The Sun was inevitably crawling and sliding and galloping towards the horizon as if it had a date or an important appointment there. The desert heat was maliciously draining the last bits of water left in my body. I was thirsty. I was dying of thirst. I wanted to drink. I wanted to drink even more than I wanted to live, it seemed to me. If you're giving me life without water, better not to give me a life at all!

I cursed the Sun and the desert and the sand and myself and continued dragging my hooves pointlessly in no particular direction. My new saddlebag (thank you, dead ponies!) was heavy, for I had stuffed it with weapons. I wished I could stuff them with ammo, though, 'cause most of the guns I had stolen were just that - guns. Only one of them, the one I'd taken from my bald saviour, had enough ammunition for five shots. I prayed to Celestia that five would be enough.

Strangely enough, stealing from the dead wasn't bugging me half as much as I'd thought it would. I think my mind had established some kind of a protective barrier to keep me from contemplating it. Like it had established a barrier to protect me from thinking about my mother, or father, or even touch the subject of family. I'm not complaining, no! I'd never been jealous when I saw ponies with families and shit; just... It would have been nice to actually see my mother and ask that whorse why she had decided to give birth to me, throwing me open-hoofedly into a brave new world where danger, death, misery and sorrow were my constant companions. I don't think that she would answer. I'm quite sure she had been drunk when she had fucked the stallion that was my father and didn't remember a single thing. No, that didn't bug me at all. What did bug me, however, was the fact that I had just killed a couple of ponies.

I stopped to think about my inner phrasing. A couple of ponies. Did I really think that? It sounded like blasphemy - as if I were saying 'a couple of bits for that shit' or something like that. Images of those dead ponies occupied my mind. I felt an urge to throw up again, remembering the ugly, jelly-like remains of the pegasus I'd killed. The thing was, I didn't have anything left in my stomach. I hadn't eaten for the whole day and I could swear that in a few hours I would be chewing on sand.

It was getting significantly darker. The sunset was nigh, and I just had to shrug off the moral side of my idle speculations and step up to reality once more. I looked around hopelessly, trying to make out even a slightest hint of a shelter - a camp, a cave, anything! But my perfect eyesight told me that it was just sand and sand and sand for miles around.

I recalled our survival lessons at school, namely, the one at which we were taught how to survive in the middle of the desert. I would have called that lesson 'How to survive in the desert if you have water, food and something to build a shelter of'. Miss Spades had told us that "it is easy to make a shelter. First, take a piece of canvas and a few large sticks...". Stupid whorse. Needless to say, I had no sticks or canvas or any possible shit to use in building at least some weak sort of a shelter. I had learned my own lessons during all the time I'd spent travelling back and forth the Northern and Southern deserts, the main one being, If you have a gun and know how to use it, you can get anything. Unfortunately, that only applied to inhabited deserts, and the Eastern Desert by no means looked as one.

While I'd been born in the Northern Desert (at least that's what I'd been told), the Southern Desert was basically my favourite. Compared to the sagacious emptiness of the North, the South breathed with hospitality; though, that hospitality could be deadly sometimes. I would always call on a few merchants and listen to what rumours bums had to share, given the chance there were orders to deliver something to or across the Southern Desert. One could find all kinds of ponies in the South - raiders, gangsters and thugs on one hoof and other couriers, monks and merchants on the other. However, I wasn't sure any more which of them were 'on one hoof' and which of them were 'on the other hoof'. Did killing several ponies make me one of them, the ones who would kill and still for fun and profit? I surely gained no profit and got no fun from doing what I had done but I had stolen and I had killed nevertheless. Given the circumstances, I was able to somewhat justify my actions but I decided not to. Theft was theft, and murder was murder. And I was a part of it now.

Compared to the Eastern Desert, which was now covered by the silent night, my homeland - the relatively empty Northern Desert - seemed to me a crowded circus, stuffed with all kinds of ponies, animals and stuff. It was so quiet that the very atmosphere made no sound. Not a single vernal breeze, not a single ill wind roaming across. My ears were constantly reeling, much like locators, to adjust to the silence; yet, they could not. My head ached more and more, for, I estimated, the radiation level here was at least twice as high as in the Northern Desert and three times as high as it was in the South. I was thirsty. I was so thirsty that saliva wasn't produced by my mouth any more. My tongue was dry and my stomach ached of emptiness. Believe me or not but I would've been happy to see any creature around - a scorpion, a lion, a manticore, it didn't matter. I wanted meat. And I wanted it at once. For a second, I wondered if pony meat was actually tasty but then shrugged the thought away - cannibalism never had a place in my mind, and I wanted for it to remain unchanged.

I felt fatigue fall over me, making my head heavy and my sight grow dim, filling my limbs with lead or some other heavy shit so that it took me a damn amount of effort just to keep going, not to mention actually look where I was going. I resolved not to back down. If I fell down now, I would never get up. Knowing the desert very well, I could assume that, although there were no creatures in sight now, monsters would come. At midnight; at dawn; no matter when, they would come. And I would have no power even to rise to my hooves, not to mention kill them. I checked the straps on my right foreleg: they were pressed tightly against flesh, a bit too tightly for my liking, but now I praised the leather, 'cause the pain kept me going. It reminded me I was still alive. I wasn't used to wearing guns such as that one: I just had looked at how my bald saviour (may his soul rest in peace, if peace is what he wanted; a point that I doubt) had strapped the gun to his foreleg and had copied him. The rifle was big, old and rusty but at least I had ammunition to support that piece of steel. If it wasn't tin, that is; judging by the softness of the barrel, I came under the expression that it was a mixture of tin, lead and steel, and steel wasn't the main ingredient.

