While Swift and Handy are busy trying to schmooze their way out of an absurdly high debt, on behalf of the singing quartet, Gearing does an excellent job of making himself scarce. He needed time to think. And much more time than what a simple trip down S.A.T.S. lane would provide. But he knows the perfect distraction. Something that’ll simultaneously be universally productive, while giving him the time to think and sort things out that he needs. Something to keep him from having a nervous breakdown over the realization that he’s spent the last week plotting the murder of some kid. Loan shark or no, she’s just a kid.

The little blue pegasus in his head hops around waving banners as it squeals with delight, ‘I finally get to go to the museum!’

He didn’t think he’d have time before, but now he has a perfect excuse. Maybe the universe doesn’t hate him as much as he thinks.

But then the little blue pegaus in his head glares at him like he’s stupid and reminds him, ‘The reason we’re winging it out of town is you’re trying to forget the fact that we’ve been plotting to kill a little filly, before we realized it was a filly and not some mob boss adult. So, yes, the universe still hates us.’

I can’t kill her. I can’t. I just can’t. I got to find out some other solution… maybe stealing or destroying her resources will put an end to it. There’s no way someone like that is particularly powerful on her own, she’s got to have some linchpin we can use to bring the whole house of cards down. Without killing her, Gearing mentally replies to the little blue pegasus living rent free in his head.

It doesn’t take Gearing long to find the museum, as he took flight and gave his hooves a rest as soon as he was out of sight of the little settlement. And, in doing so, getting further away from that filly, and that mocking picture of Luna, as quickly as he could in the process. Both good things. Even more so once it’s factored in that if Luna’s there, Celestia isn’t likely far away.

He zips over to the street where he’s sure the museum was, and is delighted as his Pipbuck chimes with a new marker: Hoofington Museum of Natural History.

The building, through luck or design, has fared pretty well. As he’s circling the building while still in flight he notices there’s some blast marks covering the closed shutters, and wonders if someone had already tried to get in and failed.

The thought just makes him grin as he realizes that their failure means he’s probably going to get to experience the museum unspoiled by looters.

The thought disappears and his grin falls off his face as he gets around back to the loading dock, and sees the door wide open.

Just my luck.

He glances around at the various ancient corpses outside and lets out a sigh. So many skeletons. Apparently, judging by the collection of busted hairpins, a unicorn of the past had tried to get in and failed. Though, someone had managed to get in and out. Recently at that. Gearing looks around at the open doorway and notices a few spatters of blood. Drips really. And a relatively freshly broken hairpin turned lockpick. He picks up the discarded bit of metal and examines it closely. Yup, he mentally decides. Despite Hoofington’s bitchy weather, the interior side of the improvised pick is untouched by the passing of time. Which gives Gearing a bit of hope that maybe there’s more in here than he’d originally thought. Given this bit of breaking and entering had to of been extremely recent. Within days. Weeks at the most.

He drops the bit of metal and kicks on his EFS for a moment, getting a view inside to see if the individuals are still inside. A few red bars zip around in his vision, but rather erratically. He gets a cold chill between his shoulder blades, and quickly rotates his ears in response. And it doesn’t take long for him to pick up the tell tale sounds of skittering across paper.

He gives his body a shake as he suddenly regrets giving his stun rod to Sable to carry, along with the other supplies he sent them back home with. He doesn’t want to waste ammo on such creatures, but he will if he has to. Especially if they are like the ones that swarmed him in 68.

He makes a quick note of the few scattered tin cans and rusted metal on the poured concrete loading dock. The decrepit wagon at the door with its decaying contents gets another mental note as he figures that he could pick up something from here on the way back if nothing else. At least maybe some fragments of scrap that could be used for Sable’s repair matrix to do its thing. Given the state of the world as a whole, there’s also the strong possibility that there’s something in those boxes of real value. Something that ponies who are too busy just trying to survive wouldn’t see as worthwhile.

Those with the understandable mentality of: Can’t be eaten? Can’t be drunk? Can’t be used as a weapon? Cast it off.

And Gearing can’t really blame them. But. There might be something important in those boxes. History. Their history. There’s so little left of the world that every piece of ponidom they can cling onto is important. So, he makes a note to come back and sift through those decrepit boxes for anything he might be able to save from the wastes. Something for the future generations to hold onto their heritage with. And, hopefully, understand enough not to make the same mistakes.

He starts looking around, and quickly picks up the pace of his traveling gaze, as the creepy feeling he’s having just won’t go away. Like he’s being watched. But, then again, not quite. Like tiny little bits of sand tinking against his plates. Or a swarm of ants crawling over him. Nothing to really be worried about, for him at least, but annoying. Irritating. Very much so. And his left shoulder starts getting worse the longer and more he thinks about it. He sits down and gives a sigh as he mutters, “Damn, probably just casting off another piece…” He uses his hind leg and starts scratching at the side of his left shoulder like a dog. Hitting and pinging against it repeatedly as he scrapes at it.

He leans into the action more and more and eventually, as he’d expected, the part finally pops out enough that his hoof gets the purchase it needs to bat it away. He lets out a sigh and looks at the part as it falls to the ground. He stares at it in further irritation for a moment and grumbles about the ridiculousness of it all. And, to make matters worse, he pulls back his cloak as he is well on his way to being irate as he checks himself. The part had indeed come off. This, he’s not surprised by. There are always parts pushing the older ones out and off a clockwork’s body. But these new parts don’t have the same chemical coating everywhere that the others had had. And they shine out and betray his brassy center. Even despite most of the chemical bath coating getting worn or burnt off by now, there’s a noticeable color difference in brightness between the newly uncovered piece, and those around it.

But then, there’s the other thing that he notices. This new piece doesn’t seem quite right. It’s almost the same size of the part it replaced, but not quite. Not enough to cause any issues. But noticeably smaller. To him anyway. And he’s not sure if it’s just his imagination, or does that have much more of his internal lubricant coating it than would be normal for a typical casting? Premature molting is a thing. Maybe that’s what this is. Stress induced? Well, he can’t think of what would be more stressful than waking up in this hellscape and realizing what kinda failure he is. So, it makes sense. He quickly grabs the part, and stows it away for later.

‘Always police yer brass,’ the little blue in his head says while staring at him with one eye and chewing on a cigar like some overbearing sergeant.

Once through the door and into the back area of the museum, Gearing quickly notices a lot more evidence of recent activity. And it sets him on edge.

And the constant nipping at his entire body isn’t helping at all. A breeze of annoyance that he’d really rather not deal with right now.

Inside there are even more boxes everywhere. Gearing pans his gaze around as he smiles that there’s this much intact. There’s no telling what wondrous things are held in this back storage area. No telling what-

‘Kind of fucking battle took place here,’ the little blue pegasus says as it drops the cigar from its muzzle.

