Now, I'd never been the kind of guy to get drunk. I mean, sure, show me a pony who wouldn't toss off a glass if an opportunity came by? But I'd always been the moderate one, being the top courier of Canterlot and all. A glass of old stuff? 'kay, sure. Two glasses? You bet. A bottle? Now that is when I'd turn down the offer.

But that night was different. Lemme tell you.

So, the old good night was covering the city and the Moon shone brightly in the sky. The scorpions and other scum were just waiting to get a hell of a bite of somepony careless enough to roam around the desert surrounding Canterlot. The radiation level was mild so the streets were filled with all kinds of guys and mares.

Nothing special, all the same. I'd just delivered a package for an old gruff pegasus, who was stupid enough to give me ten bits instead of eight. Or generous; I didn't really care. So, I went back to Canterlot, killing a few giant chickens for dinner on the way through the desert and the first thing I did was to call on this old buddy of mine - Chic Pants. Sure, he was a colt-cuddler, no matter how hard he tried to hide it, but he was a pretty cool guy to hang out with. Besides, he always had a few bits, just in case.

So I came up to Barrack Eight and knocked at the second door; that is, if you count from the left: if you count from the right, it's the whatever-the-number-is. I'd never counted - the barrack was long enough to contain a dozen manticores so what point was there in counting?

"Chic, you gay stallion!" I shouted and banged at the door loud enough for the whole barrack to hear. "Come out; I know you're either doing dope or jerking off to-"

I never finished the sentence, for the door opened and a gloomy unicorn appeared before my eyes. His black mane was tangled; his white fur was dirty and matt. He rubbed his eyes and yawned.

"What kind of ill wind brings you here, you bucking disaster?" he wondered idly and yawned again, covering his mouth with a hoof. "You've woken up the whole barrack - I'm gonna get the hay beaten out of me by the end of the night."

I reached for my saddlebag with a hoof - damn, I envy those unicorns, being able to levitate stuff just like that - and took out a few golden coins.

"That's what brings me here," I replied with a grin, tossing a wink to my sleepy friend.

"Then what are we waiting for?" he shouted and leapt in the air, hitting his head at the cross-beam.

I laughed for a while and we set off to the only place in Canterlot we knew would serve for such underage stallions as we were. Hell, it was pure injustice - I bucking knew that citizens of Manehattan were legal age at twenty-one! Twenty-one - can you believe this?! And we were both twenty-four and still one year till we could get beer and whisky and dope and all the serious shit legally. Canterlot- 'the city of freedom!'

So, we went down the street, trying to avoid getting in trouble - and that task wasn't easy to maintain, 'cause some jerks from the gangs around always searched the streets at night to find some fools to beat up and steal from. We weren't that dumb. Though, if you ask me, Chic had always been the guy to get into all kinds of flank-kicking trouble.

I remember that one time at school when we had a survival class. We went to the desert - not far from the city, just in a gunshot's range - to learn how to make fires and cure radiation and do first aid and kill scorpions and stuff. And guess what? That walking disaster managed to stray from the group and killed a baby manticore. A bucking baby manticore! That fella was bigger than our teacher's plot - and her plot was enormous! Miss Spades almost fainted as she saw Chic, wounded but with a stupid wide grin on his face, dragging a large piece of meat that once had been a baby manticore! We were lucky not to meet its parents, that's for sure! The poor unicorn had to spend the rest of the month in hospital - broken bones and some other stuff with un-memorizable medical terms - but it was worth it, he said.

But I digress. We reached the small wooden building that had once been a barn or something and I knocked at the door - five times, then wait, then six times. There was a soft noise from behind the door and a screechy voice asked,

"What is larger than life?"

I sighed and facehoofed.

"Your mum's flanks," I replied. "Really, Barn, you need to think of a better password."

The door opened and a dirty old earth pony dragged us inside. We didn't hesitate to hug the brown stallion, for he was the one to supply us with booze and dope and whatever a young free-roaming mind could ask for in a mind-breaking post-apocalyptic world where death had become so commonplace that it didn't surprise anypony any more. Besides, he was a cool guy and you know the main rule of the wasteland and all of its cities and towns and villages: if a guy's cool to you and not gonna shoot you or beat you up or rob you or rape you or do some other crazy shit to you - you can think of him as a friend. For the time being, that is.

He led us to the darkest corner of his pub, where the troops - if they would ever visit this place - wouldn't see us and see we're underage and give us nothing but trouble. Don't get me wrong - I like that the troops protect Canterlot from deadlings and manicores and all but sometimes they're just a little bit too righteous, if you get what I mean.

As we passed empty tables and tables occupied with drunk ponies and tables with whorses luring in potential customers, I saw that the usual piano on the scene wasn't there; instead, a female singer with a deep voice entertained the public that night.

"Anything happened to the piano, Barn?" I asked the owner of this wonderful place as we sat down at our usual table.

"Nah," the brown earth pony shrugged and shook his head. "Had to sell it; those bucking gangsters jes' wouldn't calm down. Had to hand 'em my profits." He lowered his head and placed two glasses on the table before us.

