Living in a Stable is hard. I mean, I know that objectively, somepony out there has it worse than I do. A lot worse, but it's hard to keep running that through my head in the middle of a long shift, tending the lonely, almost forgotten lounge in the deep recesses of Stable 20. I work the bar, you see, and spend all of my time waiting on customers that spend all their time trading with the local settlements, or rooting out the small, isolated groups of raiders in the hills around the Stable entrance. Fun stuff. Interesting stuff. I get maybe four ponies a day in here. Maybe. It's an exercise in patience that I always lose, electing to take a nap instead of stare at the door waiting hopelessly for a customer.

But wait, you ask yourself, what kind of Stable has a bar in it, of all things? Well, Stable 20 had much more than just a bar. It also had an indoor swimming facility, a gymnasium, fully equipped bathhouse, and auditorium. It was a “luxury” Stable, or was as close to being one as any other Stable I've ever heard of. Of course, that meant a lower than average population for the same space, but I digress.

Our Stable had been open and trading with the rest of the Wasteland for almost a decade. We were Stable ponies. Strong, able-bodied, well-supplied. We traded food and water, the two things we could always get more of, for guns and ammo and armor. Ponies came and went as they pleased, for the most part. Some joined us from the neighboring towns, some left to find their fortune, some were born, some died. Population was more or less constant. It was the next best thing to a fortress our corner of the wastes ever saw. The guards knew each other, had worked together for years, and could kick any wanna be raider's ass twice before they could even think about it once. Friendship is power, and we knew it.

Unfortunately for us, we weren't the only ponies to figure that out.

Oh, how rude of me. I've forgotten to introduce myself. My name is Mint Julep, but everyone who's known me for any length of time just calls me Julie. It's something of a running joke with my regulars. Most of them always order a mint jelup to start the evening, and always make a crack at my name. I'm just glad I don't look exactly like one. Mint blue with a forest green mane and eyes that match my coat make it a little irritating, though. It's a close enough match to be funny. The first dozen times, at least. At least my cutie mark is a martini glass complete with olive instead of a mint garnish. My quarters were actually connected to the bar, and I was the only one who ran it, so I spend the vast majority of my time sitting behind the counter. I left for meals and a thrice weekly exercise regimen and didn't say anything to anypony unless they talked first. They never did, and I lived my life all but friendless and eventless.

Like I said, I work the bar. It's hard stuff, staring at walls. I wished my life was more interesting. I wished my life was more exciting. I wished it was anywhere but here, anywhere but mixing the same drink for the same two ponies everyday. I had no idea just how horribly right my wish was going to go....

.

* * * * * *

I woke from a particularly relaxing nap to the angry sound of a blaring alarm klaxon. I could hear... something echoing down the halls. It wasn't on this level, no, it had to be at least two levels up. That meant whatever it was was really, really loud if it was going through three meters of air and steel. I was still wondering what the blazes it could be when a quartet of shouting ponies rounded the corner and charged into the bar. Two of them came in dragging a third, with the fourth levitating some bag or sac or something alongside.

“Hey, what's going on up there?” I asked, this whole happening still little but a curiousity. They were clearly worked up over something, but I had no idea what, and it didn't excuse them from barging in like this so rowdy and loud.

“Clear a table, now!” the one levitating the... whatever it was, yelled at me. I froze for a second, the shock at being so rudely ordered around not doing anything to help my blossoming confusion.

“I beg your pardon? I asked you a question!”

The unicorn, the only unicorn of the bunch, gave me a piercing glare. “NOW!” That did it. A quick flash of my horn (I'm a unicorn, if you just missed it) shoved everything on the table closest to the door to the floor with a crash. The two carriers hefted their cargo up onto the newly cleared surface, and I finally got a good look at who they were carrying.

It was Ratchel. My best and only friend Ratchel. Ratchel, and a lot of blood. A whole lot of blood. “Goddesses! Ratchel! What happened?” The blood, more blood than I ever wanted to see, spilled over the edge of the table, splattering the spotless floor in a macabre inkblot pattern. I couldn't even tell if Ratchel was still breathing. A small, tinny voice in the back of my head was bitching about how irritating cleaning this up was going to be, but I stomped it out as hard as I could before it got out of hand.

The unicorn didn't waste any time explaining. “Raiders. Hit the entrance, cut through to the cafeteria and the armory in minutes. Infirmary is full of them, and there are going to be more ponies coming in here. I need you to clear the rest of these tables and keep the floor clean so we can work.”

“Raiders?” I gulped, a feeling of dread spreading from the pit of my stomach to the rest of me. “Are they going to reach us down here?” An entirely justified feeling of panic was very quickly shutting down my basic thought processes.

