“So, royalty, huh?”

The dirt crunched under our hooves, I tried not to visibly wince at the thought of it being pony dust we were walking in. It had been well over a century, so I was sure that not all of it was Manehatten citizens. It’s what I told myself at least.

“He’s not actually royalty, it’s just a stage name,” Domino replied, her voice somewhat weary.

“Stage name? You guys find time to put performances on?”

“Well, not performances like you had. We have the radio to listen to, and I heard about some ghouls that travel around telling stories.”

“The radio? Of all the things to survive, the radio has?”

Domino nodded, “DJ Pon-3, bringing the news and blues to the wastes since the Last Day.”

I froze, “That can’t be right, the DJ Pon-3? I thought she was placed inside a Stable several weeks before the megaspells fell. She’s a ghoul?”

Clean barked a laugh, “That’d be some great irony!”

It was the first time he’d spoken since Gentle Giant’s funeral. It was a small affair, tearing down the husks of trees to use as a pyre. Clean produced a lighter, and the whole thing went up in seconds. It wasn’t the right end for my friend, nothing like the traditional burial he would have wanted. There wasn’t time for that though, the others were concerned about being in the open at night and we had spent too much time at Hoofbeats already. None of us wanted to have a night in there.

Clean smirked at my confused expression, “DJ Pon-3’s a resident of Tenpony Tower, though he’s surely different ponies throughout the years. Ain’t a ghoul, those fancy folk don’t take too kindly to zombies knocking on the front door.”

“Why not? Can’t speak for myself, but not all of them can be ex-agents.”

“’Cause some’re just worse. Ya’ll see soon enough, plenty of roamers around Manehatten.”

“Right, so who is this entertainer?”

“I’d say ol’ friend, but he ain’t a friend. Nor was it that long ago, come to think of it,” Clean tutted, moving forward quickly to check a corner. “Clear. He calls himself the King of Swing. Bit pretentious, though I can’t deny, he can carry a fine tune. Maybe not as fancy as ponies back in your day, but for us lot it’ll do just fine.”

“King of Swing?” I frowned at the preposterous claim. “That title goes to Flank Pack, thank you. Though, they’d be the Kings of Swing I suppose.”

“Who?” Domino chimed in, glancing behind us as the night began to settle in.

“The Flank Pack? Come on now, of all the things to survive they must have!” The blank looks told me otherwise. “Come Fly With Me? Ain’t That A Buck To The Head? Volare? Sway?! You know it! When the griffon rhythm starts to play, dance with me…”

I huffed at the shaking heads, “Don’t know what you’re missing, uncultured, both of you.”

“Righ’, must’ve skipped those lessons in the school of survivin’ the apocalypse,” Clean grumbled, his ears suddenly twitching. “Hold up, hearin’ somethin’.”

We scurried into cover, Domino readying a knife as Clean floated out his two shotguns. I shoved my pistol into my mouth, regretting the taste immediately. The passing years had not improved the flavour at all, even after swallowing to rid my mouth of it. We waited for five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen, for something to come around.

Clean kept insisting we keep our heads down for the time being, pointing at the way we came from. What was once the main shopping street of Manehatten, complete with the husks of trams, lay eerily silent. Old stores lay open, leaking rotted wares like open sores. I assumed that even scavengers would have picked the remains clean years ago. Animals have better sense than to wander Manehatten for food. Even considering the state of decay it was in, the silence was unnerving. Like a calm before the storm, or something far worse. I began to get a combat itch, the stress setting in, when I heard something. A song.

I carefully picked it out, smiling as I tapped a hoof along. Not my favourite, but it was a classic all the same. Sweetie Belle, singing her heart out for all to hear. Singing for better days long gone, and days we strove for again. Days at the park with a family, or at the pictures with friends. I hummed the tune, adding my own quiet trumpets and percussion where necessary.

“Clean, it’s music.” I smiled at the unicorn as he eyed me suspiciously.

“That ain’t what I heard, definitely talkin’ but no singin’,” he glanced around.

I scooted out from my cover, walking cautiously towards the source. I heard Clean’s hisses to come back, but waved a hoof down. At least the old hoof signals had survived the tests of time. Of course, given the weapons that had survived as well, I assumed there was some Equestrian military continuing the traditions.

I rounded a corner, hearing the music grow from inside a shell of a house. A quick dash across the street, and I skidded inside. The first floor was a carbon copy of every first floor in Manehatten. Some ponies were lucky to afford an actual house in the city, while I chose to stick to an apartment. Bed, kitchen, bathroom, done. I rarely had guests, but when I did they weren’t the ‘sit down for tea and a chat’ type.