Along the inside of the storeroom there are telling pock marks in the building walls and the various boxes. Judging by the bursts and lines: automatic fire. But this damage was old. He continues walking around, slowly, keeping as quiet as he can and comes across yet another skeleton. This one had been disturbed, and is currently in no position that a pony could have possibly collapsed into after death. He frowns as he wonders what reason anyone could have had for practically shoving the skeleton to the side, almost like getting poured out of their own body.

As Gearing continues through the area, his eyes dart around to the various old dusty ammo casings. All smaller caliber. Sub-machine gun style. He wonders how many battles this place has seen. And it’s an oddity considering the doors have only recently been unlocked and opened, judging by what he’s seen thus far. Here and there, more drops of blood can be seen across the floor. One trail seems like it was from somepony with a lame limb walking through it. Part walking, part dragging as it made its way out of the museum. Maybe the victor of whatever this most recent battle had been about?

Of the older battle he can make out several bullet impacts and broken bones to match the ancient dried discolored spots on the walls. One individual seems to have caught several rounds of the burst fire in the head, judging by the parts missing and other holes. Gearing frowns as he continues on and thinks about it, This wasn’t a fight. This was out right murder. And why aren’t there any signs of other weapons and return fire? It’s all the same caliber. There’s no way it was a single individual that perpetrated all of this...

As he’s stalking through the back areas of the museum he can’t help but notice a headline of an ancient newspaper: ‘M.o.M. Victorious! Four-Year Murder Spree Comes to an End!’

He stares at the headline as he freezes solid mid step. He doesn’t need to read any further to know exactly what that paper is talking about. He remembers vividly exactly where he was when he’d read the headline for the first time. When it was hot off the presses and new. His mind jumps to the headlines, both public and back channel, that preceded, and followed, this one. Of one foal after another being killed. How Buck had been taking it as a personal nightmare that even with their office’s help they just couldn’t stop it. Gearing wanted that psycho bad when he’d found out about it. But, like many other things, it just wasn’t in the cards for him. The dice never rolled the way he’d need them to. If they knew who it was from the start, he’d gladly have removed the problem. But the threat area was too wide for him to do it effectively. It wasn’t like a single family, or even small town, was under threat. Practically every foal in Hoofington was in danger. And Gearing couldn’t be everywhere at once. No pony can.

So they had him where he would be most effective for the overall effort. He knew it. Even back then. But he still didn’t like the fact that he felt like foals were dying all around him, and he couldn’t do anything about it. The ‘Angel’s’ murder rampage was a more effective terror tool than most Zebra’s actual attempts at destabilizing the morale of the country. Some had even tried to compare it to Littlehorn in respect to its effect on the population.

The Ministry of Image squashed that pretty quickly though.

Gearing shakes his head and gives a snort as he mutters with a scowl, “Hope she’s been burning in hell…” He continues on and his eyes trail over to the ground ahead where he sees a familiar shape. He can’t help but smile as he sees the large brown bug with a noticeable hoofprint in its body. Gooey bits spurting out around it in every direction as somepony, quite obviously, didn’t much care for radroaches either. He mentally thanks his ally in roach extermination and continues onwards.

The employee break room was next along the way. But, it didn’t take long for Gearing to realize the room had already been ransacked. The medical box on the wall was still partially opened where someone had picked its lock and absconded with the interior supplies. Figuring that anything of value in there that he’d want others would as well, and thus they’d be gone already, he decides to bypass wasting any more time and continues on to the actual museum patron areas.

Immediately upon coming out of the back, Gearing finds evidence of the most recent fight. If not the fight’s actual ground zero. A number of bodies lay around in drying pools of blood. Relatively fresh. The foyer had been turned into a battleground and he zips around and checks the bodies to see if there are any survivors. Judging from the trails of blood, some made it out. Two, maybe three. Hard to say given his only clues are the blood trails and disturbed dust. Of the bodies laying around, the fresh ones anyway, all of their equipment’s been removed. Taken by the victors no doubt. One had their throat slit. Another seems to have been stabbed repeatedly in the chest. Fresh bullet casings of a variety of sizes give evidence to rifles and shotguns being used on top of the ancient SMG small caliber bullet casings from before.

“What could have been here that was worth all this?” Gearing asks the universe as he takes in the carnage. He activates S.A.T.S. and starts trying to target any of the motionless ponies. But, the system doesn’t recognize them as a targetable object, and refuses. Which draws a frown from him as he decides to manually check them all again and cancels S.A.T.S. almost as quickly as he started it. Just to make sure.

As he’s scrambling around, he steps on something small and meaty that makes a wet pop when he steps on it. He lifts his hoof back up, and examines the bloody mess on both his hoof and the floor, and a moment later his eyes jump to their widest in horror. “Is- is that- a testicle?!” He starts shaking his hoof as he tries to flick off some of the gore and asks in dismay, “What kinda fucking party was this?!” He shakes his hoof a few more times as he continues walking and moans, “I’m gonna have to find something to scrape this off of me with… this is fucked up.”

Out of all of the ponies he checks, there are no survivors. Some of which checking for a pulse was merely a formality as they were missing way more of their head or vital bits than could possibly be survivable. He’s not sure when somepony else might show up. And as he looks around the museum, trying to imagine what it used to look like back in its heyday, before it became a multi battle zone in the middle of a war zone, his eyes trail over the various displays he can see. And eventually his eyes settle on the massively disheveled display right in the center of it all.

A grin crosses his muzzle as he gets an idea about the collapsed skeletal display, and what he could do with it.

Because, even long dead, and currently in a heap, the skeleton of a dragon is still formidable.

The little blue pegasus in his head starts hopping around on the tips of his hooves as he squeals, ‘Souvenirs! Souvenirs! Souvenirs, yay!’

The fighting had gotten so fierce here that at least one pony had picked up the bones of the dragon, that had once been on display in the center of the rotunda like some sort of macabre puppet, and started using them to fight with. Whatever crap caliber ammunition they were using, did little to nothing to the bones. Even in death, this fearsome beast simply shrugged off the bullets with an ethereal laugh. Some bullets had impacted and simply shattered, creating little rings of powder and lead. The only thing the bone was willing to give the intruders for their effort. Lead polka dots.

Gearing rummages around the dragon corpse and starts collecting every claw he can find. He was hoping for a full set, but there’s at least one missing. He pulls the bit of wire armature off to collect them, and stows them inside of a metal box for safe storage. He takes extra care in securing them properly because he doesn’t want somepony to get stabbed or cut with them.

