost as if in fear. Horrifyingly, he sounded as if he was in his early teens. “The cannons! They’re-”

“Damn the cannons, ignore them!” A older voice (With an accent similar to the stallion’s own) shouted as he slammed his hoof against something hard.

“But the ship, it’s going down! We should evacuate!” the first voice shouted, seemingly the more sensible one of the two. The stallion wanted to agree with the first voice, and not with the probably-suicidal idiot ordering him about.

“Give a buck power, and watch it all go all to his head…” the stallion muttered with a wry chuckle. His amusement was soon to be short-lived however, turning into outright horror as he listened to what happened next.

“No, not yet! We can still put up a fight, and I’m not letting those ground-dwelling mud-ponies get the better of us, and that’s that!” the older voice disagreed, nearly screaming by this point. “Now, you’ll obey my orders unless you want me to shoot you for insubordination!”

“But sir-”

A gunshot went off accompanied by a scream.

“W-Why?” the younger voice coughed out.

“You know why soldier,” The older voice answered gruffly. “I value loyalty in my troops, and I am impressed you care for your fellow ponies. You’re a damn good soldier, damn good. However, I can’t just live and let be. Remember, your loyalty is to me above all else. Celestia forgives everything, but I’m just a simple soldier. So I don’t have to. Amen.”

There was then another gunshot, silencing the first voice forever.

Sickened by the “Captain’s” skewed definition of loyalty and forgiveness, the stallion muttered, “Now I really need a damn drink. Might get lucky and forget all about that little moment completely.”

He stumbled to the bar, skeletons littering the floor everywhere he looked. The stallion shoved aside yet another skeleton wearing a tattered cowcolt’s hat and a deputy’s badge, muttering, “Think you’ve lingered here long enough. Closing time’s long gone for you, mate. Shouldn’t be drinking on the job anyways,” as he sat on a stool.

“Chastening the dead, you’re a real patron of society aren’t you…?” the stallion thought to himself as he reached for a bottle of Appleloosa’s Finest. He drank whatever whiskey was left in the bottle, but quickly spat it back out in disgust. As the stallion was rapidly discovering, sand did not make for a very good thirst quencher. He rolled his eyes and muttered, “Joy, wonder if any of the other bottles ‘round here are like that? Well, least if there’s any whiskey left it’s bound to have aged well from the looks of this place.”

In the background, a softly strummed guitar tune played from an old radio, the recording scratchy and difficult to make out. But still, the stallion was able to make out what the singer was saying.

“I don't want to set the world on fire
I just want to start a flame in your heart

In my heart I have but one desire
And that one is you, no other will do...”

Absentmindedly, the stallion found himself humming along to the tune. He had to admit it was sorta catchy in a way.

The stallion felt his ears twitch. Something was moving, scurrying about unseen. Whatever it was, it was making a twittering or chattering sound. He trained his ears onto it. It was beneath him somewhere, beneath the floorboards.

The stallion’s eyes narrowed. If he was alone in here, he was a moron. Chances were, if he wasn’t imagining things, he was in a fuckton of trouble. He went for the skeleton’s pistol, held in a belted holster. The gun’s trigger was rather large, suited for an Earth Pony’s hoof.

“Looting the dead, again your moral qualms show no bounds do they?” the mental voice in the stallion’s head snarked. He ignored it, keeping his ears trained all the while. He followed the sounds and aimed his pistol where they were coming from. The hammer cocked and he fired one round into the floor.

Then, what could only be described as a giant cockroach erupted from the floorboards and pounced at the stallion, glasslike wings flared to keep it aloft. The stallion fired another round and pierced the roach straight clean through the thorax. Green blood splattered the area around him. Another roach erupted from the floorboards, splinters flying everywhere like darts and bit down on the stallion’s hind leg.

He let out an ear-piercing scream of pain as the roach went in for another bite, but the stallion whirled around and shot it in the head. Two more roaches, one glowing an eerie, unnatural green, popped up from the floorboards.

“Yep, what’d I say? Fuckton of trouble.”

He fired more rounds as the sky broke open and began to pour, drenching the gray stallion’s fur and armor. His shots went over the first roach’s head and it lunged for the stallion’s face but in an instant he kicked it away. The roach that was glowing green bit down on the stallion’s ear, drawing more blood. The stallion shook his head back and forth in an attempt to throw the roach off. Eventually, the roach lost its grip and hit the wall with a smack, innards splattering everywhere. The first roach scurried away, at seeing this but smirking, the stallion shot it anyways with a sadistic grin adorning his muzzle.