Now, most of the guns produced in the wasteland were made by the Spherical Industries, SI for short, a mysterious company that was said to create both the finest weapons and cheap guns for amateurs. Nopony knew where they were located, where their factories were (if there were any) and who worked there. They sold their weapons through merchants who, as it was clear, had no intention of talking about it. Not that it interested me; they sold good stuff - I bought it, easy as that. I had a SI gun, too, back there in Canterlot. I missed it at the moment, for the rifle was heavy and very uncomfortable to wear. I looked at its barrel: not a single seal, either of SI or some other company. This confirmed my suspicions of its being home-made. I made a mental note to pay more attention to it while shooting, 'cause those home-made guns had a tendency to melt into shit occasionally.

Suddenly, I saw a light. It shone like a beacon of warning, bringing about hope, joy - and distrust. I didn't know whether I could trust it; the light could have been a friendly fire made by some neutral tramp, who pledged allegiance to none of the alliances, supported none of the numerous gangs that, for some reason, existed in the wasteland. Or it could have been a fire on which cannibals roasted some pony meat, which they'd bought still alive from the slavers or had caught themselves. All of a sudden, a thought about possible tastiness of pony meat rushed through my head, leaving a weak trail that made my body shiver and my stomach grumble.

I gasped at my own thoughts and lifted my forehoof to slap myself on the cheek. No matter how hungry I was, cannibalism would never be an option! Not my glass of whiskey, never had been, never would be. No such shit in my lifetime. I slapped the cheek quite hard, gathering all of my weak might.

That was a grave mistake: while my thoughts cleansed and my head became somewhat lighter, all the power that was left in my body left it in an instant and, staggering and failing to maintain balance, I fell on the warm sand, passing out.

I was standing in a big long hall that stretched itself for miles and miles, as it seemed to me. Portraits of various ponies decorated its simple walls. I took a closer look at them. On one of them, I saw a blue unicorn in a strange pointy hat, who was holding a book in his magical grip. His gaze was muddled, directed somewhere far, far away, resembling the gaze of Chic when he was lost in thought in some way. Under the portrait hung a small sign in a language I couldn't read. I guessed that it was the pony's name.

I wasn't sure how I had got here and what was this place. There were no windows so I couldn't be sure whether it was day, night or something in between. I sighed and immediately felt a pat on my shoulder. I looked round to see my fellow Chic Pants standing next to me. He smiled at me while I gulped and realised something was out of place.

The unicorn sighed deeply and looked away, somewhere behind the very horizon, somewhere where there was some kind of Promised Land or some other shit that would deliver us. I followed his gaze, as I had always done. I saw a wall; a plain wall made of polished stone. I had never been able to see what Chic saw and that somewhat bugged me.

"What are you waiting for?" he asked suddenly, looking into my eyes. His gaze was plain and held no emptions, which was unusual for such a guy as Chic.

"Um..." I contemplated for a moment. "What exactly am I supposed to do?" I wondered, for some reason feeling embarrassed, as if I had really forgotten about something; about a matter of grave importance.

"What your calling in life is," Chic Pants replied simply, not breaking the eye contact. Only now I realised he wasn't blinking. His eyes were red.

"You..." I staggered back, pushing myself into the wall, as if a wall was enough to save me. "You're a deadling, aren't you? You are dead!" I screamed in panic, my eyes widening, my voice drowning in a whisper. I was truly afraid. I was scared to death. The deadlings were something all foals had been told about by their families (or teachers, in my case). The deadlings were dead ponies, immortal ghosts taking pony form, dangerous mutated organisms that could beat the shit out of, like, a thousand ponies in one swift blow.

Chic's gaze turned into a weary and sad one. He shook his head solemnly, letting out a sigh, looking into the distance once more.

"Starry..." he said. "Are you really sure that what you've been taught is true?" he wondered, his tone not enquiring, more like speculating.

I gulped, having no words to reply. Sure, many things I'd been taught were lies; many of them, were just useless; but deadlings... Not that I had actually seen them but the tales of the merchants of the Southern Desert were more than enough to build a strong view on those guys inside my head. I'd heard merchants talking about whole settlements wiped out by a single deadling; foals taken away from their families forever, not to bee seen again or even heard of. Those creatures were creepier than manticores, and I'd seen a mad manticore once, believe me!

"Your ponies wait for you," he said, pointing his hoof towards the end of the hall. "Go behind the door and do what you're good at."

"Getting drunk?" I joked, although both Chic and I could see that the joke was out of place.

My unicorn didn't reply; instead, he simply approached me and tapped my flank with a hoof. At first, I thought it was one of his gay insinuations. Then, I wondered if deadlings were contagious. And then I looked at the spot. There, right on my flank, was a glowing image, something I'd only read about before - a cutie mark. It depicted the Sun, in its regal beauty, covered by a dark circle, so that only the rays were visible.

I couldn't really understand what was going on. I felt dizzy all of a sudden. I gasped for air to breathe, though I couldn't find any, I collapsed onto the floor, looking at my friend pleadingly. He just stood there, looking away, lost in thought. I tried to call him but my voice failed. Darkness stood tall and majestic before my eyes and...

...I woke up. I immediately drew a breath in a way that an addict would take another puff of his cigarette - 'one last puff' - or a drunkard would take a gulp of his drink - 'one last gulp'. I was in the desert; I was lying on my back helplessly, unable to move my limbs. What exactly did that dream mean? I turned my head aside wearily and looked at my flank, only to see it blank, as it should be. However, I saw something far more interesting. Next to me, in a few steps, was sitting a red unicorn, relatively young, dressed in such disgusting tatters that I thought it would be better for him not to wear anything at all. He was holding an open tin can in his magical grip, drinking from it from time to time.

