Chapter 5: Desert Wind

As the days went by, things were mindless or routine in a spectacular fashion. Nothing but the desert winds of the wide and expansive Wastelands around him howled and whispered during the journey to the southern border -not even gangs to face and no varmints to slay. A true no creature’s land is what he traversed for the past five and a half days, and he quite silently relished in the lack of civilization; despite the natural hardships it brought.

He was, in a word, bored. Thankfully of course, but after days of trotting with bursts of flying when he felt up to the exertion in the open desert was all he did while passing by the small destroyed tombs of towns that were few and far between in the raw open Wasteland.

It did little for his thoughts as they wandered into reflection. This was, as many would call it, the breath before the plunge; the long, uneventful journey across hundreds of miles before heading into the truly perilous expanse that threatened consumption of all who dared tread there.

Worst of all, he was heading directly into that metaphorical storm.

For the entire trek so far, Red Eagle had at least once during the day mused at his foolishness for heading back to Crystal City, taking the job, despising his need for caps, and in an odd fashion the fact that the south had been barred from him going on ten years now. He looked back at the time with amusement as he remembered why.

In those times, one could have called him a professional ‘soldier-for-hire’ if they felt poetic, but both his and his unit’s checkered pasts ruined it as some old wounds were splayed open, and he took to vigilante justice for the second time in his life, as if by clockwork, and once again found the same results.

He merely scowled grimly at the reflections, and buried them as fast as they came. In the end he figured a single griffon wouldn’t attract attention in the south, especially if he made a beeline for his objective and bolted, but he never had a reason good enough to test his limits. Nevermind such a limit as the one he had placed by others.

When such a time arose when he was done chastising himself about that, he repeatedly went over the supposed dangers of The Hoof, all of which were effectively up in the air as it was one place he’d never been to before; for proper cause.

Being soaked in Radiation and Taint, The Hoof was off-limits to him, even without his prior associations. Both of them may have been two birds of different colors, but getting doused in large doses of either was a danger altogether. With radiation, all one needed was a Rad-Counter of some sort to detect the magical invisible waves in the environment, and a dose of RadSafe to block or RadAway to purge worked wonders against it -provided they were taken quickly. Taint though -the viscous and glowing rainbow hued sludge- was usually contained in large barrels, or collected in pools visible to even a complete fool, and it was far more problematic that radiation, but easier to avoid perhaps.

Direct contact did terrible things to any creature unfortunate to get touched, as he had seen the violent mutations himself that happened in seconds. The least of which were named ‘taint tumors’ that nothing short of an invasive surgery would begin to help -not RadAway, healing potions, or even healing spells from unicorn doctors would scratch taint apparently- and they killed quickly depending on the dose the victim received. The worst of its affects however were almost indescribable.

For lack of a better explanation, you’d know a taint fiend when sighting one. And you will wish whatever poor creature it was had died before twisting into such an abomination.

Beyond that he was going in dark, all but ignorant of the place, and the one thing that he felt was the most dangerous -aside from kicking a hornet’s nest of dozens of raiders. ‘Super-Radiation’ or not, the supposed constant gang wars there kept on a simmer would kill as surely as some mysterious field of life sucking death.

In the end he shook the gloomy distractions from his mind and focused again on the road ahead, or at this point railroad would be precise. For the past day he had been trotting alongside a set of tracks after passing the violently gushing Neighagra Falls two days ago, as his PipBuck had claimed it was called. With little in the way of any truly large prewar ruins around, the path was long and uneventful. Much like the rest of his trip so far, but with every fall of his limbs paranoia bit by bit began to settle.

He remembered on his map of a few towns that he wanted to use as way stations to resupply, and they were named as ‘Rambling Rock’ and ‘Dodge City’. He heard of them a long while ago, but paranoia agitated his thoughts as he continued to wonder what states the towns were in. Chief among them were their continued existence, yet others followed suit like ‘were they clear?’ or ‘did they even have trade worth the trouble?’; he did not know of course, but his mind wouldn’t stop regardless.

He figured that he would discover in time, only the way he had gotten used to his wanderings had shaven it all down to the hair’s breadth. He wanted -needed- to know of any place’s condition for survival’s sake; despite his ‘winging it’ nature he had gained over the years. He hated taking chances, yet took them all the time.

And presently, that very nature fueled his trotting agitations -his furrowing brow. Southwards he headed, into a storm that he was forced to leave long ago, and he wanted to go there and head back all together. In the end he simply groaned in his musings, clasped his mind down for the day and slept in his impromptu camp site; naught more that a nameless ruin in the middle of The Wasteland.

