Old Appleloosa:

Honestly, Iron Skies couldn’t say he trusted this griffon, and it was quite clear the feeling was mutual. He could just feel the griffon’s eyes boring into the back of his skull as they scavenged the leftovers of the mob of Raiders the two had just defeated. Even as he picked up simple things like carbine and pistol ammo, Riptalon watched him as if he was simply deciding on the best way to slit his throat.

“You going to keep watching me like that, or you going to say something?” Iron commented sarcastically as the rainy downpour slowly turned to a drizzle.

“Depends, you come out of nowhere like a ghost and just shoot up that mob and I’ll paraphrase old one eye right there, the new Deadshot Calamity,” Riptalon remarked, his head tilted sideways. He continued to observe the newcomer and the aftermath of the miniature massacre he’d partly been a cause of. He had to admit if only to himself it was quite frightening to see. There was almost no emotion in those eyes when he saw Iron taking shot after shot. Well, there was one. It was an almost sadist like pleasure. He’d only seen that type of pleasure in two places. Raiders, and members of the Grand Pegasus Enclave. For a moment, just for the briefest of moments, he had a thought. Could this pony be the infamous Gray Ghost he kept hearing rumors about? No, that couldn’t be. The Gray Ghost was just a legend, nothing more. But somehow, Riptalon had a feeling he’d stumbled onto a pony that was far worse than any rumor. There was something about him that just told Riptalon to get moving, and to get away from Iron as far as he could and as quickly as he could. “Plus, I’m half expecting you to turn on me in the next minute or so, so yeah, I’ll be on the side of caution here,”

“Saved your life, didn’t I? Should count for something at least, ungrateful bastard,” Iron snapped as he found a flask amongst the bodies, popped it open and drank down its contents.

“Excuse me if I don’t trust somepony who just shows up out of the blue without saying a word about himself except for his name,” Riptalon snarked back. He continued eyeing the stone grey pegasus, and noted the convinent lack of a Dashite brand on his flank. Instead, it was a tall column of storm clouds. His eyes narrowed, either Iron was a Stable-Dweller going out for a stroll in old Appleloosa, or he was dealing with a Enclave soldier. (It certainly explained why he was so good in a fight.) But if that was true, where was the infamous armor that had struck fear in the hearts of griffons, zebras, and ponies alike?

“You could say the same about yourself, you know,” Iron pointed out as he looked back at his new-found “Friend”.

“Yes, well... given trust isn’t something I give out easily. In the wasteland, especially this part of it, that’s a luxury not many can afford. Those that do generally wind up dead… or worse,” Riptalon replied, before shuddering.

“What do you mean?” Iron inquired as he flew back up to the top of the building to grab his carbine and then flew back down again.

“Trust me on this one, there are some things about this place you’re better off not knowing about..” Riptalon warned ominously before trailing off. At this point, the drizzle had stopped completely and the clouds were beginning to break away just as quickly as they had arrived.

“You know, you’re a real pleasure to have around, you know that right? Life and soul of the bloody party, you are,” Iron grumbled.

“...Rudest pony I ever met, so back at you, ya dick,” Riptalon retorted as he wiped the blood off his combat knife with a flask of whiskey he’d kept on himself.

“Wasting a perfectly good drink, you know that right?” Iron snarked.

“Oh right, maybe I should become addicted to the stuff and become like a certain queen of whiskey like you seem well on your way to being,” Riptalon deadpanned, having noticed Iron’s little knicking of a raider’s flask and the fact that he simply smelled of booze. Evidently, he’d had a few shots before Riptalon and his pursuers arrived here.

“And what’s that supposed to mean!?!” Iron snapped, and the sound of teeth grinding against each other could be heard. Riptalon smirked in amusement.

“Oh, nothing,” The griffon began with an offhand wave of his paw. “Just that you seem to be a poor choice for a traveling companion if the first thing on your mind is booze, booze, and more booze.” Riptalon drawled.

“For your information, I-”

Whatever Iron had to say next, it was cut off as sharp howls cut through the nighttime air like a knife. It was a sound that had been known throughout the centuries in the Old West, and it always brought trouble. Always. Riptalon’s eyes widened in what could only be described as fear before they narrowed.