What piqued my interest the most - and what made me forget about my dream - was the fact that he was also magically holding an instrument that I'd previously seen only as a piece of wood but not a working device - a lyre. After taking another sip from the can, the unicorn tossed away his long white mane and began strumming the strings, filling the chilly desert air (only now did I realise it was already early morning: at any other given time of the day the heat would've been unbearable) with a soothing and strangely familiar melody. I immediately felt envious, for we, earth ponies, could only play the guitar, the piano and some other instruments - the lyre's strings, on the other hoof, had to be tugged with magic, not with hooves.

The stranger closed his eyes and started singing. His voice was nothing compared to the singer from that Canterlot pub - how long ago had it been, it seemed to me! - but it was deep and thoughtful. He was singing plainly but with emotion, telling a story, not just delivering entertainment.

The lyrics danced with the wind that had just begun lowing in our direction, creating whirlwinds of sand but never provoking a sandstorm in our direction. The words seemed painfully familiar; so did the tune, although I was quite sure it was the first time I had heard the song.

To the land where there's no war.
To the land where there is light.
When the battle has been won,
Will you travel by my side?

The red unicorn seemed lost in his own music, which was coming to a slow bridge between the verses. I was lost in it as well, even forgetting about my hunger, thirst and pain for a while. But only for a fleeting moment.

I don't know what future brings
But I believe and know it's bright.
When the final challenge stings,
Will you travel by my side?..

I expected the musician to finish the song with a gentle pluck on the strings so as to meet the general style of the tune but he strummed on the strings hard, jerking his head back in passion, leaving a strange after-taste of uncertainty in my mind. Finally, I came out of the charming effect of the song and tried to ask for help. Maybe the unicorn didn't notice me; although, being near the source if light which had lured me the previous night (the magic faded; it was a simple barrel set on fire, which was now out of use, just standing on its edge near the white-maned stranger), I assumed he was the one to drag me to it.

However, no words came out of my mouth, which was dried to the limit; only soft, almost snake-like hissing, could be heard. But that was enough: the unicorn heard me and turned his head towards me, levitating a small flask towards me. I immediately pressed my lips against the object and drank and drank and drank till I finally felt satisfied. As the flask was levitated away from me, I managed to spot a small, maybe insignificant, detail: it wasn't a simple canteen like the one I had, or all the other ponies of the North had; it wasn't a round glass vessel like the ones ponies of the South used. It was a flat flask with an "S" letter engraved on the front.

"Finally awake, pal?" the unicorn asked sympathetically, drilling me with his blue eyes. Something about his eyes made me shiver; fortunately, he mistook it for my being cold and, with a flash of his horn, I felt warm, warmer than while being under the warmest blanket. I marvelled at how potent the stranger's magic was. I had never imagined that unicorns were capable of anything beyond simple levitation, and now this pony had just channelled heat directly into my body!

Seeing my reaction, which was, needless to say, beyond amusement, the stranger just chuckled. His horn glowed once again, and I felt pain and fatigue leave my body momentarily. I never missed the opportunity and rose to my hooves immediately, stretching my limbs. The pony had obviously saved me from certain death and it was high time for some conversation.

"Can you make food with this magic of yours?"

Great, Starry Eyes. Just amazing. Such a polite things to say. Forgot your how do you dos?

I mentally scolded myself, blushing feverishly, embarrassed that hunger had got the best of me and occupied all of my thoughts. I expected the unicorn to frown or show his disapproval in some other way; to my surprise, he simply chuckled again, shaking his head.

"No, pal, I'm sorry, I'm not that good," he replied, looking at me estimatingly, one of his eyes partially squinted - a gesture I'd only seen on older ponies' faces. "But you're good, on the other hoof - when I found you unconscious, you were still holding the string in your mouth."

He was talking, of course, about the string that pulled the trigger of my rifle (my newly acquired rifle, that is). I wondered if my subconscious was really so self-protecting that it made me guard myself even when I knew I had no chance of surviving. I felt that the string was still in my mouth and while it didn't prevent me from speaking clearly, I spit it out to look more friendly, if it was possible after such a messy introduction.

"Forgive me my politelessness," I apologised, recollecting any manners my mind had stored among other shit that was filling it, not sure whether 'politelessness' was even a real world. Well, the new world asked for new terms, such as 'wasteland', 'radiation', 'mutation'... and 'deadlings'... so 'politelessness' could easily be a suitable invention. "Thank you for saving me, sir." I pondered for a moment. Why hadn't I called my bald saviour from the past a 'sir'? He had been much older than me, while this unicorn looked in his early twenties. I guess something in his attitude, the way he played, the way he sang, the way he looked at me brought about a great deal of respect towards him from my side.

My second saviour - I really am lucky, to have been saved from certain death twice in a day - only laughed, although his laugh seemed a little uneasy, as if he had practised it for a long time and never reached perfection. This unnatural laugh made me shit uncomfortably - mentally, not physically, of course: I didn't want to show my 'politelessness' again - for the wasteland had taught me to be careful with hypocrites.

"I'm no sir," he pointed out with a chuckle. "Call me..." The unicorn pondered for a moment, letter 'L' almost escaping his lips: I could see it, knowing how to lipread quite well. "Silver Dawn," he blurted out, hiding the fact he had probably just created this name on the spot. "Call me Silver," he repeated, nodding, as if he were assuring himself that it was all right to lie in such a situation. Well, if this 'L-Silver Dawn' wanted to hide his identity, so be it.