I patted him on the shoulder sympathetically, to show that I was on his side. Though, if there was a gun pointed at my head, I would immediately change my point of view. I'm no hero, you see? Just a plain courier, who tries to survive in the meaningless world, getting drunk or high (or both) at each and every opportunity - just to forget about how dark and pointless my existence is.

"Barn, have some serious stuff for us today?" Chic asked, looking around lustfully, his gaze stopping at some stallions' flanks. Though, he knew better than to act: he knew any respectful stallion in Canterlot would seriously kick his flank for being a colt-cuddler, you bet!

The old stallion shook his head.

"Nope, not today. All the stuff taken by them snipers," he said.

"Ah, damn those sons of whorses," my gay buddy swore, not loud, in fear than anypony in the pub could be a supporter of our top squads - the snipers.

Now just a little information for you, just so you understand: the dope they make here in Canterlot not only makes you fly to the sky and ride the rainbow and all that stuff - it also gives you unmatched precision and perfect vision, both during the day and in the night. And since the narcotic effect vanishes after taking a few other pills, you get an eagle's eye without actually any hallucinations and all of that. Of course, you get a terrible headache the next day - that's why Canterlot snipers work shifts.

I hear that Manehattan dope gives you unmatched strength or something like that... One way or another, I do it just to get high and forget the hardships of my life, that's all. That's what most ponies do.

"But I have some Scoltish whisky," Barn whispered with a smile as he leaned closer to us, his foul breath making me want to throw up.

"No shit," Chic replied with a look of a pro. "You can't get this stuff unless you have some friends in Las Pegasus," he stated, pressing his hoof against the table firmly, leaving a small, almost unnoticeable mark on it.

"Oh, really?" the bartender cocked his brow. "What would say to this, then?" he asked as he carefully slid a bottle from his saddlebag and put it on the table so that nopony but us three could see it.

I squinted to get a better look. Indeed, this was the best booze one could ever find around the place - the finest Las Pegasus Scoltish whisky, with the brand seal and everything. I felt the urge to try it building inside me. I'd never been a heavy drinker, told you. Just when you see such a treasure you instinctively want to open it, right?

Chic Pants, on the other hoof, was quite a drinker so he momentarily spotted the value of what would soon come into our possession.

"How much?" he asked, carefully investigating the bottle, hopelessly trying to keep a straight face to bargain.

"Five bits for a bottle," Barn stated with a clear intention of keeping to his price.

"Oh, please!" Chic laughed. "Don't make me laugh my flank off. They take four bits for a bottle in Las Peg, and you're trying to make fun of me." He chuckled. "Three bits and we're good."

Barn immediately made a motion to grab the bottle.

"If you don't want to pay, then you don't want to drink, that's what I say," he grunted as he slowly grabbed the bottle and made an impression of putting it into his saddlebag.

Chic stopped him, grabbing his hoof - the one with the bottle in it.

"Come on, man! We're not millionaires, you know that! Four bits and we're good, 'kay? he suggested.

As the two ponies continued to bargain, bring forth all of their skill and ability, my gaze was fixed on the scene. The mare that was singing that night was, to put it simply, the most beautiful pony I'd ever seen in my entire life. She was a young unicorn. Her white coat shone and sparkled in the artificial lights of the pub. Her regal blue mane rested on her shoulders like a princess would rest on her throne. Her singing was divine; by holding that mic in her magical grip and singing into it, she was cleansing the ugly place up inside. If you still don't realise how much I adored her that moment, compare my cheesy metaphors about her to my usual way of speaking. Now you get it that she hit me pretty hard, don'cha?

Two arguing voices reached me, bringing me back to the ugly world from the peaceful heaven the singer had established with her voice and beauty.

"Just how many bottles do you think you need? One, two? Two bottles is ten bits, easy as that!" Barn barked at my unicorn friend. "Don't you be telling me you can't afford 'em!"

"And if we want more than that?" Chic replied excitedly, gesticulating with a hoof wildly.

Barn roared with laughter, dragging attention of a few ponies around us. Though, a few seconds later all of them returned to their miserable deeds.

"Oh, almost had me here, boy!" The old stallion wiped an honest tear from his eye. "Why would you need more?"

"Because we do need more, simply as that," I said, interrupting their discussion. I took twenty-five shiny coins out of my saddlebag - all I had at the moment; all that I would have had for at least a few days, until I got a new order to deliver - and put them on the table, much to the surprise of both the bartender and my black-maned friend.

Chic grabbed me by the chin and turned towards himself.

"Are you crazy?" he whispered into my ear. "That's all the money you've got!"

I shrugged and looked back at the scene. The beautiful unicorn singer smiled and waved at the audience. At that very moment, I felt that she smiled at me, that she waved at me and only me. The question was settled in my head the same very instant.

"Five bottles, please," I addressed Barn, still being held by my now visibly scared buddy.

"You sure, son?" the bartender wondered, looking at me as if I were ill or something. "That's a helluva money you've got here. You have anything left?" he enquired. On one hoof, he was honestly sympathetic, for I could read it in his eyes. Not to brag, but years of crossing the waste ground back and forth had taught me to read ponies like books. I guess that if ponies still got cutie marks after the Cataclysm, mine would be a pair of binoculars or something. 'Cause, in addition to insight, my physical sight was tops as well.