The thought makes him stand up straight as he looks over the pony bodies around him. A slit throat… repeated stabs in the chest with puncture wounds that… He holds up one of the larger claws and nods as he eyeballs the wound diameter. Yup. Someone had used at least one claw to kill them. Though, since none of the ones he’s salvaged have enough blood on them, he’s sure the individual ran off with it. Maybe one of the survivors had kept it as a trophy, or further use.

But they didn’t touch one glaring source.

Gearing, after securing even the last pinkie toe claw he can find, begins working on the skull. He only pays the pony under the skull a fleeting glance before he gets to work. They obviously had been standing in the wrong place at the wrong time. And aren’t doing much more than gluing the dragon skull to the floor. Saying they were beyond help would be an understatement.

One by one Gearing works the fangs of the dragon out of the skull. There’s enough of the set here he wonders if he could make a complete set of equipment for himself. Or a couple ponies really. Two per hoof would be more than enough to rend most flesh open with a single swipe. He glances at his wings and starts thinking of a few designs he could use for making the dragon parts effective there as well. Not exactly wing blades. But close. And it’d give him more reach and maneuverability.

As he’s stowing the last of the teeth in with the rest of the claws he ties the box and attaches it to his saddle bags on his back. He can think of many uses for these. And, obviously, there’s at least one pony in Hoofington that has the wits to see their potential. He thinks about leaving a couple, maybe for that unknown pony, but thinks better of it. Given the evidence of the local idiots, they’d likely just use them for target practice. And, since they already left, they obviously took whatever they wanted with them when they went.

He glances at the empty battle saddles in the area that surrounds the rotunda and shakes his head. Obviously looted. No point in even checking. But he realizes there might be something in one of these exhibits. That he’d want. Or, at least, use. The stairs up makes an inviting call to him, but that won’t do until he’s had a view of this lower level. Another squashed radroach on the floor earns his gratitude and a smirk on his muzzle as he’s on his way through a side door.

He stares at the sign pointing towards ‘Rocks of Equestria’ and can’t help a giddy smile forming on his muzzle. Gearing takes a step in that direction, but then stops short. He looks at the sign for a moment longer as he debates on it, but then frowns and turns the other way as he bypasses it and mutters, “Business before pleasure, Gearing… Business before pleasure… There’ll be plenty of time to see the geology exhibit later…”

The little blue pegasus in his head rolls round on the ground of his mindspace and screams, ‘But there’ll be a whole mineral display we can take in there! We can set it up in 68’s schoolroom! Awww come on! I want it, I want it, I want it!’

Gearing walks into an exhibit surrounded by cases and dioramas, and instantly his frown grows in strength. Smashed cases lay everywhere. Most of which look like they were shot out. Though he realizes that was probably because they were targeting the patrons or whoever was in here when the fighting took place, and not the displays themselves.

Gearing walks over and looks down at some of the old pottery and woven baskets of truly ancient times and feels a pang of sadness for the loss. Regardless of how they aged or the condition they were found in from time immemorial, the last two hundred years had not been kind. They’re barely holding together. In fact, he can see an ancient Zebra spear that somepony had tried to pick up and use recently, and all it’d done is practically disintegrate into pieces from simply being touched.

He strolls over and examines a diorama with a miraculously still functioning magical volcano that puffs up smoke every now and then. At its base is a small zebra community. He knows, from his own reading, that this isn’t particularly to scale, as one of the theories he’d read about as a foal said the exploding volcano wiped everything out in Hoofington long ago. So it’d be even bigger if they wanted it to be to scale. But, for educational purposes, it gets the point across. And a pass for inaccuracy. He can’t help but wonder about the irony of it. First the Zebra were here, then they got wiped out by massive blasts of unknown origin. Then Ponies came, and were practically wiped out by blasts of hoof origin. How long would it be before what had happened back in October would be forgotten? Lost to time, like the ones that had originally made the shattered pots that litter the floor of this exhibit room at his hooves. What kind of irony would it have been if the original blast that took out the zebras of Hoofington had been hoof wrought as well? And equinity simply hadn’t learned from our mistakes then, and we’re doomed to repeat them?

‘Wouldn’t that mean that we’ve struck out at least twice, and are likely to do it again?’ the little blue pegasus in his head chimes in with a raised hoof.

Gearing doesn’t want to deal with this at the moment. It’s depressing enough. He came here to try and relax, not get worked up more. He quickly leaves the ancient zebra civilization area to its own misery as he steps into the next room. And once inside he comes face to face with a pony he really doesn’t like.

More accurately, he notices the ‘lazy son of a mule noble’ lying on the ground as his statue had either fallen or gotten knocked over.

‘Blueblood,’ the little pony in his head sneers.

Prince Blueblood the who-the-fuck-cares, Gearing mentally confirms. The whole family was despicable as far as Gearing is concerned. Rotten to the core with false self importance and, if his knowledge of history serves him, has a rather strong hoof placement in the start of the war to begin with. Damn nobles and their egos.

The little pegasus in his head raises a hoof and bucks a gong a few times to get his attention before saying, ‘Don’t forget that buck with the name that fits the family… He seems… passable.’

Vanity. Gearing nods as he’s reminded of him. The only noble to not simply volunteer for military service, but an actual combat role at that. One of Big Macs’ Marauders. According to all records, both public and not, he’d fought with distinction and honor. A true fit that had earned his place among the Marauders. Somepony to be respected. Not for lineage, but for deeds.

‘Maybe he was adopted’, the little blue pegasus suggests from his place sitting on his steam chest.

The universe would make much more sense then. If that were the case.

But Blueblood, and the rest of the family, had been a source of irritation for Gearing. Privileged rich mules that only care about themselves and nopony else by his account.

‘Supposedly related to the Princesses, so maybe that had something to do with it as well,’ the little blue pegasus in his head chimes in.

Gearing nods and starts walking by, and over, the statue as he looks around. In a momentary lapse into foalhood, Gearing steps on and smears a combination of blood, gore, mud, stagnant water, and general filth from his hooves, all over Blueblood’s face and leather barding. Gearing scrapes off his hooves onto the statue as he snickers, “Hey, look, you’re being useful for once…”

As he’s enjoying himself by mucking up the statue of an anciently dead aristocrat, something else catches his eye. A case that hadn’t been broken into yet. He trots over, staring at it’s interior, as a smile gets even wider across his muzzle. An old sword, of zebra craft if his knowledge of history is correct, sits like a beacon to good taste. But it still looks as hard and foreboding as if it’d been forged yesterday. He’s not sure what kind of enchantments are on the case to have allowed this piece to be so perfectly preserved when everything else had failed, but he thanks the masters of the museum for sparing the expense.