“Hey! Stay with me. Clear these tables. Now.” That voice was... I don't know how to describe it. It was simultaneously compelling and conforting. Even a demand like that, the likes of which I would never suffer silently on a normal day, soothed my nerves. I found myself responding to the command instantly, horn flashing, dishes crashing to the floor.

The stench is always what bothers me most. It sticks to everything it touches, cloying the air, invading every space it can reach with the smell of blood and death. My bar became a grim picture of the worst the Wasteland could do in a matter of minutes. I didn't think I would ever be able to sit behind the counter again and mix a drink without seeing my bar as the portrait of hell it was. I knew, right then, that I would never be able to let this go unanswered. There were a dozen ponies on my tables, on the floor, wherever they would fit, their blood leaking from their bodies as nurses and doctors frantically tried to identify those with injuries serious enough to warrant a healing potion, and those that could be treated with a few stitches and a bit of antiseptic. From what I could see, almost all of them needed potions. Most of them never got one, and a lot of them didn't make it.

In the middle of this carnage, mopping the new coat of crimson paint from the floors, my coat specked with blood, sweat, and tears, I realized something. I was a stranger in my own Stable. Aside from Ratchel, I recognized maybe two other ponies sprawled out in my lounge, neither of them by name. I didn't know the doctors. I didn't know the nurses. I didn't know anyone. I felt like I didn't know anything. There was just one thing that I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt: the raiders had to pay. They had to pay, and I was going to make them.

The Stable was normally well stocked, but one of the places the raiders targeted first was the infirmary. The health potions we could use were limited to personal stashes and first aid stations in the halls. In other words, not near enough. I stayed up through the night, tending to the wounded and sometimes dying ponies that I didn't know but should. I'll never forget the moans and whimpers, each one feeling like a personal condemnation. Like I should have been up there with them, like I should have know what was going on while there was still enough time to help.

Ratchel died before they got a healing potion to her. The rest of my friends and the bar's regulars I had no news on. In the utter chaos of the situation, I couldn't get a good answer out of anypony. I drifted between groups of ponies, some injured, some not, all panicked and scared and irrational. None of them knew what to do next.

I needed to find the overmare. She would know what to do. I had to find her, and she would tell me exactly what I could do to help the Stable. I felt like I needed to help. Needed to make up for sleeping through most of the attack. Needed to make up for being useless. There was just one major problem with that plan.

The Overmare was gone.

No one knew for sure what had happened to her. She was still alive and in the Stable, but hiding away. No, she was dead and her body hadn't been found. No, she'd abandoned the Stable and led the raiders here. No, she'd been taken by raiders, for Goddesses know what reason. One senile old buck even claimed that an alicorn had taken her away before the fighting. An alicorn! The Goddesses had left Equestria 200 years prior, and he expected me to believe that one of them had come back? There were other rumors, even more fantastic and nonsensical tales that I gave even less passing interest to.

Still, they all agreed that in some way or another, she was unavailable. Not good. But I was not so easily shaken from my quest. I was going to help this Stable. I had to, for the ponies I didn't know and would now never know. Ponies who had never known I existed, or cared if they did. I was tired of being a drain, an insignificant speck at the bottom of the Stable. I took a moment to run through my options. What pony here would know what to do?

The unicorn! The one with the commanding voice, he would know what to do. I had to find him. I made my way up to the top level of the Stable, to the Overmare's office. I could start there and make my way down.

I immediately regretted my decision when I stepped into hallway outside of the real infirmary. It made what my bar had been turned into look immaculate in its cleanliness. I recoiled in horror as I realized that some of the lumps on the floor were pieces of ponies. Maybe even a pony I had known. The stench was even worse. Blood and death mixed with filth and bile and everything the raiders brought with them.

It was more than enough. I vomited. I had to get away from that vile pit. I practically galloped the rest of the way to the Overmare's office, and it still wasn't enough to avoid glimpses of the horror that filled the halls. Even a low population Stable had a lot of ponies, and raiders have a variety of ways of dealing with a 'surplus.' I finally broke out of the area the raiders had managed to claim before leaving, finally able to get out of that slaughterhouse.

Once I got out, the stench abated enough that I could breathe. I found myself in the upper level dormitories. The entire level seemed deserted. I could see why, being so close to that horror even if I couldn't see it set me on edge. I set off for the Overmare's office. It was luckily located at the other end of the dorms, so I wouldn't have to go back through that hell.

I got lucky, and the unicorn was in the first place I looked. He looked terrible. Ragged mane, haggard eyes, and a blood-stained coat told me he hadn't slept or refreshed himself since the incident. The sight of him, obviously miserable and desperate for rest, almost made me wait until tomorrow. Almost.