On the other hoof, Barn's eyes shone with greed, and that was more than understandable: the most expensive drink he'd ever got to serve was Manehattan liquor, two bits for bottle. And now he was practically being offered a whole day's pay from one young stallion (who was presumably, to his mind, gone off his wheels or something).

I managed to escape from Chic's grip and tossed Barn a reassuring smile.

"Don't worry, Barn. Take the money and get the stuff. We're good," I assured him as I pushed the bits closer to the edge at which the barkeeper was standing.

Chic Pants swore under his breath and, feeling in his pocket, took out three dusty golden coins and tossed them on the slick surface of the table. One of the coins rolled towards the very edge and I expected it to fall but Barn swiftly stopped its movement by pinning it to the surface with his hoof.

"Thanks, Chic," I said, touched by his generosity. I grabbed three of my own bits from the table and put them into my saddlebag.

"You're ever so welcome, you bucking colt," the white unicorn said, visibly disgruntled. Yet, I knew he felt good inside for lending a helping hoof.

"Well, here you go." Barn took another four bottles of the good substance out of his saddlebag, which, in my view, was simply enormous. Miss Spades' flank was nothing compared to it! The bartender took the bits and slid them into his saddlebag, in a special pocket for money. I immediately wished I could buy such a good, sturdy and convenient saddlebag. The merchants were asking twenty bit for this one model but I knew I could find something like this at a lower price. However, now my dream had to wait, for all my money had just gone to buy us five bottles of whisky.

Barn put the bottles on the table and smiled at us.

"Pleasure doin' business with you. Don't drink your flanks off!" he gave us his usual admonition as he went away to tend to other customers.

And there were few, as far as I could see. At the table to the left of us sat an old pegasus, his mane and tail silver grey by age, his coat grey by nature. He had a patch over his left eye, which meant one of two things: either he had been a professional soldier in the days of his youth or he'd been just a trouble-seeker, of which there were many in the whole Northern desert. Looking at the way he drank his beer - holding the mug slightly leaned outwards so that the foam wouldn't get in the way of the tasty yellow liquid as he drank - I realised that it was a soldier's way to drink. Or a drunkard's. But here, in Canterlot, ponies managed to combine those two occupations perfectly.

At the table in the distance sat a fat blue unicorn, surrounded by a few whorses who were constantly trying to present themselves in a better way. The unicorn was wearing a leather hat; a gun was lying on the table right in front of him. I had a sudden urge to spit in disgust. Don't get me wrong - I'm no saint and I know that in order to survive ponies would do everything. But there was a subconscious grudge against whorses inside my mind. Maybe that was because my mother had been one. Maybe it was because I'd never seen a sight either of her or my father. Growing up at the shelter was a tough experience, believe me. The fat unicorn at the table yawned loudly and poked one of the mares with his horn, making her yelp playfully. I closed my eyes and looked away. Sure, I could have taken my old trusty gun and solved the problem by shooting the shit out of that blue shadow of a pony but I knew better than to jump to conclusions. The hat he was wearing was an expensive one, and the way his hoof lay peacefully next to his gun, not trembling or checking the weapon, indicated that the son of a whorse was a damn good shot.

I focused my eyes on the scene again. The elegant mare on the stage had already finished her swingy tune and was now singing in a voice that opened a whole new meaning of the word deepness to me. It was a ballad in the old language - the one ponies used to speak not only before the Cataclysm but before the Era of the Goddesses even. She closed her eyes and let her beautiful blue mane cover her left eye, making her even more gorgeous than it was possible for a mare to be. Her hoof was moving in the air slowly, as if she were supporting the song with simple gestures. I felt warmness inside and looked at one of the bottles, inspecting it.

Chic patted me on the shoulder patiently. When I turned round, I saw a wide grin plastered upon his face. He winked at me and nudged me playfully, making me rub my shoulder. Just so you know: Chic Pants was all mighty and muscular so he really could deliver pain without even thinking of it. He wasn't a poser, no. He just had to build muscles and all that stuff so that he wouldn't be beaten up to pieces by those who hated colt-cuddlers. And there were many of those in Canterlot. There had always been.

"Come and get her, tiger," he urged with a chuckle. "I see how you look at her." He patted me again, this time more lightly.

I considered shrugging it off, saying 'Don't know what you're talking about' or something of the kind but then realised that it was pointless - throughout the years we'd known each other, Chic'd known me as good as I'd known myself. Maybe even better. Growing up in a shelter was tough, as I'd said, and being a son of a whorse (literally) didn't help at all. Fortunately, there was a guy who wanted to hang out with me not because of pity or selfish intentions but simply 'cause he wanted to. And that guy was Chic Pants.

"Lemme get some nerve at first," I said and opened the bottle. Don't get me wrong - I'm usually open with mares and all but that mare? She was like a goddess of the suburbs so a single look of her made me shy like a foal or even worse.

"I can't see why you shouldn't." My buddy shrugged and poured a full glass for me and half a glass for himself. He'd always tried to get me drunk in such a way and I'd always resisted. I'm not the kind of guy to get drunk, told you.

"Chic," I warned him, tapping my hoof against the surface of the table.

"Just a glass to give you some courage," the white pony assured me seriously. "Cheers!" he said the usual Canterlot toast and knocked back the whole glass.