“What is it?” His companion asked as his eyes darted right, and then to left before on instinct he pulled out his carbine and loaded it with another cartridge of rounds. He didn’t like the look on Riptalon’s face, it was like that of a cornered animal. He’d seen this look somewhere before, he just knew it, but he didn’t know exactly where or when that had happened.

“Coyotes, believe me on this, they’re one of the last things you want to run into out here around this time of night,” Riptalon explained, turning his attention to some nearby hills, where the moon was just slowly beginning to peek through the cloud cover. “To them, we’d be nothing but a perfectly good meal. And trust me, once they’ve got your scent they won’t stop until they track you down and rip you to shreds,”

“Like I said, life and soul of the party you are…” Iron muttered to himself. “Any place where we can take shelter from them for the night, or at least be not out in the open?”

Riptalon gave Iron Skies a deadpan stare as he gestured to any one of the many buildings around them. Iron’s face flushed a bright red and Riptalon couldn’t help himself but snigger.

“Oh… Right. Sorry, my bad.” Iron mumbled. Riptalon’s sniggers turned into full blown laughter as Iron muttered “Why I oughta…” to himself and imagined himself viciously killing the rude griffon in various brutal fashions.

The twosome made their way into another building, what looked to be like an old warehouse of sorts. Part of the roof had been ripped or blasted open exposing the interior to the moonlit sky above. Crates of all sorts covered the interior. As the reluctant partners entered, Riptalon pulled out a flashlight and scanned the inside, his eyes darting from right to left at any sign of movement. Rad-Roaches scurried away at the sign of the light, and into the darkness never to be seen again.

“See anything?” Iron asked as he absentmindedly fiddled with his gun while sitting down on a small crate marked “Ubisoft Shipping and Handling”. A small radio was next to him sitting on the crate as well, evidently placed there by the workponies for entertainment and information many years before.

“Nothing… Well, nothing dangerous anyways,” Riptalon commented. “Unless you count Rad-Roaches as dangerous.”

“Considering one of them bit me, yeah. I’d count them as dangerous,” Iron stated, once again showing off his remarkable ability for deadpan remarks. It was then Riptalon’s golden eyes drifted to Iron’s leg, slowly dripping blood into small puddles on the floor.

“You moron!” Riptalon shouted in disbelief. “Y-You Celestia-be-damned moron! You’ve been dripping that stuff all over town and for all we know, those damn coyotes probably are even now closing in on us… Like buzzards to a kill,”

“Not dead yet,” Iron pointed out snidely. “For what it’s worth anyway.”

Riptalon muttered something unkind under his breath as he pulled out some bandages from his saddlebags and wrapped them around the stallion’s leg. Next, he went to the front doors of the warehouse and slammed them shut with a powerful thud.

“Yeah, but we’d both be in danger… Well, I would as you I could care less about, if I hadn’t just handled things,” Riptalon remarked.

“Gee, thanks for the sympathy. I’ll be sure to put you on my Hearth’s Warming Card list.” Iron snarked as he rested his carbine against the crate.

“Don’t thank me yet, we’re not out of the woods yet. This place… It’s hardly what I’d call a safe spot for shelter,” Riptalon muttered. “That great big gaping hole in the roof makes it a perfect spot for coyotes or Death Claws or who knows what else to just jump in and have us for a midnight snack.”

“And yet you locked us in.” Iron pointed out.

“I was just keeping one entrance closed,” Riptalon stated, explaining his reasoning. “If an enemy has to attack us, there’s only one way in for them now. Thinking ahead, helps one stay alive longer. Something you should be investing yourself in,” the griffon sneered. Iron rolled his eyes as he turned his attentions to the radio nearby and adjusted the dials to see if he could get any transmissions to calm his nerves… Or at the very least have someone else to listen to besides a certain griffon. Hopefully someone less condescending.

Sure enough, the mare Iron knew as Homage and her voice came in over the radio.