After checking corners, I heard the music continue from somewhere upstairs. Maybe an old radio, but it was too good to hear something familiar once again. I practically danced my way upstairs, keeping the movements quiet. That was a talent that took months to perfect, but a useful one all the same. Make yourself look like a lost dancer from a distance, sneak your way into an office at the same time. Plus it gave you a brief moment of confusion when somepony found you and asked how you were doing that.

One room remained, the music leaking from under the door. I heard the murmur of speech as well, pressing myself against the wall. The door creaked a little as I pushed it open, the years had taken their toll on the hinges. I swung in, pistol ready, and blinked.

The room was a dilapidated mess, rot and mould had infected the walls. A stallion sat calmly in a seat, listening to a long destroyed radio intently. Sweetie continued singing, her voice ringing clear and true. A mare trotted across from him, talking away.

“And what happens if they attack tomorrow? Where do we go Summer? What do we do?!”

I holstered the weapon, moving inside. They seemed indifferent to my arrival, “Attack? Who’s attacking-”

“What if, what if, what if,” Summer threw his hooves in the air, sighing. “It’s all what ifs, darling. We’ve got the striped bastards on the run. Give it a few months, it’ll all be over. The Stables are a last resort, we’re safe.”

He stood up, giving his partner a hug and a kiss. I turned my head, the gears in my head spinning. The two looked as real as day, but there was something off about them. A slight haze to their appearance, like an out of focus projector. The mare sighed, patting his side, and moving to take a seat next to the radio. My attention returned to the pair.

“Still, I’m worried. I mean, what’s her name from the office managed to get a ticket, why haven’t we yet?”

“Who?”

“Something-horn, the one with the black coat, you know. You kept joking she was your shadow last Hearth’s Warming Party.”

“Oh, oh yes! Lovely girl,” Summer chuckled, taking a seat opposite his sweetheart. “Still, I’m sure we’ll be fine. I mean, it’s not like they’d forget about-“

The couple’s faces ran red with blood. I jumped back and shrieked, hopefully dodging whatever had eviscerated them. I looked around for the source, before returning my gaze at my ignorant hosts in horror. They had just managed a scream when the flesh began to burn off their bones. Their eyes boiled into liquid as they cooked where they sat, collapsing on the floor in silent agony. Soon, just two cooked sets of bones lay on the floor, the shadows of a couple in conversation attached to the opposing wall like a macabre photograph.

I looked around the room, glancing out the window less panes into the street below. Clean and Domino looked up at me, the mare tapping and pointing at me. Clean shook his head.

“Ghosts, was hearin’ ghosts. Happens sometimes, get so used to listenin’ out for trouble, start inventin’ it.” He motioned for me to come down, moving down the street with Domino.

I looked at the room again, now taking in the scene for what it was.

“Yeah, just imaginations running wild.”

The journey was gruelling, more for sanity’s sake than physical. We walked in near silence, ears pricked up for more ghosts or some tangible trouble. The only interruptions were location checks and pointing our weird shapes in the rain. I spent little time looking up to the clouds, a part of me wishing for a spot of sunlight to break through and let me bask in its glow for just one second.

Clean and Domino told me how Canterlot was a no-go zone, much like Splendid Valley. I thought about what the capital city must have been like during the fall of megaspells, and how Princess Celestia and Luna would have lasted. One part of me argued that they had lived for centuries, if not longer, and could survive such an attack. Another pointed out that the way this Equestria survived was totally against what the princesses stood for, even if Luna was more martially minded. Strangely, I didn’t feel as upset to consider them dead compared to the remains of Manehatten. Yes, they were our leaders, but they were so far removed. Celestia and Luna were so far above somepony like me, it didn’t have any impact knowing they were gone.

It wasn’t like them being alive would improve matters, anyway.

We stopped for a rest inside a café, Clean dropping down his loot from the sealed fridge. Most of the food had rotted away, but it was good to see some favourites. Apparently Fancy Buck Snack Cakes could survive balefire fallout and had a multi-century shelf life. I didn’t want to think how that worked, as I chewed on a second cake.

“What’s the plan from here?” I prodded at a loose nail on the floor, frowning as it tore what little skin away from me. I frowned, remember that even a little cut like that should hurt far more than it did.

Domino answered, as Clean finished chewing. It seems that common table manners were still taught in the wastes.

“Clean and I will go to Tenpony Tower and find Two Tone, convince him to join us on this. We can’t take you with us, I’m afraid.”