“Any more of you bloody lot want to take a bite out of me?” the stallion growled out, and by this time the chittering had stopped. The scurrying had started up again, sure, but this time it was obvious that the Rad-Roaches had deemed the stallion too big and dangerous of a meal. The stallion went for another bottle of whiskey on a nearby table and to his pleasant surprise, found no sand in it whatsoever and drank it all down.

“Now that hits the spot,” the stallion thought with a smile before his eyes began to wander, scanning the inside of the tavern for anything useful at hoof. “Well, might as well have a look around. Could be something useful ‘round here. Least some ammo, or maybe some more whiskey,”

The stallion then observed the state of his armor.

“First things first though, I need a change, Doubt this piece of shite would last much longer really, looks to be falling apart as it is,” he mused to himself. His point was soundly proven when a piece of the shoulder pads fell off and hit the floor with a clang. He smiled when he saw a skeleton wearing a simple dark brown leather jacket. Quickly disposing of his armor and tossing it aside, the stallion quickly put it on. He also grabbed the local deputy’s Stetson as well, the felt matching his new jacket perfectly. The stallion didn’t know why he grabbed that particular piece of headwear over any other he could have nicked, maybe he just liked it.

As the song on the radio ended, a voice came over the radio. It was female, a rather charming voice.

“Okay, that was “I Don’t Want To Set The World On Fire” by The Ponytones, delivered to you live from my studio. Real failure on the part of Equestria to keep that from happening, eh?” The voice chuckled darkly. The stallion could swear the speaker was rolling her eyes at that moment.

“Anyways I’d tell you where I was located of course, as I know you bunch are pretty much clamoring for my autograph, but with the Enclave out and about killing everypony that doesn’t conform to their creed, AKA that is not being a pegasus or a Dashite, I’d rather not risk having to resort to blowing my own studio up… again. I just got this place, you know,” the voice laughed before continuing. “This is Homage, proud bearer of the Element of Honesty delivering you the news, no matter how crappy it is.

“Now, I’ve been hearing rumors of this Gray Ghost character going ‘round the wasteland. Some say it’s just that, simply rumors thought up by scared ponies afraid of Celestia’s wrath for what we as a populace did to her kingdom and fucked it all up 200 years ago. Me personally, considering all the strange things I’ve seen… Well, it’s not that far out of the realm of possibility that he or she exists. Instrument of Celestia’s vengeance? Maybe, maybe not. Could be just some hero going about like ole Littlepip saving ponies’ hides. That’s what I’d like to believe. Less frightening possibility really. Honestly though my dear viewers, don’t let my opinions influence you, at least not on this matter. I know, rather ironic coming from me seeing for a while I was the voice of the truth when the Enclave controlled the airwaves but... Anyways, back to the music.”

Whatever tune this “Homage” was about to play next, the stallion couldn’t hear as the radio cut out, playing its last tune.

“Shame really, I was actually enjoying listening to her. Besides, with my memory as fuzzy as it is, I need all the info I can get.” the stallion thought as he entered a backroom and found a saddlebag and some boxes of ammo which he quickly pocketed. He sighed. No whiskey, at least no good whiskey anyways. Interestingly, there was a badge alongside another skeleton. This time the skeleton was that of a unicorn. The stallion picked up the badge and read it.

“Huh, Iron Helm. Nice name for a pony. Must have been a tough buck to earn that name,” the stallion mused aloud as he observed the remnants of the golden armor that once covered him. “Might as well take the name for myself… With a few minor alterations of course to suit my personal preferences. And species. After all, I doubt this guy would object, would you mate?” He added with a dark chuckle.

Beside the body of the former unicorn lay a doll, light aquamarine in color with a horn, complete with brushable hair. On its flank was a small golden lyre. The newly christened Iron Skies raised an eyebrow. Seems even tough guys had their soft spots. He noted the doll was well kept after, obviously loved by its owner. He’d treated it was like the be-all and end-all of things, from the looks of it. Iron smiled softly at the sight.

With a shrug, Iron picked up the doll and pocketed it in his saddlebags as well. Way he figured it, if this doll was so well-kept and loved, it didn’t deserve to be left out alone here in this storeroom gathering dust. Iron chuckled at the irony of it all. Here he was, a stallion just trying to figure out who he was and very willing to use a gun and yet he was going to look after a simple doll as a favor to somepony long dead.