He runs his hooves over the glass and can’t help but snicker as he sees the tell tale signs of where someone else had tried to get in here. With outright force. Dirty hoof marks on the glass in smears where they’d tried to get in repeatedly, but failed. There’s even fragments around the case where somepony had broken something over the case trying to bash it open. This case had taken a beating and just sneered at them in return. Impressively so. His eyes trail over the case until he sees a lock along the edge. He stoops down and looks at it as he ponders its difficulty.

Just like the enchantments on the case itself, this lock isn’t some mass produced hardware store find. They paid top dollar for this and he’s going to have to take his time to get it open. He raises his head and looks around for a terminal for a few moments as he wonders if there’s some way to bypass the security and have the terminal unlock it. But, no. No such luck.

He leans in and gives the glass a kiss as he pats the case. “Oh. You just sit right there you gorgeous thing you. I’ll be right back. And then you’ll be all mine.” He lets his eyes trail over the brilliant nearly white silver blade, with the ornate etchings as he debates breaking his own rule. But, no. He really does need to scout out the rest of the museum before spending however much time this is going to take.

The little blue pegasus in his head whimpers and cries as he begs Gearing to break his own rule on such things.

But, as dutiful as ever, Gearing mutters, for himself to hear and help reinforce his own will, “Business before pleasure, Gearing… Business before pleasure…” His eyes trail over a series of pictures along the wall depicting the leading theory for the destruction of the ancient Hoofington zebra peoples, and he decides to move on. The sooner he goes and secures the museum against any surprises, the sooner he can get back. Though the last picture on the wall makes him sigh as he sees a parallel between the world he woke up in, and the ashed hellscape that they believed covered the Hoofington valley during the theorized volcanic cataclysm. “Those who don’t learn from the past, are doomed to repeat it...”

He keeps his eyes off to the side, looking at the pictures and related information, as he walks forward through the door to the next room.

Something in the gloom in front of him catches his attention via his peripheral vision and he whips his head frontward to come face to face with his next challenger.

The blue pegasus in his head jumps up in the air so quickly that feathers get scattered in a variety of directions as it silently screams. It zips around, jumps into its steam chest, and then spins the box fast enough to dig a hole into the ground until it’s buried under a mound of dirt.

Gearing’s head jerking had thrown the cowl off of his head as he turned to look at who this dark figure was that was trying to silently sneak up on him. And had practically succeeded. As the lights, sensing the motion of his entrance, rise up, the fright he’d felt before gets dwarfed. His fight or flight response, while on a hair trigger, practically vaporizes as he knows there is no fighting the monstrosity in front of him.

Nightmare Moon. Luna. Staring down at him with her horn aimed at him as she prepares to blast him with whatever evil she can contrive to make him suffer. A sneering look of contempt plain to see across her muzzle as she moves to strike him down.

Gearing’s eyes open to their widest as his legs shake. He stumbles backwards as he stares at her in complete unhindered terror. His mind races a mile a minute and, by pure accident, he activates S.A.T.S. He tries to queue weapon blasts at her. He has his rifle. Even at this range it shouldn’t be a problem. But it won’t target her. Nothing will. It’s like it refuses to even register her presence. He curses the universe. He curses who ever made it so the matrix wouldn’t target the princesses, despite the user’s dire need. He swears that once he dies, he’s going to track the bastard down and shove his phantom hoof right up their phantom sphincter. She’d followed him. He’s sure of it. Maybe from that church? She really was staring at me! She knew! She’s just been waiting on a chance to finish what she started. Like getting Equestria turned into a poisonous waste wasn’t bad enough. Now she’s here to kill me, or worse, too...

He’d felt eyes earlier. And has been getting that itchy, creepy, horrible feeling since leaving Chapel. It bothered him so much that he’d prematurely cast off a plate. Now he’s staring down one of the most destructive forces on Equus. It’s almost enough to give a clockwork a heart attack. And he doesn’t even have one where that’s possible.

S.A.T.S. ends as it runs out of charge and normal time resumes.

Gearing drops down and back, cowering away and putting up his forelegs to shield his head from the incoming blow as he covers himself with his wings. He slams into the ground causing a screeching noise as he slides back and away from her out of pure instinct. He stays tense, holding the same pose, as he awaits the coming strike. And possible death.

And waits.

And waits.

And waits some more.

He slowly moves his wings and his hooves to see what’s taking so long, and finds her in that exact same pose. His eyes dart around her quickly. Looking for any sort of even micro movement of motion. But. Nothing. Not a blink. Not the slight slide of muscle under pelt as she shifts weight. Nothing. Not even the movement of her torso from breathing. He stares longer. Noting that even her nostrils aren’t moving.

At all.

He slowly starts climbing up and getting closer to her, ever so slowly, as he notices she’s somehow maintaining an awkward pose without any movement whatsoever. He waves a wing in front of her face, and then hops back and away from her expecting her to lash out.

But, no, she remains glaring out in pure contempt from under her helmet. Yet still makes no movement.

Gearing starts swaying side to side as he looks her over and says with a whisper, “It’s a statue… it’s just a statue…” he starts backing up away from it, slowly, as he doesn’t take his eyes off of it. “It’s just a statue, Gearing… just a statue.” The whole time he focuses the entirety of his will to try and make the statement true and takes extra care to not take his eyes off of her. Because, if he does, she might come after him.

Don’t blink. Don’t blink. Don’t blink...

He continues backing up, while staring at the door to the room where the statue sits, all the way through the next exhibit. Near the far side he stumbles over a bit of debris as he’s so focused on that door that he doesn’t have enough concentration to watch his footing. After practically falling over the toppled statue of Prince Blueblood, Gearing spins around and takes off down the hall, flying as quickly as he can as he makes a straight line for the exit.

Gearing abandons all thought of looking any further into the museum. There’s business. There’s pleasure. But then there’s the third priority that mustn’t be overlooked.

Survival.

And, at the moment, this falls squarely in the middle of that last category as every fiber of his being urges him to vacate before he’s dragged into yet another battle inside of this museum. One that he can’t possibly win.

Gearing is most of the way back to Chapel before his mind settles down enough to allow him to land and take stock of what had just happened. He finds some rubble and burrows into it through an opening and hides among the pile for a few moments as he does his best to stop shaking. Now that he’s gotten away from the museum, and the creature held within, his logical mind is released from its tomb and allowed to start cleaning up the mess his pure unabashed panic has left in his brain.

Tick.

Tick.

CLICK.