"All right, sir," I replied and facehoofed immediately. "I mean, Silver." Way to go, Starry. Way to go. Go offend some more ponies in this desert and be ready to get killed painfully, I told myself not without dark self-irony. However, Silver didn't look offended, he just smiled at me as if I were a foal and he was an elder. Which he was not, being young and all. Or so it seemed.

"Want some?" Silver suddenly turned towards me, directing his magical grip towards me, in which I saw an open tin, from which he'd been drinking.

I wasn't sure of the origin of the liquid so I took a careful investigating sniff. Whisky. I felt an urge to vomit, remembering the previous events. No, from this day on, not a drop of whisky would enter my body and corrupt it beyond all possible limits! I gently but firmly refused the drink, slightly touching the tin with a hoof.

"Thank you, Silver, but I don't drink on an empty stomach," I replied, hoping that such a lame excuse would work. Looking into the red unicorn's eyes, I saw that it had, indeed, worked, for the guy simply levitated the tin back and took a gulp himself with a shrug.

For a while, silence endured. I couldn't say it was an uneasy silence, 'cause both of us (I was pretty sure) felt relaxed and somewhat humid, bathing in the sands of desert (both physically and mentally). The much desired wind finally came, bringing not fear and plague, as I'd been told of the Eastern wind, but simply a relaxed state of mind. I felt my worries fade away, not at once, but gradually, as the vivifying coolness enveloped me, making a perfect balance between coldness and hotness. I tried to contemplate the events of the previous day from an objective point of view.

So, I drank some heavy shit because I became disillusioned in the world around me. Not a big deal for ponies of the wasteland. Then, I ended up being unconscious in an unfamiliar desert. Not a big deal either: I'm not the first one and most certainly not the last one to get in such a situation. Then, I killed a few ponies, one of them presumably being one of my rescuers. Not that was some serious shit. Of course, killing and being killed were two main freedoms of the wasteland so I would have ended up killing somepony eventually. Still, I felt some strange sombre obscurity inside, with a slight hint of mental pain.

Never had I thought about death before. Sure, ponies died every day, and died in most bizarre, gory and disgusting ways; but I'd never encountered death face to face, nor had I even been the one to develop the killing blow. Had the deaths of those ponies changed my life? Hardly. Did I really, honestly blame myself for killing them, lest my own life be taken? Scarcely. Was that a big shock to me? Barely. Did that mean that I had recently become a heartless murderer, like thieves and gangsters and raiders? Hell, who knows. I, for one, did not. And, in order to change the subject stuck in my head, I tried to think about the song that Silver had played some five minutes ago (or had it been longer? I surely got lost in time), concentrating on the melody. While the words were completely new for me, the melody seemed strangely familiar, as if I had heard it before, and, in addition, not a very long time ago.

"Silver," I wondered with caution, not to offend my second saviour with my ill manners. "Your song, the one you were playing..." I specified, mentally facehoofing: but of course he knew what song I was talking about. "It's beautiful and I wanted to know what led you to create it?" Now I gave myself a mental brohoof: not only had I managed not to look nosy but also complimented the musical pony on his creation.

"Create it?" The white-maned unicorn chuckled and looked at me indulgently. "This song goes centuries and centuries, back to the reign of Princess Celestia," he said, looking towards the (presumably) horizon, his gaze vacant, lost in thought, not unlike Chic's. I swear, for a second I had thought that it was a look of a pony who was lost in memories! Of course, it couldn't be true, for the Cataclysm had occurred centuries ago. I shrugged off the idea.

"I just translated it from Old Equestrian," Silver concluded, returning back to the waste ground from his heavenly thoughts.

Old Equestrian! He speaks Old Equestrian! a thought rushed through my head. He could be useful... I mused but stopped myself immediately. Useful? Since when did I judge ponies by their 'usefulness' or 'unusfulness'? He'd just saved my life, by Celestia's beard! (I wasn't sure whether the Princess-Goddess-of-the-Sun of the past had actually had a beard but the expression was widely used among merchants and served as a good alternative to the ear-shattering swearing of raiders and thugs.) But what does that change? a voice in my head told me, whispering in the very depths of my mind. I shut my eyes to stop it; after all, the voice was nothing but the part of my subconscious that wanted to make me stray from the righteous path. If there was such a path, that is. He's saved me, so I owed it to him; I was the one to be useful to him, not vice versa. Besides, it's not like you'll need a guy who can't do anything but sing and speak Old Equestrian... I hushed the voice, knowing very well this wasn't true: Silver was obviously a very potent spellcaster.

"Wow, you speak Old Equestrian!" I exclaimed, a little fake, just to get rid of those thoughts. "That's... cool." Amazing, Starry. You're amazing. Your vocabulary is beyond recognition. Such simple words as 'impressive', 'astonishing' and 'marvellous' avoid you completely. All you have to say is 'cool'. That made me want to mentally facehoof... for what time it was that day? Like, the hundredth?

"Yes, kind of..." Silver's reply was somewhat solemn and way too serious, as if knowing an ancient language was a burden and not a blessing. To me, it would've been an opportunity to... I pondered for a moment. What would have I done if I were to know Old Equestrian? Trying to find anything worth mentioning and failing to do so, I gave up. Here, in the wasteland, the only language of mass-communication was the language of the gun. Or knife. Or whatever shit could pierce the flesh of a pony.

I had never been an expert on weapons, you see? Sure, I could tell one gun from another, but stories told by the merchants outshone even my very imagination. Clubs, hoof-spikes, mine-throwers... How the hay can one use a bucking mine-thrower?! Still, those were the weapons of the desert and I had a nasty feeling that I would soon have to familiarise myself with them.