Iron noted what looked to be a cross between a radio and a gramophone, with two little knobs on it. It lay next to Iron Helm’s body along with a carbine rifle. Like the revolver before it, it had been altered for the use of a hoof. Used copper-colored bullet casings lay beside it. A record was placed in the device, the needle of the device ready to be used. Shrugging to himself, Iron placed the needle to the record and let it play.

“Alright, chances are this will probably be my last transmission, what with those Balefire Megaspells going off all around Equestria right and left and those blasted stripers closing in. Either way you slice it, I’m a dead duck. Hopefully after this last log of mine I’m making, I’ll take a few of those murderers with me,” Iron Helm chuckled wryly before he coughed. “Bit of a shame really, if this is my last stand. Here I was, thinking I was going to become famous and all that. Maybe even make captain one day. Shows what I know, eh? Every little foal’s dream to become a flank-kicking member of the Equestrian Royal Guard. Did that, so at least I’ll go out happy. Defending Equestria to the end. Regrets… Eh, not many really. Maybe not taking out the entire race of zebras with a megaspell, possibly. That… and never getting lucky with a mare. My Lyra doll may have had something to do with that. So what? Sue me. I don’t give a damn anyhow. We’re all allowed like what we want.

“Anyways… Hear them knocking at the storeroom door. Just want to let anypony know, anypony that finds this that I did my duty and served with honor. Give my regards to my brother, Steel Sword, would ya? Make sure he knows that I love him. This is Iron Helm, signing off for the last time.”

With that, the recording ended. Iron shut his eyes in remembrance and sighed softly with a tinge of sadness. It was like listening to a ghost. He muttered to himself, “Hope you went out fighting mate. It’s the least you deserved from the sounds of things. You were a damn good soldier, damn good. And I promise, I’ll get this message to your brother, no matter what it takes.”

Iron’s thoughts took a darker direction as he pondered on the state of the town he’d found himself in. Towns didn’t just end up empty and abandoned. He’d seen the skeletons dotting the main streets, and inside the tavern as well. A few of those could be chalked up to Iron Helm, but the rest? He highly doubted one pony could kill off an entire town all by themselves. Even a mental case wouldn’t do that much damage.

“Bloody Tartarusfire, what happened in this town? Looks like somepony strode into town and killed everypony without a care. No prejudice, no judgment. Just bang bang, killed without a care… Like some great, sweeping force just annihilated everypony. But I know that’s not possible… is it?” Iron wondered to himself worriedly as he walked out of the storeroom. He grabbed a nearby bottle of whiskey and drowned it. “Half of me wants to explore this place further, find out what exactly happened But the other half, probably the rational one, wants me to get clear Who knows what else lurks in the shadows wanting to make a meal out of me? Plus, there’s that burning hulk outside. Chances are, somepony’s going to come around and want to take a look-see. And who’s to say they’ll be friendly?”

Iron’s ears perked up as he then heard the distinctive sounds of both gunfire and angry shouting, along with several explosions. Looks like this place wasn’t as much of a ghost town as he thought. He went back and grabbed the carbine, hoping to whatever deity was watching him it still had some ammo left in it...

Riptalon snarled as he plunged his knife into a raider’s eye socket before socking him in the jaw. He whirled around and then kicked another raider in the knee before headbutting him and plunging his knife into his stomach. He then heard the sound of a battle saddle winding up and dashed behind a wagon as the shots ricocheted above his feathered head. He judged he was outnumbered at least fifteen to one, not counting the two already dead.

Riptalon bit his beak. Taking them head-on was suicide, so he needed to apply some tactics to this battle, sow some confusion and discord among their ranks. It’s how he’d survived so long, thinking his way out of fights when the odds were against him. And they often were.

“Alright you bastards, you want a fight? Well, congrats. You’ve got one,” Riptalon thought to himself as he reached for a grenade. Just then, a huge beefy arm reached out and grabbed him. The griffon’s eyes widened and he muttered “Aw crap.”

Riptalon was soundly thrown right through the side of a window, glass shards flying everywhere and cutting into his fur. When his vision cleared, he saw a truly massive minotaur striding towards him, pounding his fists together, chuckling.

“Well, looky what we have here. The infamous Blackhawk, at my hooves.” The minotaur laughed as the rest of the raiders closed in.

Riptalon spat at him and snarled out “Go to Tartarus...” as he reached for his knife once more. He’d face death with honor, like a real griffon warrior. He lunged forwards and sliced the throats of two raiders before they could even blink. The minotaur snatched him up and punched Riptalon in the stomach, making him cough up blood, before he threw him into the dirt. The other raiders were laughing at the brutal and rather one-sided beatdown.