I pondered for a moment. I thought about how ponies used to say grandiloquent toasts, sitting at long rectangular tables in castles, laughing at refined jokes and sharing exquisite wordplay... I though about how happy ponies used to be. Before the Cataclysm. Long before I was born. Bitterness filled me up inside, flowing in my veins, enveloping my guts, poking at my very heart.

Instead of savouring the delicious (and expensive) substance, as I'd previously planned, I followed the advice of my friend and drank the whole glass in one big gulp. The whisky seemed to have burned my throat. For a moment, I seriously thought I would never be able to speak again. My mouth felt dry, as if a single drop of liquid never touched it. I coughed and felt tears stream from my eyes. In a moment, though, I felt considerably better. The stuff was hard; but it was far beyond tasty. It was the tastiest shit I'd ever drunk, believe me! It woke me up inside and my ears jerked up immediately. I looked at the bottle.

"78% alcohol?!" I screamed, though, only a suppressed hissing came out of my mouth. "Is that old guy trying to bucking end us?"

Chic laughed light-heartedly and patted me on the back, making me cough fervently and finally clear my throat.

"Oh, come on, don't be a weaky-pants!" he reasoned me, smiling widely. Obviously, alcohol had no effect on him whatsoever. I envied him in a way, for this. And also for the fact that he was a bucking unicorn who could make magic shields and levitate things and stuff. Although I found it disturbing to hear his gay insults like 'weaky-pants' and other shit, I knew that my alcohol tolerance was significantly lower than that of his. Higher than that of most ponies but still lower than Chic's. So I didn't swallow the bait.

"That doesn't work on me, Chic." I shook my head and pushed the glass away. I felt a smidgeon of courage building inside me, and a smidge was all I needed to approach the wonderful singing mare.

The white unicorn shrugged and knocked back another glass - a full one this time.

"Anyway you want it, Starry," he said and tilted his head to the side. "Anyway you want it."

Now, didn't I tell you my name? My bad, sorry. Ponies call me Starry, for short, though my full name is Starry Eyes. I know, an idiotic name, right? Especially taking into consideration the fact that I'm by no means idealistic. I'd even go as far as to say that I'm far more of a realist than most ponies, not only being a orphan but also a courier who'd seen things, believe me. And some of them were horrible. For instance, I'd never killed a pony before but I'd seen some of such occasions and they were much more gory and disgusting that one could imagine. I'd seen cannibals eat corpses and foal rapists and mad delinquents... Let's just say, I'd seen things and my name didn't suit the reality. I don't know whether my whorse of a mother was drunk or high or both while she gave me the only present I'd ever received - my name. I knew she had done it - because I was one of the few foals in the shelter who'd been named before they were brought there. The Orphanage Shelter kept record of those.

I decided to muster some more resolution before coming up to the mare of my dreams - I was sure of that - but her final song came to an end and she began to descend the few stairs that connected the divine scene, which she'd graced with her presence, and the dirty floor of the pub, which she was about to cleanse with her divine white hooves.

After receiving a mild nudge from Chic Pants, which I almost hadn't noticed, I rose from my place and closed the distance between me and the goddess of the scene. She looked at me. Her beautiful blue eyes which suited her mane and tail perfectly seemed to have reached my very soul, if I ever had one. I bowed my head slightly, making her chuckle. Her laughter was divine, just as her voice, and the way she closed her mouth with a hoof made me melt. I smirked uneasily in embarrassment, realising that my manners were far from graceful.

"Madam," I began, stopping next to the mare and bowing my head clumsily again. "Your singing was magnificent. I feel like it gave birth to something new inside me - something deep and bright. Something that tells me this world is not completely hopeless."

I was telling the truth: I really felt, at that exact moment, that there was something bright and clean left in this world of darkness, filth and sorrow - and I felt that because of her singing.

"In my view," I continued, "your song in the Old Equestrian was simply the best. You managed to transmit the hopes and longings of the old world to us, ponies of the wasteland. Would you mind telling me what the song was about?" I enquired, looking at her expectantly, worshipping her very existence.

Suddenly, the mare shrugged.

"Don't really know. I've no idea - I just learned the sounds," she said and spit on the dirty floor, breaking my harmonious impression of her into pieces. Sure, she talked to me... And her voice was as beautiful as ever... But that was not what I was expecting. No, not in the slightest.

"I... I wanted..." I mumbled, feeling my plan falling through slowly, as if I were falling through a thin cover of ice on a lake. "I wanted to suggest that you sit at our table and have a drink or two with my friend and me..." I said insecurely, not sure what to expect.

"Are you trying to pick me up?" she asked, cocking a brow, moving closer to me.

"What?..." I felt an urge to protest immediately - who did she think I was?

"'Cause you'd better be," she said with a sly grin, touching my leg with her tail accidentally (or maybe on purpose).

"What?.." I repeated dumbly, trying to comprehend what was happening around me.

"My fares are five bits per hour, if that interests you," she whispered in my ear, finally closing the distance.

I looked around hopelessly, fixing my gaze on the table where Chic was finishing the first bottle all by himself. Upon seeing my turning towards him, he levitated his glass in the air, making a silent toast.