An uneasy silence would have established itself once more, were it not for the fact that a sound of a muffled gunshot pierced through the desert air somewhere not far from us. My ears jerked up and I chewed on the gun string once more, looking around fervently, trying to locate the source of the sound, ready to face the danger... well, face to face, that is. Muzzle to muzzle, if you prefer.

Silver, by contrast, didn't seem worried at all; he had heard the gunshot, for his ears perked up ever so sightly, but he visibly paid no attention to it. All he did was taking another sip from the tin-cup, full of whisky, a drink loathed by me as of now. Still, I had no time for contemplating my relationship with alcohol as of now, 'cause, you know, I was under the risk of being shot and all. I looked at the red unicorn in surprise, wide-eyed. Sure, I'd try to protect him - after all, he'd saved me - but was he going to do anything? Run, hide, take a defensive stance? As in, anything?

Just as I was going to ask him this very question (in a little more polite form, that is), a few black dots appeared on the horizon. The surface was flat, and that sure as hell didn't add any bonus points to our current condition: if there were a hill, it would've been easier to take aim. The one who takes the higher ground has a higher chance of success, I remembered one of Miss Spades' lessons: though the whorse was mostly useless, that one lesson was one of the few that were actually useful. I squinted my eyes to make out the shapes of five ponies approaching us at a trot.

Five ponies. Fuck me with Luna's horn, I swore mentally and cursed everything once more. There were five ponies; I had five bullets. That meant I had no privilege of missing. I lowered the gun slightly and sighed. I had to wait till the ponies came closer; as of now, I thanked Celestia that, at least, they weren't shooting as they came closer, saving valuable ammunition. I cast a side look towards the white-maned unicorn; he merely glanced at our potential enemies and went back to drinking again.

Aren't you going to do anything, you bucking drunkard?! I wanted to ask him but held the urge at bay. It's strange how, even at the face of danger (and possible death), I still didn't want to show my 'politelessness' to the pony who'd saved me. Instead, I raised my rifle again, hoping that the wreck of a gun would actually be able to shoot. The ponies were approaching but I still couldn't make out their forms; they were still only muddled silhouettes, not targets to shoot at.

I chewed on the string, straining myself. My whole body felt tense and a drop of sweat formed upon my forehead, sliding towards my brow. I prayed to Celestia and Luna and whoever was out there that it wouldn't get into my eye - that would mean losing aim, and that meant certain death. Just as the ponies came closer, I could see them well enough.

They approached us in a line, in a classic battle stance. The pony in the middle was a grey blue-maned unicorn, who was holding a revolver in his magical grip. The gun was obviously just a means of self-defence: if that pony was in the middle, that meant he was the group's spellcaster. On the left and right of him ran two earth ponies, both of whom were wearing machine guns strapped to their forelegs. The one on the left was blue, and white-maned; the one on the right was white, and blue-maned; I chuckled at how they mirrored each other, in spite of my fear. On the ends of the line galloped two pegasi, neither of whom held any firearms; that worried me slightly and I squinted my eyes as much as I could to see what was wrong. The thing is, both of them had knives strapped to each of their feathers! To each of the bucking feathers! That made them not only killing machines but also walking shields - a single motion of their wings, and any bullet would simply ricochet on them in the direction on the uneventful enemy. No wonder they were placed at the ends of the line!

Wondering idly how heavy those knives might be, I didn't notice my saviour rise from the ground and take his place to the right of me. I shivered at the sudden presence of another pony but, seeing it to be the red unicorn, calmed in a way (if you can remain calm in the middle of an upcoming shitstorm, that is). Silver looked very serene, even somewhat bored. He didn't need to squint his eyes to make out the shapes of approaching enemies. I felt ready to pull the string to activate the trigger of my gun but Silver, as if he were reading my thoughts and intentions, stopped me by levitating the string out of my mouth. Before I could protest, he shook his head, smiling at me.

"You needn't," he said, looking at our enemies (who were beginning to raise their weapons as well!). "Those are the Worshippers," he added, as though that explained everything. In fact, it did not. The red unicorn closed his eyes and a red glow enveloped his horn. The light was intense and it matched perfectly the colour of the caster's coat. Just as the ponies - the 'Worshippers', whatever that meant - approached us and were at a shooting distance, Silver opened his eyes once more.

In a moment, all five ponies fell on the ground, gasping for air, although it was clear that they couldn't get any. They were gradually turning pale, their face reddening of an intense blood pressure inside. I marvelled at the scene with my eyes wide open. As the ponies stopped moving completely, I turned my head towards Silver, my mouth agape. This pony had just strangled five ponies. Magically strangled five ponies. Now that was a level of spellcasting that only pre-Cataclysm ponies were capable of performing. Everypony in the wasteland knew that radiation lowered the magical potence of unicorns and there were hardly any ponies who could perform such spells.

Still, I had just seen one. And he was standing right next to me, his eyelids half-closed, a look of boredom plastered upon his face. I staggered back a little, just a little, but still not little enough for him to notice: he looked at me and smiled; his smile was somewhat kind and... caring? so I felt slightly assured that this pony wouldn't kill me. Not now, at least.

"You needn't be afraid, Starry," Silver told me, extending his hoof towards me - a friendly gesture many ponies had forgotten - with a friendly smile. "You're no enemy to me," he added, killing my worries somehow.

"Well, if you say so..." I wiped sweat from my forehead and released my breath I'd been holding all the time. All the bucking time. How had I managed to do so I'll never know. Then, a realization struck me, "Wait a minute, how'd you know my name? I-"

But the red unicorn's horn was already glowing - he was preparing a spell. With a flash, the world around me became dark and I felt slightly dizzy; not as dizzy as I would've become from blood loss, though - so I concluded the spell wasn't an offensive one. And even if it was, I wouldn't die suffering, like those five ponies.