Of course that had to be a statue. Luna had died in Canterlot when the bombs fell. Celestia too. Most likely. His panic brings up the immense difficulty of killing somepony like that. His logical mind rebuts with a point on why would Luna be hanging out in a museum anyway. She didn’t move. At all. She’s still organic. She’s still got to breath. It was not Luna. It was not Nightmare Moon. And none of them are coming to get him. The rest of his psyche screams out ‘bullshit!’ and the logical part of his mind concedes, partially, with, At the moment…

As his tremors slowly start to pass he suddenly becomes very grateful that he never went to the museum before. Had he had this response back then, it would have been a disaster. A buck being scared of a statue of Nightmare Moon would have made him a laughing stock at best. Ranting about Luna coming to get him would have been far worse. He huddles down and holds his head as he forces himself to breath. Not that he needs the air, but the repetitive movements help him relax with their regular motions. Given the method he’d gone through the museum, and the trip getting cut short due to unexpected terror, he has not been gone from Chapel terribly long. Even more so given how he had abandoned almost everything that might have been of either use or desire in the museum.

Especially the sword.

The little blue pegaus in his head bursts out of the ground, and its steam chest, as it makes itself known long enough to scream, ‘Fuck that!’

Gearing agrees. He’s sure he’ll never come across something so magnificent again. Let alone having a chance to have it as his own. But. It’s not worth him having a mental meltdown because of the creature sitting in the next room. Statue or not. He doesn’t want to be anywhere near them.

He gets up out of the hole he’s in and shakes himself off as he starts heading back towards the Chapel post office. Along the way he covers back up with the cloak, including cowl. No point in getting away from that monstrosity only for his shiny ass to get picked off from a distance. If nothing else, this mollifies his insecurities about what he should be doing and where he should be going from here. It’s even more of a reason to hurry up and get to where he was truly planning on going anyway. Now he just needs to pass off a few things, and a message, and continue on to his goal. There’s going to be some fallout from this. Lots of things that he’s going to have to apologize for later. But there’s no helping it. He needs to get things back on track to getting better as soon as possible. And all of the side tracking is making him put it off far too long. Regardless of the best intentions that are causing it.

As he’s stepping inside the post office, he notices the group of children he’d originally seen outside playing again. This time they don’t run off, and just watch him with curiosity as he heads back inside. The little gray colt among them actually shoots a wide grin in his direction as he continues playing with the newly fixed wagon between his forehooves.

Inside the post office, Gearing finds Swift and Handy sitting at either end of the customer service desk turned shop counter as they talk with Charity. Swift nods a few times, more than necessary in Gearing’s opinion, as she says, “We’ll take care of it. No problem.” She turns to look at Gearing and tilts her head as she says, “That box is new. Been digging around again?”

Gearing walks up to her while he keeps his head pointed in Charity’s direction as she starts haggling with Handy. The poor buck seems to be on the losing streak of a game of chance given the sour look on his face. Which is saying something when it comes to Handy.

The little blue pegasus in Gearing’s head grumps, ‘Why’d she have to be a little filly?! That’d make things so much easier...’

And, just like that, he’s right back in the funk he was in when he left Chapel. But, given what had happened at the museum, he’s far worse now than he was.

Gearing sits near Swift as he keeps his head low and practically hides behind the cowl of his cloak as he tries to ignore the little yellow shopkeeper. “A bit. You like getting up close and personal right? Well I found some things that’ll let me make something for you to replace that old powerhoof with.”

Swift quickly pulls her powerhoof laden leg in towards herself as she says quickly, “Nope. I’m not replacing it.”

Gearing tilts his head so he can look at her with one eye. “Why not? Smashing something’s all fine and good. But with a bit of extra oomph you could really be ripping them apart.”

Swift smiles at him lightly and then nuzzles the powerhoof with her cheek as she actually holds it there with her other forehoof as well. “Thank you, Gearing. But I can’t. Really. This one’s special…”

He glances down at it and tilts his head as he asks, “Why? Can’t get it off?”

Swift snickers and shakes her head before leaning towards Gearing. “Handy made it for me from a busted one he found. It’s been kind of like my good luck charm since we got together.” She looks over at Handy and takes on a warm glowing smile that he’s only really seen recently on Sable when she’s looking at him and doesn’t think he can see her. “He can drive me a bit crazy at times, but I love him all the more, all the same.” She lifts the powerhoof and nuzzles it again while she looks at Handy as he seems to pass over the last of his caps to Charity. “I draw a lot of strength from my family. And this was the first thing he’d ever given me. It’s like it represents the start of our relationship. I wouldn’t trade it for the world!”

Gearing nods as he looks away from her and sighs. “Yeah, I get it. Sentimental value trumps everything else.” He waves a hoof around as he says quietly, “If you change your mind, or want an extra spare just in case, let me know.”

Swift waves it off and smiles. “I’m sure it won’t be needed. The one who built it did a great job. It’s gotten us through a lot! But, thank you. If I change my mind I’ll let you know.”

Gearing nods then lifts his head up so she can see at least one of his eyes as he asks softly, “So, you get the children’s debt sorted out?”

Swift nods and frowns lightly. “Yeah. Just a few things we gotta do and we’ll be in the clear.”

‘Heard that before’, the little blue pegasus in Gearing’s head says with a huff as it glares daggers at the little yellow filly sucking every cap she can get out of Handy.

Gearing lifts a wing to pull the cloak away from himself and quickly starts putting a few items in a bag that he’d brought with him. He figures he’s going to need as much carry capacity as he can get, and there’s no point in him taking most of this with him when no one else is going to be able to come along. He pulls out a bit of paper and starts writing on it as he tries to figure out which of what he needs to do, needs to be done first. Word of mouth or even an audio recording just doesn’t feel right in this case, so he hopes written form is at least satisfactory enough to explain what’s going on.

Charity’s eyes jump over to Gearing’s body as he lifts up his cloak to get access to some of the bags underneath. That golden glint was all her perceptive eyes needed. And her eyes don’t simply trail over his now exposed body, but jump around across the surface of his metallic pelt as she minutely evaluates his form. From plate to plate to ‘armor component’ or sparkling gear. But only across his markless haunch as the rest of him is still hidden pretty well under the ratty cloak. And the more bright metal she sees on him, the bigger her smile gets.

“Hey, metal butt!” Charity calls out from the shop counter to get his attention.

Which undoubtedly works. But not likely in the way, nor the reason, she’d really been intending.

Gearing slowly turns his head to look at her and scowls in her general direction from under the cowl as he asks flatly, “What?”

She leans to the side and waves at him. “We don’t have any of that tech stuff you’re always after. But you Steel Ranger types like going through lots of bullets and grenades, right?” She rubs her hooves together and grins at him widely. “That I can help you out with!” She leans across the counter and pushes out her lower lip ever so much as it trembles with expert timing. “They aren’t easy to get for us little fillies; it’s dangerous out there in the wastes. So pleaaase pay us enough to eat. That’s all we ask. We’re not asking for much…” She opens her eyes to their widest, to the point where they’re partially sparkling, as she says, “Four caps each for 5mm, and fifty per grenade.”