“Sir...” I trailed off. I didn't even know his name. A spike of trepidation almost made me back away and slink back to my little den. No, I was going to do this, Celestia dammit! I cleared my throat and started again. “I want to help.”

Wow. That sounded lame. The image of myself as a hero that had been slowly building faded in the awkward silence that ensued. The unicorn colt simply stared at me, as if he hadn't even heard what I said. “Sir?” That seemed to break him from his silence.

It wasn't exactly the response I expected. “Seriously?” his expression brightened, “it's about time somepony decided they wanted to actually help instead of just bitch and moan about how they should get special treatment while the Overmare is gone. I don't know how she handles it.” His smile faded slightly. “But now I have to, until she turns up again.” He stood up, wobbling slightly, exhaustion clearly evident in his posture and movements.

“If you really want to help, we need to find where those raiders went. They took everything they could get their grubby hooves on before scooting on out of here. Food, guns, medical supplies. Everything.” He paused for a second, gathering his thoughts, or maybe waiting to see if I would say anything. I didn't, too focused on the state of the Stable that I had until recently completely ignored. “That means we're in a bad spot. A really bad one. No food, we starve. No guns, the next time they come back, we won't escape with anything. No medicine, we get sick and die or the ones that get wounded eventually die. That means we need to get it all back, somehow. What I need you to do is track the raiders back to where they took our stuff, miss...?” He trailed off, waiting for an answer.

“Julep. Mint Julep, but everyone who knows me calls me Julie,” I replied, and realized that I didn't know his name either. “And what's your name?”

He shook his head quickly. “It's unimportant. Call me Doc for now.” Any protest I mustered died on my lips at the look he gave me. I felt the echo of this kind of... cloudiness permeating my thoughts. You know, it really was unimportant all things considered. He saw my reaction (or rather lackthereof) and gave a curt nod before continuing, “Good. Now, Miss Julep, I need you to find the raider camp in the wastes. Normally I'd send someone who knows the area, or at the very least which end of a gun the bullets come out of, but security took a beating in the attack. You're quite simply the only pony in this vault that's come forward to help, and I need all of security here in case they come back.”

That took even dull thoughts aback. The only pony? Really? I started to have my doubts. Were these ponies worth helping? Just how much did I not know about this Stable? “But... how am I going to find the raider camp? I've never been outside this vault before.”

“Trust me, you'll be able to find them. I want you to go see Officer Buckton and get outfitted for the wastes. He should have a pistol or something you can have. I'm not about to send you out there unarmed. It's very important to me that we not lose as many ponies as we possibly can, you included.”

Just who was this pony? In a matter of minutes, using nothing but his voice, he had given me direction, purpose, and the means to make a difference. There was no way I could have missed him. Somepony, somewhere must have mentioned him. Damn this fog, making it hard to think.

“Well? You have a job to do.” His voice cut through the fog and thickened it at the same time. I vaguely felt myself moving out of the office and toward the armory.

The next few minutes were a wonderful blur to me, talking to a security pony, getting issued a pistol and ammo. I don't even remember passing back through the slaughterhouse. I didn't know what kind it was, or really how to use it. The inventory spell on my Pipbuck helpfully labeled it a “10 mm Pistol.” I had three of what the guard called a 'magazine' and he showed me how to work the slide back to make it ready to fire, and then how to push the trigger button with my magic. Unfortunately, there wasn't enough time or ammo for me to waste either precious resource practicing.

My Stable 20 jumpsuit, a handful of caps I pulled from the bar register, the pistol I didn't know how to use, and the pipbuck I never used except to listen to the Stable radio station were all I had, and as far as I was concerned, all I would need for my assigned task.

I didn't give the situation a second thought as I walked out into the wasteland, stepping over but not noticing the corpses of ponies I might have called friends once. I might never have left the Stable myself, but I knew ponies that had. Ratchel went into town every once in a while to barter for some spare parts, and liked to tell stories at the bar of what she did. This frequently involved obviously exaggerated tales of fighting off bloatsprites, radhogs, radigators, and all sorts of other dangerous creature. I felt like I knew exactly what I was doing. Now, looking back, it's obvious that I didn't. I had no clue what I was getting into.

I needed to get out of that Stable, and onto the trail of the raiders. That was really the only thing that mattered to me at that moment. I stepped into the entrance cave, ready to take on the world, and I wasn't about to let that trail get cold.

Footnote: Level Up.
New Perk: Thicker Than Water – You've seen enough blood that you never want to see it again, and will go to great lenghts to avoid seeing more. Your Medicine skill is increased by 10.