"I'm just sending you to the nearest town," Silver's voice echoed through the darkness. It was drowning and I couldn't make out the next phrase he said. It sounded like 'Welcome to Stealth'... But that wouldn't make sense, would it?

Coming back to my senses, I rubbed my eyes and sent a prayer to Luna that I was alive, not blind and somewhere near civilization, if Silver hadn't lied to me or hadn't failed teleportation. Somehow, I questioned the former but not the latter. I looked around, only to see a small settlement ahead, with a steel fence and the usual shit you'd find about small towns. I took a few hesitant steps towards it. There were no guards and that bugged me, in a way. Didn't bug me more than the fact I was hungry, that is. Very, very hungry.

"Now where d' ya think ya'll goin'?" a distinctive feminine voice cooed from behind.

Shit.

I made a motion to turn round but a barrel of a gun was placed against the back of my neck in an instant. I gulped and sent a prayer to Celestia, concluding that Luna was enough of a whorse not to help me.

"I'm-" I tried to speak but the prodding of the gun told me otherwise. I gulped again and shut my eyes, as if it would save me from certain death. I guess that was just a basic, intuitive action for most ponies, if not all.

"Now jes' a lil' raider here, eh?" the same voice questioned, accompanied by laughter, presumably coming from two stallions. So she had companions.

Well, make it two shits.

"Doesn't look like a raider to me," one of the masculine voices said. I was about to kiss that pony's hooves in an instant. And yes, I know Chic would've never let me live it done if he learned it but hell, that one pony was my ticket to the train ride called 'Bein' alive'.

"More like a thief," the other stallion's voice concluded. Well, that one surely wasn't going to get any kisses. At least from me.

"All right, we'll fin' out later," the mare's voice ended the dispute firmly. Well, finally! At least now I could look at my-

I got hit at the back of my head with the butt of the gun and the world became black.

Well, three shits, is it?

I tried to struggle but staggered and fell on the ground, giving myself up to the already familiar feeling.

I fainted.

I awoke with a splattering headache. Sure, I know such an adjective doesn't go well with headaches, but do believe me, nothing goes well with headaches. So the headache was splattering. I felt like a part of my head had actually decided to live on its own, for it was numb, which was kinda nice, 'cause it didn't hurt. The other part of my head did ache miserably, making me wince with my eyes still closed. Hearing muffled voices around me (three familiar voices! Hooray!), the last part of my head that hopefully included the least damaged and the most sane part of my brain ordered me to open my eyes.

And so I did, only to see myself in a strange building, lying on a pristine white bed (clean sheets and everything! A rare sight for the wasteland!), surrounded by four ponies, three of whom were dressed in light armour and were wielding guns, while the fourth one was wearing a white gown, not armed at all. Taking a quick glance around, I saw that there was nothing in the room besides my bed, a small cupboard on the right of the bed and a window with thick blinds that prevented sunlight from coming in. So I decided to study the ponies in the room, at least until they realised I was awake.

Two of the ponies were earth pony stallions, presumably the ones that had argued whether I was a treat to them or not some time ago. (By the way, how long had I been unconscious?) They were holding similar guns strapped to their forelegs, the gunstrings held firm in their mouths. One of them was purple and lavender-maned: somewhat beautiful, for a stallion, that is. The other one was by no means handsome: he was a gruff black pony, with a silver grey mane, touched by the ever-present ageing. I immediately concluded he was the one who had accused me of being a thief. Well, that's great, 'cause he's the one who wouldn't be getting any kisses from me! I held the urge to snicker, remembering my desperate oath to myself. A pony who I'd really love to exchange kisses with, though, were it not for the circumstances (and the fact that she'd knocked me out a while ago). was a blue unicorn mare in the middle of the room. Her gorgeous white mane was falling on her shoulders protected by light armour; by the look of her (and the presumable cost of her armour), I assumed she was the leader of the ponies. As of now, she was arguing with a pink unicorn mare in a white gown. My ears perked up and I hushed my thoughts to listen.

"What I'm saying is he needs proper rest and treatment!" the pink mare said angrily, stomping her hoof against the wooden floor. Great, there was at least one pony who was on my side! I counted it as a small personal victory. Though, I decided not to express my gratitude, lest I be noticed.

"What I'm saying is he needs a good ol' gun stuck down 'is-" Aaand that's enough, thank you. That was indeed this one armoured mare that had knocked me out, thank you and goodnight. I noticed that her accent was partly Southern but not completely: in the Southern Desert, they say things like 'Ah' instead of 'I' and so on. This pony didn't. I made a mental note of it. Unfortunately (fortunately?), the end of the phrase escaped me, for the mare noticed I was awake.

"Oh, look who's up," she said with a confident smirk, trotting towards me. I felt slightly uneasy; don't get me wrong, she was hot as Hell itself and stuff - but she had hit me painfully and I had no intention of re-experiencing it. At least, unless it was a roleplay... I mentally smacked my head with a hoof to get rid of such thoughts, may they be damned. Until night, that is. Shut up, Starry. Just shut the buck up, you're not making this easy.

"So are ya gonna lie in bed all day?" she enquired, tilting her head to the side, looking at me expectantly.

I tried to get up - and managed to do so - but felt dizzy at once: my headache was progressing, as it seemed. I fervently looked around for some vessel to vomit in (forgive me my straight-forwardness but that's exactly what I wanted - no, what I needed to do at the moment) and found it! There was a glass vase standing right next to my bed! I started crawling towards the, as it seemed to me, life-saving vessel.