Handy and Swift both zip their focus to look at Gearing like he’d said or done something wrong. To make the poor little filly beg for food like this. Sure, it might be a bit pricey, but it’s a perfectly reasonable request. And food’s expensive. Especially when you have this many mouths to feed. Their scowl just gets even worse by the second as they start wondering how heartless he could really be.

Gearing stares at Charity and makes no attempt to hide his contempt. From his reckoning, she’s royally screwed over Swift already. Somehow getting her to agree to who knows what in order to pay off a debt that shouldn’t have existed in the first place. Being the same individual that put such a high priced burden on those children makes matters way worse. He’s sure dealing with someone like this really wouldn’t be the best idea, in all likelihood. He’s not sure if simply haggling with her lets her mess with your mind with some cheaty magic that she’s hiding somewhere or what. But Swift and Handy have obviously fallen for it. He’s determined that he’s not going to. If nothing else, he’s too frustrated at the moment to give her enough consideration to fall for anything. Given what he knows of her, he’d sooner trust a Zebra commando than this little yellow filly. And the entire thought train just makes him more bitter the more he looks at her.

He tries not to be unnecessarily rude, but there’s no helping it.

“I don’t have any blood for you to drain,” he quips.

‘So much for being civil,’ the little blue pegasus in his head says with a sigh.

“I’ve heard what kind of businessmare you are and there’s nothing to discuss. I’m still trying to wrap my head around using bottle caps for currency. So. No. I don’t have anything of value for you to take. And, even if I did, I highly doubt you’d let anything I’d actually need go for such a meager amount. But, I really doubt you’d actually have anything I’d want anyway. Let alone actually need. So it’s a moot point.” He gets up and starts to turn to leave, while Swift sits there with an absolutely appalled look across her face.

Charity eyes him for a few moments before stopping him with a question. “Heeey! Don’t count us out, we get around. What is it you really want? We might have it!”

Gearing whips back around in a swift about-face and sits down as he stares at Charity through his improvised cloak’s cowl. “Got a time machine?”

Charity smirks and gives an amused snort before replying, “If I did, I’d be rich.”

Gearing shrugs then shoves a hoof out at her. And he can’t help noticing her eyes jumping down to his golden hoof, which just makes him even more annoyed. “See. You’re thinking about money. Money. Money. Money. Money. Money! All I’d want is to go home… See, I got knocked out, and thrown in stasis. Next time I opened my eyes, the whole world’s gone to shit.” He motions back behind him to the wastes out the door. “Only thing green out there in most of Equestria is radioactive waste…” He points a hoof upwards. “And, apparently, I can’t even go home. I’ll never get to walk on the clouds anymore. It’s things like that I want. Things like that I enjoy. But, someone like you wouldn’t understand…”

He points his hoof out of the cloak at her as he nods slowly. “Oooooh yeah. I know you’re type! I had to live day in and day out knowing scumbags like you were not only around, but actually screwing everything up for their own profit.” He waves the hoof around as he rattles off, “Nobles, traitors, moles, businessbucks and fillies. Tons of them would turn on and screw over their own family for just a few more bits in their pockets.”

“It was nobles that pushed for the bullshit war. Their arrogance. Their greed! And look what it got us all? Total balefire megaspell annihilation! Was it worth it? Huh?! Millions dead, and the world in ruin, and for what? A stupid tiny piece of metal?! With idiots and heartless cretins trying to amass as many as they can for no other purpose than just to have them. Trying to get every last one the world had to offer.”

He stomps with all four hooves simultaneously as he screams, “All for not!”

He throws a forehoof out at Charity as he yells, “Get your damn priorities straight! There’s more to life than just money! And, here, let me give you a bit of a leg up on that realization with some hard won two hundred year old knowledge: You. Will never. Own. Every. Single. Bit. Nor. Cap!” He stomps a hoof with each word before he uses his wing to pull out a single solitary cap from one of his pockets and holds it aloft for her to see. “See this? This tiny bit of metal? Yeah, you want it. I can see it in your eyes. You want it. Just like you want all of them. You’re all the same! You want me to prove you’ll never get them all, no matter what you do, nor how many you screw over and get killed?! Here!”

He uses his wing and puts half of the cap in his mouth, and chomps down. He twists his head and jaw, alternating with his wing as the metal of the cap actually bends and rips. He throws both pieces in his mouth and quickly starts grinding and chomping on it as he throws the cloak’s cowl back and lets her watch him completely annihilate the Sparkle Cola cap. He sticks his tongue out at her, showing the small fragments, before quickly pulling it back in and doing an exaggerated show of swallowing before opening his mouth again and showing that, yes, he really did just eat it.

Her eyes shoot wide open instantly, and for more reasons than just the display.

“See! That’s one cap you’re never going to get either!” He thrusts out his hoof at her and screams, “So get that through your greedy, disgusting, little skull. Please!” He turns around and starts stomping towards the door as he continues, “Before your endless greed gets everypony killed… Again!”

He tosses a bag at Swift’s hooves as he scowls. “Give that to Sable. I’m not dealing with this shit anymore. I’m done. I’m out of here. There’s more important things that I should be doing... I’ll see you around.”

He starts stomping out of the door as he grumbles, loudly, “Charity! Hah! You’re the antithesis of charity!” He spins around at the door and points at her from the threshold. “With a name like that, either your parents have a sick sensee of humor, or they’re exceedingly disappointed in you right now. Naming you ‘Charity’, pah!” He closes his eyes as he leans in and screams at her, in quite a foalish fashion, “More like ‘Avarice’!”

He spins around again and heads out into the street. “I’ve got my own mission. And while it won’t put a single bit in my pack… or cap… whatever… it’ll bring me joy. The joy of helping others. Of trying to improve this forsaken waste into something that might at least resemble the old Equestria I remember.” After exiting he mutters, “It’s the only kind of joy I’m allowed to have now… apparently.”

Everyone stares at him wide eyed with their mouths hanging agape. Completely dumbfounded by the thorough and seemingly unprovoked verbal onslaught. The other kids stare at him in surprise and disbelief because no one talks to Charity like that. Bickering and haggling over prices, sure. But nothing like that.

Swift and Handy likewise stare at him in a mixture of shock and confusion. For Gearing doesn’t just go off on somepony. And never a kid. That was outright vicious. And, when it comes to children and the young, it’s just not in his nature. Not to kids. Not even to adults. They’re quite certain if he was that angry at an adult, he’d just shoot them instead of wasting the time berating them. They can’t figure out, at all, what could have triggered him to lose it like that. Going from a simple barter transaction to apparently out right accusing Charity of being personally responsible for the apocalypse? Not even Nahlah could make a jump like that.