"How can you..." I backed down, "How can you, of all mares, with such beauty and voice - how can you sell your body to anypony?!" I yelled in despair, maybe too loudly, for I had attracted attention of the fat blue unicorn at the adjacent table, who frowned and looked at me attentively and disapprovingly.

"Everypony needs bits, honey," the singer cooed and planted a small kiss on my cheek that made me blush. "So, you're buying me or not? I can't wait all night till you make up your mind," she said, pouting her lips in fake offence.

I felt anger building inside me, filling all of my limbs and organs, becoming my blood, oxygen and everything I needed to survive. I'm still not sure what caused that sudden outburst: maybe it was my, how Chic would put it, 'easy-to-burst' personality; maybe it was the whisky; maybe both. One way or another, I pushed the mare away from me, staggering back in disgust. She fell on the dirty floor, her pristine coat turning filthy.

"You! A whorse!" I yelled, commanding attention of the whole pub. "You're just like all mares - a bucking whorse, ready to fuck with whoever wants it!" I was shouting insults, not taking into consideration the changing surroundings. And I should have, for the fat unicorn stood up from his table, his whorses running away instantly, and took his gun. Chic, seeing this, dropped his glass on the floor and ran towards me. The glass broke into tiny pieces, breaking the tension.

"Kid, what do you think you're doing?" the blue unicorn hissed, pointing his gun at my face, which was still burning with anger. "This is one of my girls, kid, and you don't get away with offending her," he said calmly, his magical field holding the weapon tightly, playing with the trigger by almost pulling it but then releasing it, as if nothing had ever happened.

"Whoa whoa whoa!" I heard Chic shout as he took his place between me and the pander. "Calm down, calm down!" He waved his hooves in the air pacificatorily.

I wanted to say a couple of words to the fat bastard or maybe get my faithful gun from the saddlebag and make a couple of holes in his head - what was the difference between shooting a pony and a creature of the desert, anyway? - but my gay friend had already begun taking his conciliatory measures.

"Here," the white unicorn said as he handed two golden coins to the pander, who lowered his gun after taking the money. "Just imagine that we'd picked her for ten minutes and got a bit... active, all right?" he continued with a smile and a nervous wink. When my buddy helped the singer stand up, the blue unicorn finally put his gun into his saddlebag and motioned for his whorses to follow.

"We're gettin' outta here, girls," he said through gritted teeth and left the pub, the mares following him obediently, falling in line, as if they were on a leash.

As silence established itself in the pub again, ponies returned to their drinking and chatter, facing away from us. I exhaled and shook my head. Chic patted me on the back.

"Shit happens, Starry," he tried to calm me down. "Shit always happens round here, for some reason..." he concluded, looking away, lost in thought.

"She turned out to be a whorse, Chic. Just like my mother," I said solemnly, following my friend's gaze. However, I couldn't see anything but a dirty wall with a dusty dart board on it, which obviously hadn't been touched for years. Maybe Chic Pants could see something else. Maybe he could see through these walls, through the desert, through the despair and pain of our generation...

"I owe you," I said and took out two bits from my saddlebag. "Here." I gave them to Chic, who hesitated a bit.

"You'll have only one left," he said, with uncertainty in his voice.

I silently took the bits from him and put them into his saddlebag with a look that allowed no discussion.

"Come on," he said with a sigh and motioned for me to follow. I hung my head low and followed the unicorn towards the table. Chic opened the second bottle of whisky and poured a glass to himself.

"Want some?" he asked carefully, knowing both my attitude towards heavy drinking and my current state.

I opened my mouth to decline but suddenly Barn appeared before us. He had just cleaned the shards of the broken glass from the floor and was now standing in front of us with a look on his face that said 'Kids, I know you're short on bits but you'll have to pay.'

Raising his hoof to stop the bartender from speaking the obvious, Chic felt in his saddlebag to get a bit to pay for the glass. Yet, I forestalled him and handed a golden coin to the barkeeper.

"Here you are, Barn," I said in a dark tone that made the bartender consider going away at once. "Sorry for the inconvenience."

"You're an idiot, you know that?" Chic Pants told me as Barn vanished as quickly as he had appeared. "It was your last bit, you dumb-flank," he said, forgetting all about my mental state and stuff.

I, on the other hoof, just let out a sombre chuckle. You know, there are times when you are broken; when your entire world is broken into pieces; when you don't know what to live for; when you know you can't get better. It is at such times when you try to make yourself only worse, in a desperate attempt to find out how broken you have to be to finally feel all right.

Now I was run out of money, my only hopes for a speck of brightness in the dark future falling down into the eternal abyss of reality.

What was I to do?

What would have you done in my place?

"Chic, pour me a glass," I said.

The sunlight penetrated my eyelids, making it impossible to sleep. I opened my eyes but had to close them the next instant, for I found myself staring directly at the Sun. I couldn't fully realise how it was possible for me to wake up under direct sunlight when I should've been sleeping in my cosy bed at home. By the way, I had my own house, a small one but a house nevertheless. Of course, I used to live in a barrack, like most of the youngsters in town but I soon had enough bits to buy a house. I remember the occasion very well.