I sighed, “Judge a pony by their coat, I’m a nice guy once you get past the necrosis. Why do you need him anyway? What does he bring to the table? You two bring plenty of firepower, and I’m there to find the memory orbs.”

Clean gulped down his food, “He’s an entertainer. He’ll be our in for the Golden Gallop.”

“How so?”

“Last time I was there, they were looking for a new singer. Simple enough to have a ‘one night only’ deal with him as a test run, and maybe he’ll find work,” Clean snorted after, as if dismissing his own words.

“What happened to the old singer?”

“Slept with Devil Luck’s kid. Devil didn’t like that, so had him trussed up on stage. Shot him each time he went off key, his smile broke or he yelped in pain,” The unicorn sighed. “Dead after three songs.”

I looked to Domino, hoping for her to say it was all some twisted joke. Instead, she sadly nodded. It seemed that the wasteland brought out all kinds of cruelty in ponies. Not the kind stemmed from a hunger for vengeance, or a notion of twisted loyalty. The kind where someone is cruel for the sake of being cruel, for the sick joy of being in power compared to the powerless. It reminded me of the worst Morale case I had been on.

A mare had been denied the right to fight on medical grounds. She was angry, hurt. It was understandable, to a degree. Nopony wanted to be told that they couldn’t fight, that they couldn’t do their part for Equestria. Just look at the old posters we put up, demanding that you had to fight or do something for the cause. We noticed it when a few zebras had gone missing in the area. We were used to zebra vanishing, heeding the call of their ancestral homeland or skipping town when tensions ran high.

This time it was foals.

The town had an orphanage, taking in foals of all ages. The mare was a volunteer chef there, working away the hours in whatever way she could help. Seemed that during her free time, she liked to torture the innocent children to take out her anger. Not just the zebra foals, but the colts and fillies who had talked to them, played with them. Like it was an infection that needed to be cauterized. Nothing more demoralising than discovering one of the few ponies you should trust the most was a cold-blooded killer. The worst part is, she showed no remorse during her sentencing.

I sighed, “What do I do then?”

“Wait for us on the Luna line, we’ll be-“

My hoof shot up as the gears in my head clicked. “Actually, there’s something I want to do.”

Domino nodded, cutting Clean’s protest off. “What is it?”

“Visit my old apartment, if it’s still there. Bit more of closure, right? It’ll be a while until we’re back here, so I might as well get it out of the way. Saves you the walk later.”

Clean glanced at Domino, nodding slowly. “OK, where do we meet you?”

“Here? It’s as good a place as any.”

Clean grunted an approval, Domino adding, “We’ll be a day or so, given the weather. Think you’ll be ok for that time?”

A mock salute went with my best grin, “Yes mum, I’ll even tidy up the house when you’re gone.”

A smile, better than nothing, “Alright. We’ll see you soon Hard, take care.”

The pair stood up, Clean taking a broken table top for an improvised umbrella. The rain had intensified while we rested, turning from a hazy mist to near torrential downpour. Equestria was crying, mourning something that day. Within a few minutes, they had vanished into the downpour.

My hooves moved for the DC-Pad at first, but I hesitated. Putting the old messages on again wouldn’t help much. I listened to the rain for a while instead, closing my eyes and thinking of better days. The worst thing that could fall from the sky was a bolt of lightning, or maybe a grey mailmare. I had heard stories about her disasters from across Equestria, and felt a little worried about a legendary disaster. There was no need for concern in the end, an acquaintance of the Ministry Mares and she brought smiles to the faces of ponies all across the land. It was worth a weather vane or two. And the time with grand piano. And the other time with the grand piano.

I soon found that instead of my planned mope, I was busy chuckling to old memories. I winced a little at the groans and complaints of my body, grumbling a little. It was completely unfair, I had spent the majority of this unlife trapped in a box and lost out on growing old naturally. Well, as naturally as you could. I was owed a great deal of time without stiff joints, and being able to walk around freely.

It was still an emptying thought, how long was I going to keep living? Was this a permanent feature, or was I going to get better over time? Clean did know what I was on sight, so I assumed that this condition wasn’t rare. Plus, it gave me hope. There was bound to be a pony somewhere who could relate to me, even if it was just a laugh and reminisce over the old days.

I made my way to the door. I had a long time until Domino and Clean were due back, there was time to explore a little. Part of me did want to go back to my apartment, but another told me it was a bad idea. What I needed was to get my bearings in my own city once again. Maybe find something stronger to drink than water. I scribbled a quick note down in case I was delayed, and took off into the rain.