A few of the kids out in the street scatter back and away when he comes out, but still look at him with jaws agape as Gearing quickly starts looking around. He walks by the gray colt that is still clutching his wagon close to himself, and comments flatly, “Here, I won’t be needing this where I’m going. You kids enjoy them.”

Gearing drops an already prepared bag at the gray colt’s hooves, and it falls over. He’d had it as spares, and just kept it with him ‘just in case’ when he dropped off so much at Megamart. But, there are no such relevant cases that might pop up now for what’s in the bag. The colt looks down in time to see a couple unopened cans and a box of snack cakes fall out of the bag. And a few other food items further inside. The gray colt looks up with a smile to thank Gearing, but notices he’s already gone further down the road.

Gearing looks at a couple kids huddled under the porch roof of one of the houses and tosses another bag in their general direction. He’s so angry at the moment, that he doesn’t even want to deal with the extra ‘might be useful’ scrap he’s picked up. “Here, use what you can, trade what you can’t.” Then he turns, without even looking if they’re going to pick it up or not, and continues right down the road.

Straight towards the bridge that leads to the Hoofington Core’s high walls.

The gray colt’s eyes go wide as he suddenly realizes where Gearing is headed. He drops the wagon, hops up, and runs at full speed into the church.

Gearing passes the last building and his eyes jump over to the side, where a wary filly is peeking out at him from the side of the house. Gearing unties his cloak, pulls it off, and throws it over to her with a wing. It quickly envelopes her and she gives out a startled, ‘eep’ before climbing back out of the fabric. Gearing continues down the road as he says, “That should help keep ya warm… Just keep it dry and it’ll do you some good.”

It’s at this junction that the fillies and colts of the settlement get their first clear look at Gearing, now that he’s cast off the cloak and is no longer hiding. The metallic green-winged pegasus, with practical gold glittering across various spots, is an instant curiosity. Of those that had seen Steel Rangers before, there’s a bit of confusion as they’ve never seen a Steel Ranger wearing cloaks, nor armor of that particular color. And the moving parts just don’t look quite right to them. Then there are a variety of questions about his wings, which no Steel Ranger has either. There are instant debates on if he can fly or not. With both fillies and colts arguing logic from both sides. All while they keep their distance and he continues on his journey towards the bridge.

The whole route, Gearing continues muttering to himself in ways that none present can even understand.

As Gearing is getting near the bridge, an approaching buck’s voice yells out, “Wait a moment, please!”

Gearing looks over his shoulder and stops walking as he watches a black unicorn with a dingy white mane and tail trot up quickly to him. Gearing’s not sure if his mane is that color naturally, or just perpetually dyed from the grime of the hellscape that surrounds them. Gearing’s eyes zip over to a crate a short distance away, drawn by a bit of movement, where the small gray colt he’d fixed the wagon for sits peeking out at him from behind the weathered wooden box. A growing number of other youth joins him to gawk at the strange metal pony.

Gearing directs his attention to the black unicorn buck and explores his face as he asks, “What’s up?” The question is only half-hearted as he really wants to leave yet, simultaneously, is curious about who this buck is. Especially given he’s the only adult Gearing had seen here thus far. And the variety of small scars marring his pelt lets Gearing know this individual has had quite the long history in the wasteland.

The black buck waves off towards the chapel back in the town. “My name’s Priest. Would you like to come in and talk?”

Gearing looks from him, to the chapel beyond. He feels himself shiver ever so slightly as he imagines Luna staring down and judging him again from her cozy window pane. And then that is not even mentioning the unseen Celestia. He knows there’s no telling where her likeness or general representation will show up.

The little blue pegasus in Gearing’s head frowns so hard his jaw seems to split in half as it points a hoof at Priest’s haunch.

Priest has no equipment on at all and carries nothing more than his modest saddlebags. Not a single weapon or scrap of armor to be found, leaving his mark out for all to see. A fact that draws much ire from the blue pegasus in Gearing’s head. Because his mark looks like some sort of a pegasus with their forehooves spread stretched above and their wings fanned out wide. Centered in a burst of rays, as if the pegasus was casting off the light of the sun themselves. All of which came painfully into view for Gearing as Priest turned enough to point back towards the church.

Though, given the silhouette and the area, maybe it’s not a pegasus at all… but a depiction of a certain alicorn and you just can’t see her horn from this angle… Gearing muses.

His little blue pegasus nods agreement as he seems to have come to the same conclusion.

Not a good sign.

Gearing’s eyes trail away from Priest’s mark and over to look at the Core on the other side of the bridge. On some level he feels an extra pang of loss. Sure, he didn’t like the place. It was a running joke about being the fugliest place on Equus. And that was during the war. Now, with its current condition post-apocalypse, it’s a very large reminder of his own failure. Unlike other places he’d been to before, he has a very vivid mental picture of what the Core used to look like. For him, it’s only been a matter of weeks. So the change is dramatic. He knows, for a fact, that the Core was chock full of ponies working away. And, just as certainly, he knows that each and every one of them died.

While he slept.

The green aura emanating from the inside is rather ominous, but not to be unexpected given the devastation. He’s not sure if anyone else could survive in there, if they ever made it in. He’s not even sure if he will. But it’s a risk he has to take. He has to try and get to the support he needs. To at least see if it’s still there. If not, he could always just fly back out. But, he’s come this far, and it’s this close. Enough wasted time, he mentally scolds himself.

Gearing shakes his head as he says, “Nah. I can’t. I really need to go.”

“Is there no way I can convince you to stay? At least for the night? Come back with me and we can talk about it. Then tomorrow, if you’re still certain, you can just head out. No one’ll stop you. It’ll still be there tomorrow. You got nothing to lose,” Priest seems to plea with a type of calm voice that strikes Gearing as odd. Not to mention the sad look in Priest’s eyes. And, to Priest’s credit, he’d managed to maintain as much eye contact as Gearing would allow, instead of gawking at the golden spider web of lines that mark where the left side of Gearing’s head had been mangled not long ago, and is still partially visible at this distance.

Gearing sorts through his inventory again using his PipBuck, and drops out a few more items onto the ground as he shakes his head. “No. I need to go, and the sooner the better. And the only thing holding me up now, is you.”

Priest regards him for a moment then says in that same awfully calm voice, “Don’t worry. I’m not going to force anything on you.” He looks over towards the bridge and sighs. “The choice is, ultimately, yours. And no one here will take that from you.”

“Well, with that out of the way, thanks for seeing me off. But there’s no time like the present.” He points towards the ground in front of Priest. “I gave some of the kids some scrap and salvage, but I forgot about those. Would you give it to them? Figured they could trade it for food or toys or something.”