I had been asked to deliver a message to the Southern Desert, Ponyville, to be exact. The way there had been quite unpleasant, 'cause not only the desert creatures tried to beat the living shit out of me but also ponies. If my memory serves me right, it had been the first time I encountered them. By them, I mean the Southern Gangsters. Some ponies say they are raiders, soulless marauders who torture and kill ponies for their own amusement. It seems that I had been privileged, for the three gangsters that I'd encountered had been merciful enough to accept my bribery, which consisted of all the money I had had with me at the moment and my weapon - a revolver pistol. They had simply taken my possessions and kicked me for a while till I fell unconscious. It hadn't been a fresh experience - I had been beaten up before, and even harder than that one time. Being an orphan and a son of a whorse in addition didn't help me get along with peers, that's for sure. But eventually, I had reached Ponyville, which I had thought was rather impossible in my current condition.

But I had survived. I had delivered the package. As far as I remember, inside it was a simple note asking somepony out for dinner. What a good way to ask out somepony! One way or another, I had been paid a hundred bits. A hundred shiny golden coins that, added to my savings, had been able to provide me with my own house.

Finally coming to an understanding that I wasn't home, I rolled over to the left and opened my eyes so that I wouldn't see the Sun. However, I saw something much more interesting. A large scorpion was standing next to me, his tail raised, his sting ready to pierce through my face.

No matter how hungover I was, my reflexes took over my mind. I quickly rolled to the right a few times so that the beast wouldn't reach me and jumped to my hooves instinctively. The creature tried to sting me at that exact moment. Praising my luck, I turned my head to get my gun from the saddlebag when I realised that I had no saddlebag attached to my body nor did I have a weapon. Casting a couple of worried glances around, I managed to see three things.

To begin with, I was in the middle of the desert, in the unknown part of the wasteland. It wasn't very troubling, 'cause I could manage to get out of craziest situations (as well as places), being an experienced courier and all.

Moreover, there wasn't a single sight either of my saddlebag or my gun. That point troubled me slightly more. I had all of my supplies - including food and water, which are essential for survival, by the way - as well as my trusty weapon and ammo in my saddlebag. It was like a survival kit for me and now it was gone. I lamented about how I should have listened to Chic Pants and bought an utility suit to keep some of my stuff in my pockets. Alas, I hadn't listened to him and now I really felt sorry about it.

What was really troubling me, at the moment, however - the point that should go under the 'last but not least' label - was the simple fact that a giant scorpion was going to kill (and possible eat) me and I had no way to kill the bucking monster in advance.

Oh, well. Shit. All those thoughts rushed through my head in a matter of a few seconds, as the scorpion made its way towards me, regaining his offensive stance. Now, I may not be a coward, but I'm not the bravest pony. So I considered the only option that was open to me at the moment.

Run.

And so I ran away, galloped across the scorched land covered by hottest sand. Fortunately enough, my hooves were sturdy, hardened during all those years of roaming the desert. The corns covering the bottoms of my hooves made good horseshoes, I thought for some reason. Unfortunately for me, though, the creature of the desert was just as sturdy. The scorpion chased me all the way, closing the distance.

It took me a while (and a few miles) to realise that the beast was faster than me. The distance was closing inexorably and I was getting tired, in addition to the terrible hungover. On a side note, that feeling was completely new for me. Not the fatigue; the hungover, I mean. I told you I wasn't the kind of guy to get drunk, right? Right. So this could be qualified as my first official hungover. I would've thrown a party to celebrate this memorable occasion, if it weren't for the fact that I had no bits. And I would also be stung to death in a few seconds.

My grim stream of consciousness was silenced by a sound of a gunshot. I stopped dead in my tracks and fell to the ground - another reflex of mine: the chance to get hit by a bullet is significantly lower if you're lying on the ground. I looked at the scorpion. It was dead. A perfect headshot. That meant that its killer was a professional marksman, no less. You see, it's nearly impossible to find a scorpion's head, not to mention hit it. Not to mention hit it from the distance.

"Hey, you all right?" I heard a voice from above. To me it seemed like the voice of one of the Goddesses that had come to rescue me.

I raised my head to see two earth ponies standing before me, inspecting me carefully. They were both stallions, both black, both of the same muscular complexion. The one on the left was silver-maned, with a strange glittering. He was holding a small pistol in his teeth. I marvelled at how he managed to shoot in such a manner. Usually, earth ponies' guns were strapped to their bodies so that they would only have to pull the string connected to the trigger. I, for one, had a gun of unusual nature as well. Mine was crafted in such a way that the handle wrapped the hoof and the trigger was located on the inside part of the strap. It took a while to get used to it but now I had the perquisite of sudden approach to the enemy: I didn't have to take out my gun and strap it around the body. However, such a model was gradually getting more and more popular: that fat blue unicorn in the pub had had one of those.

The stallion on the right was completely bald. It was strange to see a hairless pony, mostly because I hadn't seen one before. However, judging from his dusty dark green tail, I assumed that his mane had been dark green too (if it had ever been there, that is). He looked at me with concern. He was wearing an old-fashioned rifle that was strapped to his right foreleg. Smoke that was still coming from the barrel of his weapon indicated that it was he who had saved me from inevitable death.

"You all right, kid?" the bald earth pony repeated, bending so that he was able to look into my eyes. "Can you get up on your own?" he asked sympathetically.