It took all of five seconds before I was soaked to the bone. That said, in some places it felt like my suit was the only layer before bone. It felt good to feel the rain on me again, washing away the stink of 150 years. I spent a while face up towards the endless clouds. This was an old ritual, though normally something I did in the shower. I imagined each drop wiped a little bit of sorrow away, pushing a small bit of doubt or worry into the drain.

A few minutes passed, and I shook droplets free. While buildings had collapsed under the weight of years, the streets had remained largely the same. It took me a while to collect my wits, work out which street I was on, and make a move towards the old market. As Manehatten had become more and more progressive, the old traditions had struggled to survive. By the time I had arrived, very few ponies clung to old bartering and relied on set costs. A crying shame, but a necessary sacrifice according to most.

I, however, loved walking up and down market street, talking to the crafters and bakers. Once upon a time, you’d find the Apple family selling their wares here. By the time I began my life in the fine city, they had long since stopped. Duty and death, seemed the only thing that family was known for. That and unshakable tenacity.

Despite my job, I never had the pleasure of meeting Applejack, but every Ministry agent knew who she and the other mares were. Many missions were joint tasks with one group or another, our team had strong connections with Awesome and Image for instance. One for the more interesting gadgets we employed, the other for keeping those smiling faces all over Equestria.

I gave a grim chuckle as I passed Pinkie’s grin, the top half of her face long torn away. Just a plastic smile with the helpful “FOREVER” underneath, reading like a threat than a promise. We were doing great in that department. That said, I was doing well for the second part of my job description. Domino seemed somewhat happier to have a new companion, while Clean Sweep looked like he hadn’t had a good laugh his whole life. Not a wholesome one, at least.

Wrapped up in my thoughts, it caught me off guard when I heard a distant noise. I froze, moving behind cover as rain thundered down over head. Thankfully, Datplacers were designed to survive nearly any climate and my pistol remained dry inside its holster. I peered out into the street, turning my head as I heard the noise once again.

A groan, like someone was giving their death rattle. I had heard enough of them to recognise the similarities. I cautiously moved towards the sound, stopping as it turned to a growl, then back to the groan. Whoever this pony was, they weren’t going down without a fight. That said, I wasn’t willing to throw myself into trouble. After the close call with the raiders the other night, Clean and Domino gave me a stern lecture about the nature of the waste’s nastier residents.

Moving along the edge of the street, I froze when I saw movement. Out of the rain, a pony limped out. I felt my face change from concern to a smile when I saw the pony’s condition was similar to mine. Half of its face had been chewed away by age, but still it walked.

Then came the groan.

I froze in place, feeling the chill of horror slide down my spine. The creature sniffed the air, continuing to limp towards me. My head split between running and shooting, leaving me locked in indecision. As the pony approached, it gurgled out a stream of ichor, blindly looking in my direction. It gave another groan, sniffing me with the same care a manticore does before eating a rabbit. Bulbous, dead eyes met mine before the creature walking onwards. Whatever it was looking for, I wasn’t it.

I waited until the shuffling steps turned away before moving again, blowing out a stream of held air. My poor heart thrashed inside my ribcage, as if it wanted to burst out of me and start running down the street. The beating slowed as I took longer, deeper breaths. I stuck out like a sore thumb in the middle of the street, waiting for the adrenaline and terror to pass with each breath.

Slowly, I looked around for the ghoul. Even if it was an abomination, part of me wanted to find it again. Work out what was wrong and find a way of making it right once again, like deep down it was right to walk alongside it. To fix the moods of ponies was essentially my job, only this would need more than a few party horns and cake.

The thought brought a grim smile. Every problem we had needed more than party horns and cake, but we made do with what we had back then. I remember so many parties held for fillies and colts of all kinds, especially the ones for the zebra foals. It was a strange feeling, knowing that these children were a true testament to what Equestria was capable of, that kind of wonderful acceptance and harmony. All the while, we agents were exactly the same. Scanning the neighbourhood for potential threats and ponies of interest. Wearing a smile for all around, secretly hoping the façade on both sides doesn’t crack at any point.

I forced my body to move, trotting slowly after the ghoul. My hooves were whisper silent on the ground, the rain masking what I couldn’t dampen. Even if I was approaching to help, there was no need to aggravate it any further. Just like Wartime Stress Disorder, you don’t know what those ponies could do if you gave them too much of an opening. Best case you were shouted at, worst case you ended up like Snowfall. Throat torn out by a mad stallion convinced we were all zebra spies.