“Well, hello again Wastelanders! Always nice to hear your lovely voices. Your friendly neighborhood unicorn Homage coming at you here live with the latest news from the Wasteland. Been ten years since that sexy lover of mine Littlepip activated the Single Pegasus Project and cleared the air and gave those damned bastards in the Enclave one Hell of an ass-kicking. Ooh, just gives me an orgasm just thinking about it,” Homage commented lustfully. “Oh, did I say that on air? Sorry to any of you prudes out there. Not!” The mare laughed. “Anyways… NCR’s been fighting the good fight up and down all over the ruins of Manehatten. Seems a squad of those damn Grand Pegasus Enclave members released a hoard of Yao Gaui onto the streets to cleanse Manehatten or some other such shit, and now the NCR’s got one Hell of a job mopping up the mess. All the while those mysertious kidnappers are stealing away ponies left and right in the middle of the night. So do us all a favor, if you’re in Manehatten, do lend a hoof and help out our friends in the NCR… Or at least shoot a Yao Gaui or Enclave Soldier member in the head if you’re just passing through. Does the whole world a favor with one less of those monsters wandering about. If you do happen to see a member of the NCR, give him or her a big thanks. Or at least some ammo. Celestia knows they need it eh?” Homage remarked with a dark chuckle. “Now, from my good friend Velvet Remedy, her take on the old song “Ain’t no Grave. Sleep well everypony.”

Just then, a soft, and rather seductive voice began to sing to the ponies (And griffon) listening in over the radio.

“There ain't no grave can hold my body down
There ain't no grave can hold my body down
When I hear that trumpet sound I'm gonna rise right out of the ground
Ain't no grave can hold my body down…”

Midway through the lyrics, the voice changed from Velvet’s to a rather gravely voice that Riptalon swore he’d heard somewhere before. The song was still the same, but the voice… wasn’t.

At the same time, Iron began to feel a distinctive chill go up his spine and swore he could feel eyes upon him. Maybe he was imagining things, but when he turned his head he saw, up on a catwalk, a thin, pony like figure dressed in a black tattered cloak and fedora vanish away into the darkness right as the music cut out.

“Something wrong?” Riptalon asked, noticing the haunted look on Iron’s face.

“Just… Just could have sworn I saw something…” Iron muttered.

“What kind of something? Look hungry, furry, wolf like?” Riptalon asked nervously.

“No… More like some sort of pony. Vanished as soon as I saw him… or her. Couldn’t really tell.” Iron explained. With a shrug, he tried getting the signal back, but to no avail. Riptalon meanwhile looked mildly disturbed for a moment, before that expression faded quickly enough for Iron to take no notice of it.

Iron meanwhile, picked up his rifle and began traversing through the building keeping an eye peered out for Raiders, Coyotes or whatever those Death Claw things were that Riptalon mentioned to him. Personally, he had to privately agree with the griffon, even if he’d never admit it. He was a Celestia-be-damned moron, (Whatever the Hell Celestia was.) he should have bandaged that wound first thing before he took on the Raiders trying to kill Riptalon.

“Who is he? What exactly did he do to get that many Raiders after him? Who’d he piss off to have fifteen blood-hungry killers go after him? Couldn’t have been his rudeness, could it? Doubt even a smartarse fool like him would be that dumb enough to tick off a bunch of trigger happy fools just by saying something. Stab somepony in the back maybe, ...Maybe even me if I’m not careful.” Iron pondered to himself as he opened up a door to a hallway that presumably led to another part of the warehouse. Curiosity was getting the better of him. Or maybe he was thinking ahead like Riptalon asked him to. After all, the last thing either of them wanted was an ambush. “...And yet I’m walking into a potential one just by taking a gander through this place. Gotta have some kind of death wish here. Firstly, just not killing Riptalon outright when every sense of mine is telling me not to trust him for even a moment, and now wandering about a place that could be filled with things that want to tear me limb from limb.”

Another voice, one that sounded frighteningly like that stallion from his(?) memories commented.

“And yet you haven’t killed him yet. You know why. He’s your guide to living long enough in this Shithole. Learn from him, then kill him.” the voice countered.

“Shut it, dickbag. You’re a real father to your men, you are,” Iron retorted as he walked into another room and was greeted with empty cages. Well, not entirely empty. Some had pony skeletons in them. Other skeletons, wearing thrown together pieces of clothing that had been torn and ripped apart lay scattered across the room. Iron sub consciously crossed himself with a hoof before shouting for Riptalon.

“In here! Think you may have found something you may want to take a look at!” Iron shouted.

“Real epitome of subtlety you are.” the voice remarked. It was soundly ignored. Meanwhile, Riptalon came rushing in and as soon as he saw what Iron was seeing, he let out a little growl.