Blushing in embarrassment, I rose to my hooves to show that I was quite able.

"Thank you," I said, addressing both ponies but paying more attention to my saviour, who shrugged with a smile. Only now did I notice that his mouth was disfigured, turning his smile into an ugly grin. I tried not to concentrate on that minor detail.

"You're welcome, kid," he replied, taking my hoof into his and shaking it. The hoofshake was too hard for my liking but I suppressed the pain and smiled in return.

"We earth ponies have to help each other, right?" the other stallion said, seriously, without a hint of a smile. It sounded more like a question so I found nothing better than to answer.

"Yeah... I guess," I replied, measuring the ponies. They were much taller than me and wider as well. One of their biceps was larger than my head. I gulped, although I had a feeling that those weren't enemies to me.

Yet, their question perplexed me greatly. You see, in Canterlot we had never paid any attention to races. Earth ponies, pegasi, unicorns - all the same shit. All live the same, die the same. There was no difference. So now, upon hearing the stallion's words, I pondered for a moment. Tales of merciless nationalists were not uncommon among ponies of Canterlot but I had thought them to be nothing but tales - stories, fruits of ponies' imagination.

"For a moment I thought you were a unicorn," the bald pony said with a chuckle. "The scorpion's sting was right next to your forehead," he explained. "I actually tried to kill you next. Fortunately, I saw that you were a fellow earth pony!" he concluded, nodding his head as if her were agreeing with himself.

I gulped and felt a shiver run down my spine. And if you hadn't seen it?! I wanted to ask but kept that mouth of mine shut. So the tales were true, after all! Now I just had to find a way to escape those psychopaths, find a weapon, find out where the buck I was and go home. Easy, right? Except for stages first to last.

"It's time to go to the camp," the silver-maned pony said after he looked at the Sun. Again I wondered what kind of insane training they had undertaken so that they were able to look at the midday (presumably) Sun without actually getting hurt or even squinting their eyes.

The bald black stallion nodded as I rubbed the back of my head.

"Yeah... That kinda brings up a question: where are we?" I wondered, trying not to offend those ponies or make a laughing stock out of myself. To my relief, the earth ponies seemed neither offended nor in the mood for making fun of me.

"The Eastern Desert, kid," the silver-maned stallion replied.

The Eastern Bucking Desert? I screamed inside my head but was experienced enough not to let out a single yelp and keep a straight face.

The news was shocking. No, it was more than shocking. It was disastrous. The Eastern Desert - the place where all the thugs and thieves laid their camps; the place where the most dangerous monsters roamed free; the place where the level of radiation was the highest one could ever imagine. The place I'd never been to and had never expected to pay a visit. No orders ever came to deliver here; and that was somewhat justified, if the talk was true. Well, now I knew at least one part of the rumours was true - there really were nationalists here and for the first time in my life I felt glad to be an earth pony and not a unicorn. I wouldn't have envied Chic Pants if he were in my place... 'The foul wind always blows from the East,' they had always said.

I felt a sudden urge in my teeth to clench in fear but managed to hold it at bay. I only gulped, shivering slightly.

"Is there any way to get to Canterlot from here?" I wondered, already knowing the answer.

The bald pony chuckled and shook his head.

"Not in your condition, kid," he said. "The North is miles and miles away from here. You'd better come with us," he suggested. "Can you fight?" he asked, inspecting me from top to bottom.

I didn't like where this was going, no, not in the slightest. For a moment, I wanted to say, "Thank you and goodnight", and turn round, and gallop away, but I understood that I had no other choice at the moment.

"I'm not a soldier..." I began carefully, trying to figure out the ponies' reaction, which was hidden behind the steel walls of their bland, expressionless faces. "But I'm a courier so I can handle a small gun and I know a few survival techniques," I concluded, thinking to myself, Somehow those techniques didn't help you to get away from a bucking scorpion!

The earth ponies exchanged glances and then nodded in unison.

"We're taking you aboard," the bald stallion said, while I tried to maintain a grateful expression of somepony who was glad he was worthy of such a privilege.

I let out a fake smile and sighed inside my head.

The ponies turned round and started to walk. I followed them, with no other options left for me.

As we trotted across the desert, I tried to look around at first, but, seeing nothing new but only old good stones, sand and dust, decided to delve into the nooks of my mind.

The question of how I had got here still remained open. I didn't remember what had happened the previous day... Night. The previous night. I only remembered drinking much more than I should have. But how did I end up here - that point was missing for me. I mentally accused myself of being a dumb bucking drunkard (although it was my first time heavy drinking) and thought about that singer mare in the pub. About how my last hope in ponykind popped like a toy balloon, leaving nothing behind but soft air. No, not even air - helium, a substance lighter than air, something that vanishes the instant it is released.

There was some self-abasement in my thoughts, that's for sure. I thought about how miserable I was. I thought about how miserable the whole world around me was. I blamed myself for everything, even for the Cataclysm. I abused myself with all the swear words I could find in my vocabulary. I wanted to kill myself but then I realised I even didn't have anything to kill myself with. I wanted to lie in the desert and let some mutated creatures come and kill me - maybe even devour me; I didn't care.