Given what we dug up over the years, I don’t blame him for believing that.

After an hour of careful walking, my search proved pointless. I tried to second guess a few turns, and ended up in a part of Manehatten that I barely recognised. Most of the buildings were barely recognisable as buildings, more a collection of rubble waiting to be moved away. I took shelter in the remains of a mane dresser’s, shaking myself dry. The suit would take care of itself soon enough, thanks to the wonderful anti-dirt enchantment.

It was a top priority at the time.

Any decent reading material had long rotted away, leaving me with little to do beyond flick through an old issue of Designer Manes. Even when I had a mane, I’d think twice about flicking through a magazine like that. Again, strange what survived. I had grown worryingly accustomed to bones just lying around, especially after such a short time. One pony was halfway through drying off when the spells dropped, poor thing.

I paid closer attention to the rumours surrounding Photo Finish’s latest model, trying to blot out the cruel thoughts that came creeping in. I smiled at little, spotting where the ‘candid’ photos were carefully crafted shots. Image did a splendid job changing narratives, gently manoeuvring public opinion and discussion. It never malevolent, nor controlling in excessive amounts, but it was a wonderful way to keep Equestria in check.

The ethics were questionable, but this was a time where ethics needed to be shifted for the better. At least, it’s what we told ourselves at the time. If we changed the topics ponies discussed over their morning coffee, from their daughters being slaughtered in droves on the battlefield to the scandalous rumours of Twilight Sparkle’s mane dye, it was worth it. That’s two less ponies to keep an eye on, to protect from WSD, to arrest. Then those two talk to two more, and two more, and two more.

How I wished it worked.

Instead, paranoia was at an all time high. Hooves and horns were pointed in every direction for the sacrifices made, teeth bared at each other’s throats. I was thankful only a few decided to carry arms in public, the shootings we did have were tragedies in of themselves. Trying to keep ponies happy and distracted when their neighbour had just taken ten bullets was an impossible task.

The magazine gave an unsatisfying flop as it hit the floor, the trickle of rainwater running along rubble filled the silence. My face gave an uncomfortable squish as I rubbed it with my hooves, massaging thoughts away. A slow breath out, eyes snapped up to the street and I exited the shop. The rain hadn’t let up at all, sitting there would be no different to sitting back at the café waiting for Clean and Domino.

Part of me wanted to never return, the small rebellious voice inside. The same voice that backchatted my parents, and got caught in a fight with my brother. My tongue clicked, knowing that I may never find out what happened to my family. I had lost touch before I went to Canterlot, who knew where they had ended up all these years later? It felt strange that they crossed my mind now of all times, but it was easily pushed aside. Relearning how to live in Manehatten was a priority.

“Mr Copy! Mr Copy!”

I frowned, looking around for the source of the noise. I figured it was my mind playing some wonderfully cruel tricks until I saw a waving mare at the end of the street. Complete with cap and apron.

“My stars, Mr Copy! I haven’t seen you in years.” As she approached, my trouble sense went haywire. From the distance, she could easily be mistaken as being normal. At twenty meters, I could see that she was, for want of a better word, a ghost. Just like how the couple’s last moments had been stained into the house, it seemed that old newsmare had taken to wandering the streets.

I put out a hoof experimentally, turning my head away. All I felt was rain running over my limb. Carefully opening an eye, I found I was alone in the street. My stomach performed several impressive gymnastics, as I searched for sign that everything was ok. It felt like a bad high, a sense of trepidation and longing for something solid to anchor myself to. Water sloshed over my hooves as I tapped a rhythm on the ground, focusing on it.

Unfortunately, it felt too real to pin on hallucinations.

My hooves carried me to where the newspaper mare came from, curiosity overcoming the worried cat inside me. The chill of the rain gave way to a greater chill within. A chill that stank with the basest of fears, the kind that tells you that the little voice inside your head was so very right.

Ponies of all kinds walked from side to side, ducking into nonexistant doorways and greeting each other. All appearing in a slight haze, like my entire mind was out of focus. Or they were. None of them reacted to my shocked look, nor the rain that thundered overhead. I wandered in amongst them, trying to get their attention. It was more for my sake than anything else, a check on my own sanity rather than a longing for conversation. What would a ghost and I have in common anyway? Other than haunting our dead city.

Even though they ignored my attempts at communication, they all walked around me, as if I was part of the scenery. I tried to walking into them, touching them, any sort of non-verbal communication. Each time, the ghosts would blankly walk past, narrowly avoiding me. I thought I was turning mad. Maybe I was, even the images in my own mind were choosing to ignore me than torment me.