“I know what happened here,” Riptalon said softly, his voice just barely tingeing on fury. “Slavers, they once resided here and all of them bit the bullet. It’s ponies like them who give scum a bad name if you’re asking me. Rapists and general slime bags, most of them. I’m not exactly a paragon of good virtues and I freely admit that but there’s low and then there’s low.”

“So what happened?” Iron asked, really not sure if he wanted to know.

“Remember that mare Homage mentioned?” Riptalon remarked.

“One that Homage said made her orgasm just by thinking of her, or something like that?” Iron asked bluntly, and Riptalon rolled his eyes.

“Yes, her. Littlepip. The Light-Bringer, Stable Dweller, whatever the Hell you want to call her.” Riptalon said, counting off the names on his paw. “Point is, she and that Calamity fellow came here and stumbled across those bastards in Ponyville. My guess is, it’s possible that they came out this way and stumbled across this. Littlepip always had a knack for exploring and getting into trouble. Also really hated injustice… So, you take a guess what happened here. Just speculation, might not have been her who did this, but...”

Inwardly, even if he wouldn’t admit it, Riptalon had a feeling this wasn’t the Light-Bringer’s work. As far as he knew, Littlepip and her company had never ventured out to old Appleloosa. As far as he knew, he reminded himself. It may have happened, Littlepip for all he knew may have had a few adventures that she never wrote down in her book. He just didn’t want it to be who he thought it was.

“Well, good on her or whoever did this then…” Iron muttered. “Shame I didn’t get to them first.”

Then, he spotted it. It was another of those audio diaries, exactly like the one he’d found in the Salt Lick tavern. He put the needle on the record and let it play…

“Gah! Can’t believe we’re going to have to be staying here for the next couple of days until that sandstorm clears up. I mean, just look at what we have to put up with. All those whiny beggars, always asking for food and water! They get enough, if you ask me,” the voice grumbled. It was a male one, and already Iron was taking a dislike to it. “They can just suck their own cocks or eat themselves if they’re that hungry or dehydrated if you ask me.”

“Oh, go suck your own cock, arsehole…” Iron muttered as he reached for his pistol intending to shut the voice up for good. Riptalon held up a paw to stop him.

“Please tell me you want to just destroy that thing yourself,” Iron growled out. “Because if you don’t… I will.”

“No, let it play. Disgusting as this is, I want to know what happened here. Call it… curiosity...” Riptalon trailed off, though Iron got the distinct feeling he was lying through his teeth. He didn’t know why, but he just did.

“But alas, the boss wants them well fed so we can trade them off to whoever wants ‘em. Honestly, can’t see why. I say we just kill them all and be done with ‘em. Less mouths to feed really. Honestly, there’s this one ghoul here that keeps creeping me out. Used to be a griffon, from the looks of it. Very young one too. Been giving me the evil eye ever since we found her… Honestly, I’ll sleep better once she’s out of our hooves.”

With that, the audio log ended.

“Well, that was real helpful,” Iron said dryly as he turned to Riptalon. “Happy now? Can we just leave this place instead of trying and getting some sleep knowing that… Oh, we’re sharing a home with a whole bunch of dead bodies, some of which might have been rapists. Got to be other places we can spend the night,”

But Riptalon wasn’t satisfied, as he went over to a cage and found another audio log laid next to it. He placed this one’s needle on the recording and let this one play. He was greeted with a different voice, slightly gruffer.

“I’m starting to share that brick brain Red Hot’s opinion on the matter. That griffon… Gives me the creeps. Just the way she stares at you… Those hollow eyes. Can never tell what she’s thinking exactly. Least we don’t have to feed her. I’m not getting any closer to that cage than I have to.” The voice commented Celestia above… Least that other mare her age, the one with the spoon on her flank, is much better. Sure, she doesn’t speak much but at least we’re the cause of that. So glad we… broke her.”

There was a dark chuckle as the recording ended, and both Riptalon and Iron got sick feelings in their stomachs as to what the stallion meant by “Breaking” the mare. It wasn’t long before Iron began to heave. Riptalon for once, showed the signs of sympathy towards the stallion and laid a paw on his shoulder.