But I dragged my hooves mechanically, my head hung low, my thoughts away from reality. Then I started to blame Chic for not protecting me from whatever it had been that had sent me here. For a moment, I even thought that it had been him who had done it. Then I blamed the old barkeeper for selling me the whisky. I blamed the fat unicorn in the bar for taking my money. I blamed the beautiful singer for returning the faith in ponykind to me and then taking it back again. I blamed these two earth ponies for saving me and not letting me simply die, as I, it seemed to me at that moment, deserved. I blamed all ponykind for being greedy, and evil, and sinister, for bringing forth the Cataclysm, for destroying the beautiful land ponies once called Equestria.

And I felt better. I honestly felt better. Maybe when you can't feel worse, you start to feel better? I rose my head and inhaled the rough air of the desert. My head still ached; though, it appeared to me, no longer from the hungover but from the increased level of the radiation that I wasn't used to. The two ponies, my bald saviour and his silver-maned companion both walked in silence, thinking about something.

Suddenly, I heard a gunshot in the distance. My ears immediately jerked up. The black earth ponies located the source of the sound at once and began galloping in the opposite direction, silently motioning for me to follow, trying to keep as quiet as possible. There were no more gunshots or other sounds but we still kept on galloping.

Despite all the pain, I was quite enduring (all good couriers are) and even managed to outrun my fellow companions. We were running towards a sand hill and I reached the top faster than them. I turned my head to see where they were and didn't notice that I bumped into something warm and fuzzy. My head straightened and I looked ahead in fear, jumping back instinctively. I expected to see a lion or even a manticore but it was nothing but a pony. Two ponies, to be exact.

Why do they patrol in pairs here in the Eastern Desert? a thought appeared in my head. We, Northerners, travelled in groups of three and more ponies - apart from the couriers, of course, who were loners. Like me.

"Oh, look at what we've got here," one of the strangers, a mint unicorn, said, levitating a pistol and pointing it at my muzzle. "An Earth Brother, no less," he hissed. "Don't you think we're lucky, Lars?" he cast a glance towards his partner, a pegasus, who had just begun taking his own weapon from his saddlebag.

Yet, that fleeting moment was more than enough for me to remember my infamous survival skills and grab the pistol from the unicorn's grip, taking him by surprise. As I did so, I quickly stepped aside in process, so that an occasional bullet wouldn't hit me. And I was lucky to do so, for the bullet came. At the moment of my claiming the weapon, the trigger was pulled accidentally. I didn't want to think about who had pressed it: it was either the previous owner of the gun, the unicorn, or me. The fact was that the bullet hit the silver-maned pony, who had just ascended the hill. The bullet made his head explode and shower the bald pony, who'd just appeared on the spot himself, with fountains of blood. I grabbed the gun tightly in my mouth and aimed at the pegasus, who had just attached his own weapon to himself. I pulled the trigger with my teeth and missed, 'cause you know, I wasn't used to shooting with my mouth. But while my precision failed me, my luck didn't. I missed the pegasus but managed to hit the unicorn. The bullet pierced through his chest, leaving strangely beautiful patterns of blood on his mint coat.

The pegasus pulled the trigger. I screamed, still somehow not dropping the gun, and fell to the ground. Fortunately for me, the bullet was meant not for me but for my bald saviour, who staggered a bit, managed to get a hold of his own weapon but fell on the ground eventually, lump and breathless. Now the pegasus was aiming at me. My courier's reflexes didn't fail me: I aimed a little more to the left than my target was and pulled the trigger. The bullet served by me for the pegasus found its place in his mouth, shattering the pony's teeth and thus preventing him from firing back. I ran towards the enemy and fired my gun, I fired away, I fired again, until there was no ammunition left.

I looked at what I had done. Before me lay a pile of blood and meat that only slightly resembled a pony. I reacted as anypony would have reacted in my place, I think. I threw up.

I looked around. I was alone in the middle of an unfamiliar desert, with a gun but with no ammo, with no food or water. I suddenly realised how much I wanted to drink at that moment.

And I had just killed not only one, but two ponies. My first kill was a double one. Or maybe I had killed three of them. Still, I decided that the death of the black lavender-maned stallion had better remain a mystery.

I looked around again. The Sun was slowly coming down, which meant that the night waited for me ahead.

Shit.

I wasn't sure of anything at that moment. All of my values had been shifted, muddled, replaced wholesale.

I was sure only of one thing.

Shit just got real.

Author's note.

I have a few things to say.

First and foremost: wow. That's the longest chapter I've ever written (over nine thousaaaand words!). I'm not sure how I managed to do it but still I hope it was enjoyable to read.

Next, I would really like to see some feedback. It took me a lot of effort to write this, both mental and physical. I'm not complaining, I'm just pointing out that it's not that hard to rate the story and write a comment. Please, do so.

Next, some essential information. This is not a Fallout crossover so there will be no zombie ponies, level ups, ghouls, pip bucks and other stuff like that. Sorry.

Last but not least, I do not promote and/or advocate the behaviour presented by the characters of this story. On the contrary, I highly oppose heavy drinking and drug use. I also do not support smoking in any ways. *Takes a puff of his cigarette*. Ahh, that's better. But seriously, think about your health, 'kay?

As I've already said, I am eagerly, I repeat, eagerly awaiting your feedback.

Peace.

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