I stopped trying to be an obstacle, choosing instead to be the spy I was at heart. Cautiously, I walked behind a small group chatting away. A stallion stood at the head, bisected by the rubble in his doorway.

“Well, it’s not like the war can get much worse, right? I mean, the worst things the zebra have sent out are the tanks and they’ve been stomped by those new rifles.”

“Aren’t we forgetting about what kind of magic they can brew up? Luna’s school wasn’t a one-off,” a mare retorted, snorting. Her voice seemed strange, like it didn’t quite match the movements of her mouth. I frowned, and began to watch closely as they spoke.

“Blossom!” one of her companions cried, slapping a fading hoof against her. “You don’t know who could be listening.”

“Sorry, I still have a point though. If that stuff hits a battlefield, what happens then?”

“Who’s to say it hasn’t?” The stallion turned briefly, his head melting into the rubble. “We’ve sent worse things out there.”

“Like what?” the snorting mare asked, frowning as she tried to remember something.

“That battle, the one where they first tested the megaspells. Beautiful idea, terrible tragedy,” her companion replied. “My cousin’s co-worker, Starry Nights, she was there as part of the medical team. Her entire station returned to life like nothing had ever happened, only to be marched out to the frontline because the zebras were back on the attack! It never ends.”

I backed away, hearing the buzz of conversation coming from all over. It was like somepony had turned up the volume, where there was silence there was now life to the ghosts. I heard snippets of conversation as I walked through the crowd once again, feeling more and more terrified at the uncanny nature of it all.

Again, while they moved their mouths in speech and sound came, it was off slightly. Like the sound and picture not matching correctly in a film, the mouth movements coming a half-second early or late, or not even matching the sentences. The worst part of it all, it all sounded familiar. Every voice tickled in the back of my head, like I had heard it before.

“Darling?”

Then it got worse.

“Hard? Is that you?”

That voice.

It felt like the rain washed away a great weight, as I turned and saw her standing in the crowd. A smile that could pierce the darkest of nights, and eyes that glistened like stars. Hope fluttered her wings, landing in front of me. I babbled like a colt staring at his crush, trying to find the words. Even if this was something cooked up in my own head, it felt so real I didn’t give a damn.

Everything was perfect, too perfect. She didn’t have the same blurry appearance as the other ghosts, nearly glowing in the rain and haze of souls. Her toothpaste mane had lightly stuck to her face in places, coat slick and wet from the downpour. Wings flicked a smaller shower of droplets away, feathers resettling.

Hope reached out, gently patting my cheek, “Look at yourself, all banged up like this. It’s a wonder you’re still walking.”

“Hope…” The hoof moved to my lips and she shook her head.

“We can’t, not yet.”

“What is this?” My heart wavered, unsure to probe this any further. If it was a dream, I didn’t want to wake. At the same time, I wanted out of this nightmare immediately. To be teased and played with shook me down to the core.

“Come find me, Hard.” She laughed and flapped away, melting into the crowd of ghosts. I heard her sweet laughter mingle with the crowd’s, blurring into one continuous sound. Racing into the crowd, I scanned high and low for her, desperate to find her again. Sense had left me, even if I was to wake up screaming at the night I needed to hold her one more time. To pretend I hadn’t lost her. To lie.

The giggling echoed around me, coming from each and every direction. The laughter turned sour. Soon, every ghost had a smile on its face, like the corner of their mouths were being pulled up by hooks. It was a deranged, painful smile, as if they were grinning away all the sins of Equestria.

The crowd’s heads turned in perfect synchronisation, ever pair of eyes watching me. I cowered as they approached, still grinning as tears and drool dripped from their faces. None seemed to care as they advanced, letting me slip through the gaps in the crowd.

They moved slowly, taking their time with every step. Each time I looked behind, more would reappear in front of me. An endless gauntlet of perversely grinning faces and hoarse laughter. I ended up boxed in, unwilling to try to move through the ghosts. Animal panic gripped me, my withered heart bashing inside my chest.

The laughter stopped.

The crowd continued to maddeningly grin, staring at my shaking form. They began to shift, forming an opening leading back to the street beyond. Soon, I had a row of ghosts stuck in mid haze, all looking expectedly in their deformed faces.

In the silence, I heard bells jingling. At the end of the street, a pegasus, dressed in a multicoloured suit, cartwheeled into view. I slowly got to my hooves, and walked past the ghosts. They seemed to urge me on, nodding as I approached. I watched the acrobatics, the wings twitching slightly to regain balance. The pegasus seemed more solid than the others, bringing a want to touch them. Just to see if they were real.