“Listen, you’d better get used to this sort of stuff. The Equestrian Wasteland was messed up, fucked up in so many ways beyond belief. Still is, but it’s getting better,” The griffon reassured.

“Sure you don’t just tell yourself so you can sleep better at night?” Iron asked. Riptalon never answered. Instead, he found the final audio log in the room, clutched by a skeleton of what he presumed to be a Slaver. He let it play, afraid of what he was going to find.

What he did find was this, and his fears were justified:

“No… I don’t believe it! She’s broken out! Right now she could be anywhere, in this entire warehouse and we’re all just waiting around for her to kill us all off! She was pissed beyond belief these past few days, and thinking back now she was very calculating. Probably formatting plans on how to kill us these past few days as soon as we raped that friend of hers, Silver something or other. Now… We’re just sitting ducks,” The voice then began to grow more frantic, more terrified. “Oh… Oh no, I can hear her! I can hear them! She’s slaughtering them all in the next room!”

Gunfire was heard, and the sounds of screams and before they quickly changed to that of ponies being ripped apart and gurgling sounds. “Oh… Oh, she’s coming this way. I… I... AAAAAAAAGGGHHH!”

The blood curdling scream brought a slim, sadistic smile to Iron’s face once again, and Riptalon backed up a few paces. Even he was unnerved at how cold Iron was about this. Raiders were scum, sure, but this…?

A few minutes passed, and neither of the two said anything for a long while

“...Well, guess we know what happened here.” Riptalon said, at last, finally breaking the silence. He wasn’t going to sleep well tonight, that much he knew.

Actually, as it turned out he may not get the chance to sleep at all as howls cut through the warehouse. Riptalon’s eyes narrowed and he reached for his knife.

“They’re here…” He said in a low tone while Iron grabbed his carbine.

“Not sure how much good that’s going to do you, birdy, but what’s good for the goose is good for the gander I suppose…” Iron muttered as he readied himself. “Stay and fight?”
“No, at least not here,” Riptalon stated with a shake of his head. “Not enough room in here. We need to get moving, more space to maneuver.”

Then, his choice was made for him as a coyote, mutated by Megaspell radiation with glowing eyes and deep red fur. That wasn’t even going over the long fangs and claws, not to mention powerful muscles it possessed. The beast leaped into the room and pounced at Riptalon. The griffon reacted fast and spun to the left but not fast enough as the coyote whipped around and body slammed him into a wall. Groaning in pain, the griffon threw down a smoke bomb. This time, Iron took advantage of the confusion and rammed it as hard as he could knocking the coyote onto its side.

“Run!”

“What about that thing?” Iron asked.

“Just hope it’s too confused by the smoke to get itself righted again!” Riptalon yelled. “But don’t you worry, there’ll be plenty more where he came from. With coyotes, there’s always one thing you need to know… They’re never alone!”

“Great, cause that makes me feel so much better!” Iron snapped back, not reassured at all.

Both of the two made a break for it down the hallway. A very tight, cramped, cluttered hallway.

“Damn it, not enough room to use my wings in here!” Iron thought as he sprinted down the corridor and rounded a corner with Riptalon not far behind. Another coyote, smaller and with gray fur leaped out of the darkness and was quickly pumped full of lead as another got its throat slashed by Riptalon’s combat knife.

Soon, the two made it back to the wide-open area that they had entered the warehouse from and found themselves in the middle of a hoard of coyotes, each with fangs bared and drool dripping from the muzzles. Both griffon and pony had the exact same thought then…

“Oh, fuck.”

Author's Notes:

Okay, sorry for no author's notes on the previous two chapters. Hoenstly, couldn't think of anything to say. Okay, first off, if anyone's questioning the Ubisoft gag, it's a joke relating to what inspired Appleloosa here in the first place. In their videogame Red Steel 2, there's this ghost town with just you, a lone store seller and a whole bunch of desert raiders. One of the sequences in the level is a big fight against forty or so of the guys, called Jackals in a huge warehouse, which partly inspired this chapter. Anyways, comments, and constructive criticism are very much welcomed. Honestly, don't know when the next chapter will be out, as the previous two were just test chapters to see if anyone liked this piece, but... Stay tuned fellow Wastelanders for the continuing adventures of Herber-No, Riptalon Hawkwind and "Iron Skies".