Priest nods slightly as he regards Gearing. “If that is what you wish, I’ll make sure it gets done.”

Gearing turns and starts heading towards the bridge entrance as he wonders what this buck named Priest had done to get himself in debt with ‘Avarice’. He can’t think of any other reason anypony would want to stick around that money hungry little monster. And the sooner he puts some distance between them the better.

“Gearing!”

Gearing stops and turns to look back over his shoulder, and sees Swift pounding down the roadway asphalt as quickly as she can. So fast that she’s kicking up pieces of black fragments from the road as she continues yelling along the whole way up to the bridge, “Geeaaariiiiiing!”

Gearing rolls his eyes and turns around completely to look at her. “What now!?”

Swift skids to a halt at the bridge entrance near Priest and waves at the bridge behind Gearing. “Don’t go that way! The turrets on the city walls are active!”

Priest’s eyes go wide and his focus zips over to look at Gearing as he asks in disbelief, but with a hint of hope in his tone, “You didn’t know?!”

Gearing rolls his eyes again. “Of course I knew they’d be active.” After a moment’s pause he clarifies, “Well, had a pretty damn good idea on the matter anyway… Why?”

Priest lets out a sigh as he quickly seems to have been momentarily encouraged before instantly getting disappointed again. “Oh… okay.”

Swift rolls her eyes and points off towards the walls. “Those lasers kill anypony that gets too close! Get back here before they ash you!”

Gearing starts chuckling as he says, “What? Naaaah. I’m fine.” He waves a hoof at her dismissively. “You stay back that way though… Like I said, I’ll see you around!”

Swift sits down and screams at him, “But you’ll die!”

Gearing looks over his shoulder at her then gives her a rather cocky grin. “Have you met me yet?” He steps sideways, throwing his wings up and causing a bit of sparkle around himself. He looks down at the ground under his hooves and starts sidestepping, more and more. Ever closer to the Core’s city wall. He glances at the section of the road where somepony had written ‘Mercy’ and can’t help but wonder what all the fuss is about. Well, he supposes, they have reason to be concerned. They know what the turrets are capable of. Probably about as much as he knows. From a functional standpoint anyway. And he finds their care and concern really endearing. Which just makes the conversation with Priest that much more special. Gearing realizes he’d been trying to keep him away from the bridge. Not just simply talk. Gearing nods as he can’t help but thinking that the black buck’s one of the good sorts.

Gearing throws his wings out wide and higher, even more as he just keeps side trotting down the road across the bridge. “See, what did I tell ya? Nothing to worry about. Because I am Gearing! The Glorious Bastard!” He jumps to the side more and throws his wings out at their perfect angles to grab the meager evening’s light and bend it around himself in colorful displays with a massive grin across his muzzle.

However.

Simultaneously the massively creepy feeling that had been crawling over his body earlier returns, the cold feeling between his shoulders starts screaming, and the little blue pegasus in his head starts running laps in fright.

Gearing starts turning his head to look at the walls, and both he and the little pegasus in his head jump up in perfect mimicry of each other, with every limb frantically flailing in various directions, in shock at what he sees.

---

It was at this moment… that Gearing knew… heeeeee fucked up!

---

Gearing tumbles in midair as the red lasers lance through the air and try to bisect him. More and more lasers join in as he hits the asphalt and tumbles away. He tries to run back the other way, away from the walls, but it doesn’t work, and multiple lasers fan out and come at him from various angles.

He takes flight, zipping and dodging as the focus of the lasers follow him around in sweeps, causing him to stop dead and change direction midair repeatedly. Each time he tries to get away, a laser is cutting off his avenue of escape and set to scorch his hide. The best he manages is lateral movement and off the bridge.

He angles his wings, fanning them and his crystalline feathers out as much as possible as he tries to disperse a few laser strikes that are impossible to dodge. His wings are excellent light focal points. They have fantastic properties to redirect and refract light in general. And lasers are just another form of light. And, what’s more, the lenses for most laser weapons are composed of the same material his stained glass looking wings are.

However, even with how pure of a form the crystalline structure of his wings is, it’s not thick enough nor designed to be able to take the high intensity beams currently being thrown at him. These aren’t mere laser pistols. These are city wall defense turrets and their power output is immense enough that most organics are vaporized with the first raking. And his wings cannot deflect power of that magnitude.

However, what they can do is buy him precious time.

He sacrifices one crystalline segment after another as they refract, reflect, and redirect the light elsewhere. Until they crack, break, and shatter from the sudden change in heat and sheer power being focused at him. He zips around, in the air, using the distance from the ground to give himself more wiggle room to maneuver and get closer to shore, and away from the murderous turrets trying to make him brass pudding.

But with the loss of each crystal segment he has just that much more trouble staying aloft. That much more trouble maneuvering. And that much less options. And he can tell the massive spikes in heat are deforming the metal lattice of his wings as well. And it’s only a matter of time before one, or both, collapse on him and send him spiraling down out of control.

So he’s running out of both time, and options. Quickly.

Given how the turrets seem to be working together to keep him within range and not allow him to leave, he only has one more option he can think of, and not enough time to really come up with anything else. He knows it’s not a guarantee, and might simply be jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire. But, it has a higher chance of survival if nothing else than what he has currently.

So, he bails.

Gearing changes direction suddenly and zips down, using gravity to assist him, as he quickly plunges towards the river below. The lasers try to zap him, and even cut him off as they rake near the water, but he simply dodges as many as he can, and sacrifices a few more crystal wing segments to make it to his goal for the ones he can’t.

But he does make it, with a scream of pure unfiltered terror and pain the whole way down.

A monumental splash erupts from the river, causing a pillar of water to shoot high into the air and, in some cases, turn to steam as the city walls’ lasers continue to rake the area, as the gravity assisted brass pegasus plunges into the murky river.

As the water is falling back down like a localized Hoofington rainstorm over the river, the city wall turrets finally disengage and go dark as their target is no longer visible.

---

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Perk Unlocked: Falling Star Rank 1: Prepare for impact!

Gravity’s a bitch, and don’t you know it. She’s thrown you to the ground so often that you’re starting to get used to it. At this point, you expect it even. Because you have little else you can do as the ground rushes up to greet you, you can at least prepare for impact. Now you take proportionally less fall damage each time you fall regardless of height. This effect is increased if it’s caused from getting shot down, yet again. Furthermore you’ve started to learn how to use gravity to your advantage and started unlocking maneuvers. More maneuvers will become available as the perk ranks up.

Next Chapter: 67 Dredging Up Bad Memories Estimated time remaining: 17 Hours, 18 Minutes