The pegasus stopped before my outstretched hooves, slowly bending backwards to reveal a mask. One side comedy, the other tragedy. Bells on the ends of its coat gave a joyful ring as the mask stared at me.

“Ah ah ah, no touching Mr. Copy.” She giggled, flipping over to her front.

My name, Sweet Celestia it knew my name! “Who are you?”

“Me? I’m nopony important.” A decidedly male baritone replied, the mask staring back at me. The wings fluttered a little, exactly the same way Hope’s did.

“What are you?” I could not hold back the horror in my voice.

“Me? Nothing too exciting. That’s up to you to figure out, my little zombie.” Old mare this time, a hoof tapping me on the head. I could feel it.

“Poor Hard Copy, all alone in the world. It feels like old times, doesn’t it? But it’s better that way!”

I swung at the thing, crashing to the floor as it easily flipped away. A flash of light and the strange pegasus was gone. I rose to my hooves, and felt something appear behind me. I kicked out, only to lose my balance as I hit the air. Another flash and a unicorn teleported in front of me, head cocked to one side. Beyond the horn and lack of wings, it was the same pony, down to the chiming bells.

“Why do you struggle? Why do you live? What do you have to live for?” A filly’s voice, all squeak and joy. Terrifying from the body of a fully grown pony.

“They’re all dead you know, all your friends and family.” The unicorn leaned in, the unstaring painted eyes locking with mine. “Join them. It’s the least you could do.”

“The coward’s way out,” I glared back, shifting for another attack. “They wouldn’t want me to take it.”

“The sane pony’s,” the unicorn stood up, extending and balancing on one hoof. “After all, how sane can you be? You’re in denial, you’re pretending that you’ll find her. That she’s just like you.”

My heart froze. I hadn’t considered, at least on a conscious level, that Hope was alive. Maybe she caught the edge of the detonation, just like I had. The other ghoul, they must have come from Manehatten too. There could be more survivors.

A cold laugh rippled through the crowd of ghosts, the unicorn laughing loudest of all. “Look at you! Are those the thoughts of a sane pony?”

Its hooves wrapped around my neck, pulling me into an embrace. Hope’s voice came from the creature, “I’ve missed you so much after all these years, why did you leave me? Why are you hoping I was hit by the blast? Is that what you want?”

My voice caught in my throat. I was lucky to be unconscious and pumped full of every drug under the sun while my skin peeled off. Who knew how much that would hurt for another pony to go through? “No.”

“We all miss you, Hard.” Gentle Giant this time, slipping into Golden Days’ sing song. “Join us, please?”

“No…” I rallied my thoughts, only for them to be washed with the chaos of emotion. Worry, anger, fear, all of it coming together in a kaleidoscope. My body locked as it tried to fulfil every panicked command at once, fighting and fleeing battling each other.

“Come, Hard. Please? We can sleep forever?” The voices melded, each syllable taking a different approach to pronunciation. “Please? Die?”

“NOOO!”

I carefully opened my eyes after, only to see the same street as before, the manedressers’ still in sight. I panted for a while, feeling the stress on my throat. I looked for the ghosts, finding nothing around. Whatever that thing was, with any luck, it was all just in my head. A momentary madness. I had hallucinations before, while doped up on Dash. Small doses it was a perfect combat enhancer, but taken recreationally led to interesting effects. Once upon a time, I could barely register what was real and what was imaginary from the abuse.

The whole scene gave me something to think about. Suicide was never an option, not in a thousand years. If there was an afterlife, how could I approach my friends knowing that I had taken my own life? Beyond that, the whole experience was terrifying. Who was that thing? I had seen the outfit before, a circus had come to town once, the ringmaster dressed like that. Was it something inside me? Some kind of weird psychological impression? I sat, pondering over all of this in the road, lost in thought.

“Well, that was different.”

My heart leapt into my throat as I jumped, screaming at the well-dressed ghoul standing behind me. The mare smirked as my pulse slowed to a far more reasonable rate, no doubt evaluating my great first impression. My chest heaved, dragging in long calming breaths.

“Better?”

“Y-yeah. You’re real right? Not just a screw loose in my head?”

We shared the same croaking laugh, hers coming out a little higher than mine, “You’re an interesting one, but I’m as real as the next pony.”

“How do I know you’re not just a really convincing headache?” I felt a sharp rap on my forehead, followed by a poke the chest. Just from those two taps, I felt a great surge of joy. Somepony like me, real, not growling. She blinked as I wrapped her in a hug.