"See?" I heard the blue mare say to the doctor (or nurse, or whatever - I realised I was in hospital). "He's so eager to get outta-"

I threw up in the vase, cursing my manners, my illness and my very existence.

"-bed..." she concluded, not a hint of disgust in her voice, only surprise. "I guess he could spend another day in bed..." She looked at me, shaking her head. "...Or two."

She flipped her tail in the air, motioning for the guards to follow and began walking towards the exit. I jerked up in bed, risking falling asleep or unconscious again.

"Wait!" I yelled. Better to say, hissed, because the sound that came out of my mouth could be specified as hissing, unless, of course, the standards had changed since I ended up being here.

Yet, the ponies heard me. The white-maned mare turned round and raised a brow at me, looking both surprised and annoyed at my wasting her precious time.

"What'cha want?" she asked, not very rudely, but with a decent level of 'politelessness' in her voice.

I pondered for a moment, contemplating what I was going to ask.

"Which one of you guys assumed I wasn't a raider?"

Wonderful, Starry. Just wonderful. You could've asked anything: who they were, what they were after, why they had caught you... even their names, at the very least! But no, you ask this question. This important, essential question. Congratulations, Starry. You're officially a genius.

The two stallions burst into laughter. The younger stallion wiped a tear off his eye. "That's what you wanted to ask?" he wondered with a smile.

I know, stupid, right? Just thought about it myself.

"That's him," the purple stallion continued, pointing at the older pony, who nodded his head slightly.

Damn, I was mistaken. But still, he wouldn't be getting any kisses!

"Can we go now?" the mare (their leader, presumably) enquired mockingly, looking at me, flashing her eyelashes. Damn, I even had to tell... um... 'Little Starry' (go on, laugh at me) to calm down 'cause he was obviously getting pretty excited at the mare.

I nodded but the three ponies were already out. I sighed in exasperation and exhaustion (I'd never thought those two feelings could go together, but buck me with Celestia's left wing if they did not) and leaned back in bed, my thoughts returning to the only safe (at least, in my view) topic - food. And still, here I faced defeat. I was so hungry that I was no longer feeling hunger as a specific emotion - it was as essential part of my myself as the blood circulation system and other shit. I was so hungry that hunger would easily fit for my middle name. Starry Hunger Eyes. Or something like that.

I sighed again, closed my eyes and tried to fall asleep again. At least, this place was like heaven - I could rest here, undeterred, unperturbed by the dangers of the waste ground, wherever I was actually located. It would be complete and absolute heaven if I weren't hungry...

"Time for dinner!" a soft voice cooed. I opened my eyes to see the doctor (nurse?) standing before me, looking into my eyes. The pink pony smiled at me and repeated, "About time you had something to eat. What kind of dessert would you like?"

Complete, absolute heaven.

The last few days had been a personal bliss for me. Not only had I got free food and water, I also had been cared for by Nurse Meekheart (why nurses' names always end with a 'heart', I wonder?) and had been paid occasional visits by the blue unicorn mare (whose name, for some reason, was not to be revealed to me; I hoped, yet) and I had managed to make them believe in my story (maybe because I simply told them all the truth, no matter how shameful it was) - or at least convince them that I was no raider or thief, and by no means a treat to them.

One morning, I finally felt that I could get up. And by 'get up', I mean not just rise from bed and stagger in the direction of the toilet (that, fortunately, wasn't far away) but really rise to those good old hooves of mine with a clear intention to give my limbs a good stretching - running, jumping, maybe fighting a manticore or two... No, scratch the last one. Still, I was full of vigour and was looking at myself in the mirror, snorting disapprovingly at the state of my mane, when the familiar purple unicorn entered the room, taking me by surprise.

"Like what ya see?" she smirked, wiggling her brow playfully. It turned out, she wasn't that bad after all... save for the fact that she'd totally knocked me out a few days ago and held captive in this very room as of now. I'm not dumb; I can see the obvious. When it's clearly visible, that is.

"Can ask you the same," I parried mockingly, leaving my place near the mirror. "I'm as good as new!" I couldn't help but exclaim proudly, though knowing very well that she would make fun of me for the rest of the day. Or week. Or month - depending on how long she would hold me her 'free-to-go-but-too-tired' prisoner.

To my surprise, she didn't laugh or even smile. "That's exactly what I'm 'ere 'bout," she said in a business-like tone, putting on a serious face.

I'd never seen her serious before so I motioned with a hoof for her to elaborate her idea. She glanced out of the window with some lament in her eyes, in her beautiful sky-blue eyes that suited her coat so well, especially her sexy curvy fla- and that's enough, Starry! I scolded myself mentally, shaking my head quite physically at the same time.

"We need'ja help," she said simply, looking at me again, her face straight as a Celestia-damned rail. "With a mission," she concluded with an estimating look, as if she thought I would be jumping up and down with hooves upraised in a matter of a few seconds. I resolved to take a somewhat defensive stance, though.

"So, you need your prisoner's help, huh?" I wondered, backing down slightly, my eyes fixed on the unicorn's fla- eyes. Eyes. Big, round, blue... eyes. Eyes indeed.

"Hey, no one holds you prisoner," she protested, throwing a hoof in the air and waving it right before my muzzle - a gesture that I'd never been fond of. "You've been ill - now you're all right; so you can leave," she concluded with a shrug.

Although I felt that there was more to it, the premonition of potential freedom overwhelmed me. I felt warmness inside; not the meek kind of warmness from a hot bath but that one kind of warmness when you're ready to achieve something you've been longing for.

"Well, that's great 'cause-" I began cheerfully.

"Soon 's ya pay for your stay, food 'n' treatment, that is," the white-maned mare concluded with a devilish smirk.