“This is what you get for crossing Goldeneye, Blackhawk!” One taunted as the minotaur punched Riptalon again.

“You’re a dead little birdy!” another with one eye yelled.

“You’ll die here, and we’ll feast on your corpse!” A third stallion cackled.

“Luna above, can’t they let me die in peace and just shut their traps?” Riptalon thought to himself as he was sent flying by another punch. He coughed again, his gagging only increasing the laughter…

Hearing gunshots and assorted laughter, Iron rushed out to the back of the tavern and up a stairwell to another building’s roof for a better vantage point. Taking cover behind an air conditioner, he peered out from from behind it and saw the minotaur and the rest of the raiders ganging up on Riptalon. Iron let out an involuntary growl before lining up a target in his sights, the one-eyed raider. He fired off a short burst, and the shots went right through the other eye.

“There, now they match jackass.” Iron thought and almost at once everything devolved into chaos as the raiders scrambled to find out where the shots came from. He used his advantage to fire off several more rounds. The raiders reorganized and one pointed to the rooftops.

“He’s up there!” one crowed.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Shoot him, you idiots!” the minotaur roared in fury at his partners’ incompetence. When nobody was looking, Riptalon used the confusion to slowly stand up and knife one of the raiders in the back just as Iron fired off a shot at another raider.

“Who the Tartarus are you supposed to be? The new sheriff in town? The next Deadshot Calamity!?!” A raider laughed, seemingly in mockery.

“I’ll just take that as a compliment, and yeah… Might just be this town’s new sheriff. Certainly needs one if bleedin’ plonkers like you are mucking about just ruining it,” Iron snarked before he shot the raider clean through the heart. He was just about to fire off another shot when he heard a distinct click. His eyes, along with Riptalon’s widened.

“Shit!” Riptalon swore.

“Of all the bloody times to run out of ammo…” Iron mentally growled to himself and tossed the carbine aside for the moment before pulling out the pistol and firing off a few shots downing one more raider. Several raiders closed in on Riptalon, but he smirked and threw a smoke bomb and slashed through the horde.

The minotaur roared and lunged towards Riptalon, even as Iron shot him in the back several times. If there was any effect, it never showed. Iron leaped down from the building’s roof onto the Minotaur’s arm and bit down but was unceremoniously thrown off to the side.

Iron let out a groan of pain and muttered “Maybe disposing of that armor wasn’t such a good idea after all…” before rolling back and shooting the minotaur in the eye. The minotaur let out a roar of both rage and pain and Iron went for his saddlebags, taking out some more rounds and reloading the pistol. He gritted his teeth as the minotaur charged like an angry bear, pouring shot after shot into him in desperation. He turned to Riptalon.

“If you’re going to do something, better do it now! This guy isn’t going down without a fight!” Iron shouted just as the minotaur punched him into a wagon, reducing it to a pile of rubble. His borrowed hat went flying off into the wind. Lightning flashed in the background, illuminating the minotaur’s heavily-built arms and chest muscles.

“Alright, ‘Roid Rage… See how you like this…” Riptalon muttered and flew forwards before punching his opponent in the chest. The minotaur let out a small laugh but that was all he needed. Rip went for one of his grenades and pulled the pin, throwing it down the minotaur’s throat. He leaped away with a shout of “Get clear!”

Iron looked confused for a moment as he staggered to his hooves before his eyes widened as he figured out what was about to happen next. What did happen next was entirely predictable. The minotaur’s head went up in a fireball of blood, gore and brain matter showering everything around. One of his horns landed next to Riptalon as the headless body slumped forward and hit the ground with a loud thud.

Riptalon picked up the horn and smirked as he pocketed it.

“Some trophy,” Iron commented before he drew his gun. “Who the Tartarus are you anyways?”

“Should be asking you the same thing, buddy,” Riptalon snarled as he pulled out another grenade. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t pop a grenade down your throat like I did with him over there.” He gestured to the body of the minotaur with a yellow paw.

“Saving your foolish arse isn’t enough?” Iron growled, still keeping his pistol trained on the coal-black griffon in front of him. Riptalon laughed before putting away his grenade.

“True, very true,” Riptalon chuckled before extending a paw. “Trust doesn’t come easy from me or anyone else out here in the Wastes, and I’m still not sure if I should trust you… But for now, consider me in your debt.”

“Still should ask who I’m in debt to,” Iron remarked. The smell of death and decay was beginning to rise from the small massacre that had just taken place. Riptalon chuckled again.

“Riptalon Blackwind. Yours?”

“It’s Iron… Iron Skies.”