“Alrighty cuddler, while I can still breath thank you.” The mare smiled, pushing a battered hat up to get a better look at me. “That prove it? Or do I need to touch you more?”

Nickering, I got to my hooves, “No, thanks for the offer.”

“Wow, ouch,” her hooves went to her heart in mock shock. “Hug me out of the blue then reject me. Hit me right there, why don’t you?”

“Well, somepony willing to jump these bones the way I am, seems a bit too good to be true.”

“A lot of things are out here. Too good I mean,” she added hastily. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before, new in town?”

“Something like that,” I shrugged. The mare’s glance encouraged me to continue. “I mean, I’m local to Manehatten, just had a lie in.”

“How long?”

“Woke up two, three days ago.”

The rasping laugh came back, the mare wiping an imaginary tear away. “Wow, I’m impressed you still have all your marbles. Most of them, at least.”

“You and me both. Maybe somepony could trade them for a time machine. Go back and stop all of this from happening.”

A sad smile. “Well, that would be too good to be true. Still, you’re new to town in that way. Come with me.”

“Come with you, where?”

“A few of us marble-holding ghouls have a town. Nothing too fancy, but enough to get us by. Keeps us safe from prying eyes.” She beckoned for me to follow, and began to trot onwards.

“Safe sounds good right now.” I followed a little behind her, looking around. “I didn’t catch your name, I’m Hard Copy.”

A gentle, if somewhat grim, smile. “Blue Bobbin, a pleasure.”

We trotted in silence for a moment, my mind attaching threads. “Blue… not of Bobbin’s Tailoring?”

“Well, well, somepony knows his fashion,” the seamstress chuckled lightly, though it came out deep and rasping. “I’m glad someone recognises it all.”

“Recognise? I bought all my dinner jackets from your boutique! Possibly from you, yourself!” My own laughter joined the air, the dumbest of smiles on my face. “What are the chances?”

“You’d be surprised, most ghouls know one another. Though I doubt you bought that one from myself, my clothing was good but not post-apocalypse-surviving good.”

I blew the thought away with a snort, “Balefire has had odd choices for what dies and what doesn’t, I’m not going to question it much further.”

“Don’t we know it. But life struggles on, in whatever way we can fashion it. We make do, we mend, we try.” She spoke the words like a recital, trying to convince herself of the mantra more than anyone else. “We never give up though, no matter what the world tries to do.”

She beckoned, drawing attention to how slow we were walking, “Come on, shake a hoof, we’ve a long way to travel.”

“Yeah. What’s this place called?”

“To me, it’s home.”

We moved out of sight of the strange street, my eye catching the smallest of movements on a glass shard. A pony wearing a mask, half comedy half tragedy, juggled grenades on a unicycle. I shook my head and caught up to Blue Bobbin.

“Others call it Craterside.”

Hey Hard,

Hope you’re feeling well after your first night out with a real mare! Tell you what, you can walk the walk, I’ll get you signed up for Pinkie’s special dance classes. They’re ideal for the stallion on the dancefloor, and not too bad in a pinch when it comes to stealth ops either. My favourite move is the old Wonderbolt Shuffle, apparently that was made by the Ministry Mare of the Ministry of Awesome!

That’s a mouthful.

I’m sure you’ll get used to calling Pinkie by her first name, if she’s in a good mood then she won’t grumble about it. Just don’t get too carried away, she may have a few years in her but she’s one of Princess Luna’s chosen!

On that note, don’t worry. There’s nothing, and I mean nothing, between me and Gentle Giant. Fraternising with a co-worker isn’t looked on too well here, we’re all friends but we have a bloody important job to do. Sometimes, you’ll have to switch off that smile and those feelings. If you’ve fallen for somepony, then that’ll just complicate things.

Still though, we’ll hold you to it. I want to see your name in lights at Hoofbeats. Then you can finally get your round in, don’t think I didn’t notice! Forgive you this time, but only because I’m your senior.

Your number one techie

Gadget

PS: Found Mint-Als are a great hangover cure if you’re suffering, Party Time if you can get them! Learned that trick from a pegasus the other month.

New Trait: Wild Wasteland – You’re more likely to find the stranger goings on in the Equestrian Wastes. The question is, are they truly happening? Or is it your mind slipping? Figure that one out before you get a hunger for brains.

New Perk: Casual Reader – Long gone are the days of actual newspapers, instead you’re more likely to find the odd magazine here and there. Who knows, there might be some useful tips inside. You’ll retain the knowledge gained for longer.