"Wha- How much?..." I felt my excitement pop like a bucking toy balloon, and not just any balloon - a balloon full of high-quality shit that was now splattered all over me. My eyes fell down and, hearing the sum, I felt like I myself was going to fall down as well.

"Five hundred bits."

"Sweet mother of Celestia fucking her throat with Sun in heaven!"

Now I didn't know I was capable of such profanity; it turned out that yes, I was well capable. I blushed at my sudden outburst; the unicorn only smirked with some delight and... respect?

"Now that's how we do it in the South!" she exclaimed and patted me on the shoulder, making me blush again. "I reckon ya've no such bits on ya right now?" she asked, already knowing the obvious answer. It was more of a rhetorical question, really. If she knew what a rhetorical question was, that is. I, for one, highly doubted that.

"Not that I'll ever have them." I resolved to play fair; after all, I have nothing to hide. "Other options?" I wondered, hoping that those options wouldn't involve fighting manticores... or deadlings... I shrugged any possible remnants of that dream with Chic and shit and tried to concentrate on the current situation. Which was easy, considering the fact that the mare had already given her answer.

"Ya can help us with our mission and we forget all 'bout your pay. Deal?"

I sighed deeply. I was trapped - between a rock and a hard place, no less. And if this mare was a hard place, then I'd certainly prefer the rock... But my dumb curiosity (may it be damned with Luna's sexy flank) took the best of me.

"Deal," I said carefully but raised a hoof just as a wide grin appeared upon the unicorn's face. "On one condition," I continued.

"Oh, an' what is it?" the mare wondered with a smile, still celebrating victory.

"You have to tell me your name. Now," I stated firmly, supporting my words with a stomp of a hoof. "Your real name," I added, looking into her blue eyes. "I'll know if you're lying." Now, that was half true: I might know if she was lying; but hell, who gives such secrets away simple as that?

"No, I won't," she said, repeating the same phrase she'd repeated for the last few days.

"Then I'm not coming with you." I crossed my hooves, making it hard (if not impossible) to maintain balance. Still, I managed somehow. "What will you do? Kill me or something?" Now that was a risky game I was playing. I was bluffing; and it was possible for her to see that I was bluffing. Also, though these ponies were no gangsters or raiders, they still could be quite all right with killing me. But it was too late; what's done is done, and all I could do was hope that the mare would rather reveal her name than dispose of me (or torture me... in the bad way, not the good way! If there is a good way to be tortured, that is...) and cursing my ill tongue as hard as I could.

"Ya won't like it," she finally said with a sigh, after pondering for a while.

"Oh, why not?" I asked, growing more and more confident. "I'm sure that such a nice mare like you-"

"Rubber... Rubber Fun."

My mouth fell agape. I blinked a few times in silence.

"You must be fucking kidding me..." I whispered, desperately trying to hold back laughter, which was approaching my throat as of now. I chuckled. "Rubber as in rubber ducks or rubber dil-"

"One more word and I'll shove my gun down your ass," she warned. "Like, real, real hard."

"Point taken..." I snickered. "Rubber... Fun..." I burst out into laughter, not noticing the unicorn turn red.

Now remember her warning? Looks like it was true...

A few seconds later, I was sitting in the corner of the room, trying to shield myself with my bare hooves.

"Now if ya'll just turn your sorry ass t'rds me, 't would be a tad more easier!" Rubber Fun (damn, that's a funny name, really; the funniest I'd ever heard! And I'd heard names like Purple Vomit and Little Weenie!) yelled, waving her gun in the air before me.

"Help! Nurse! Help! A madpony's attacking me!" I shouted in half-mocking, half-real fear.

The door slammed open and a disgruntled pink pony ran in, stopping dead in her tracks as soon as she saw us. We - Rubber Fun and I - looked at each other as well, and, realising the whole comicalness of the situation, burst into laughter.

"I don't want to know..." the nurse whispered and backed down, closing the door behind her, making us laugh a bit more.

After a while, we both rose to our hooves (Rubber helped me) and looked at each other a little more friendly.

"So... ya game?" she asked, already knowing my reply.

"I'm game," I said, extending my hoof towards her with a smile.

"I've misheard - ya said 'game' or 'gay'? 'Cause, considerin' your looking in the mirror..." the unicorn said with a sly grin, shaking my hoof.

"Oh, how shall I call you - 'rubber' or just 'fun'?" I parried easily, not losing my face.

"Rubber," she answered angrily, mumbling something about shoving something down my throat among the lines.

"So, Rubber, what's this mission of yours?" I wondered, looking around. I hoped it would involve some movement, for I'd been chained to bed (metaphorically, of course!) for too long to my liking.

"We need t' get t' the Earth Brothers' camp 'n' kill 'em." She shrugged. "Easy 's that. I'll tell ya 'bout them on the way."

"And... how many enemies will be there?" I asked carefully, not wanting to reveal my encounter with the Earth Brothers yet. (Yes, well, maybe I haven' told her all the truth, but still! A pony can have his secrets, right?)

"'Bout twenty or twenty-five," she replied casually, as if killing countless ponies was all she did. Well, on second thought, maybe it actually was.

"And..." I continued, already feeling that something was wrong. "How many of us, then?"

"Four, including ya."

I facehoofed.

Well, shit.

Author's note.

Woah woah woah! That's a long chapter we have here! A long chapter calls for a bit of rating and feedback! You know what that means! Go write some comments, please! Your hooves won't ache! ...Mine do, as of now. Holy depths of hell - almost ten thousand words in less than a week! If you excuse me, I'll go and apply an ointment. To my hooves, of course! Hands, I mean.

Peace.

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...Hands? - Lyra