*** *** ***

It wasn’t until the eleventh day on the road that Red Eagle finally saw what his desert weary eyes were looking for. A town, or a village or hovel of scrap -he didn’t care presently- in the distance. He had to check his map to ensure it wasn’t merely a mirage to his eyes, but thankfully the warmer southern climates weren’t messing with him much at all as he saw it on the horizon clearly enough. The town, according to his PipBuck as he needed reminding, was called ‘Rambling rock’, and his somewhat anorexic packs begged for a topping off. Last he checked it was a small farming village and did a little trading between surrounding settlements, yet it was for the most part self reliant and sufficient.

As he kept walking forward though, his eyes kept darting to his sides at noises -or as he started thinking imagined ones. Paranoia continued to eat at him as every creak and snapping dried twig made him think some pony... nay, some griffon was on his six.

He wasn’t welcome here, and every mile he cut down into the south was another mile against him. He wasn’t afraid of a single griffon of course, but all it took was one to call down two dozen.

*** *** ***

At the border of the town, he looked down the spot welded scrap metal walls, which all melded together as a strange sandy beige color, of the town called ‘Rambling Rock’. It was large, or larger than most rather than other Wasteland settlements that Eagle had seen -especially up north. Only this town was... different, in a strange fashion; closer to the heart of Equestria maybe, or simply more secure than he was used to seeing.

It was impressive enough he figured, and as he approached the main gate a guard stallion, garbed in nothing but a ragged burlap tunic and rusty bolt action rifle on his ‘battle saddle’, hoisted his weapon with an eye given promise of violence toward violence, the other eye patched in black.

“Been a while since we saw a griffon ‘round ‘ere, stranger... where’s you from anyhow?” The pony asked gruffly, with somewhat of a friendly face. Eagle tried to keep his best ‘first impressions’ expression.

“Around; I’m looking to do trading.”

“Well...” the stallion said, shrugging “if you’re square with us, you can trade as much as yah want. Though, I must admit there ain’t much in the way of that ‘ere.”

“How so?” Eagle said with a level expression, but the guardspony just shrugged, looking off to the side he sighed, and he assumed a dour look.

“Times are tough; scavenging’s been thin for decades, the harvest’s hurt by the drought, the usual decline over the years. Ought to know that if you’re from ‘around’ though, so nothing of news.”

Eagle had to keep himself from shaking his head as the pony shrugged. He eyed off into town, their well in the center with rusty metal shacks trailing off into sporadic directions, a few ponies here and there all mulling about their daily routines. They all wore pretty much the same getups, worn burlaps tunics with a few in scavenged coats or shirts, and the town as a whole seemed to Eagle to be yet another random dive-in town for desperate folk on the road to bigger and better things.

“You’ve got my condolences then, Stranger.” Eagle said as he nodded to himself, happy in a strange way that the town was the way it was. In a word, backwater -away from prying eyes.

The guardspony shrugged again, only now looking off to the east. “Your pity ain’t much use to get maize or fruit to grow, but it’s nice to hear.”

“Another thing, actually.” Eagle said as he took a few steps forward, pretending to admire the scenery. “I was wondering if there’d be any work in town -for a gunslinger, I mean.”

“Hmph, a griffon merc; who’d-a-thunk-it? Not very bright either it seems. The town barely has the caps to scrap together for much of nothin’, so we ain’t got the money for jobs to mercs. Not even Piles.”

“She your mayor?”

“He -and the best we got for one I guess. Ain’t much of a mayor since he’s little more than a liquor drinkin’ buffoon. Might as well get it outta your head now wanderer; ain’t no work for nopony ‘ere, unless you like picking dead fields.”

“Alright then.” Eagle sighed as he moseyed off into town, but didn’t get far as the guardspony turned around and spoke up.

“Actually stranger... there may be -and I do mean may be- some luck for yah down south a ways. Place the name of ‘Dodge City’, maybe seventy miles south. Always a few fellas there looking for help actually.”

Eagle thought it over for a moment, eventually figuring that Dodge City might be a better option in the end to stop at. All depending on their economics of course. “What do they have for trade?”

“Heh, more than we got, that’s for sure. They ain’t strictly a farm town, and though the drought’s hittin’ them they got more in the way of proper stores. We’re more of a ‘village’ in comparison. Nothin’ better than slave fodder if you ask me.”

Eagle’s mind caught on the mention of the slave trade; a heinous, yet persistent trade of flesh for any purposes between labor and carnal pursuits. Even were it not for random slaving bands of raiders he remembered that Appleloosa was somewhat close by, and a small ring of slaving masters made their home there. He had experience with... ‘severe complications’ with slavery before, and should he wish to continue his incognito status he should keep his reactions in check.

“Hmph.” Eagle quietly grunted, trying to forget the amount of slavers that lived in the south. His blood began pumping hotter at the notion. “So try down south at Dodge City?”

“If your canteen can take it I’d ditch Ramblin’ soon as you’re able. Goddesses know I would.”

With that, Eagle nodded, sighed, and head back out into The Wasteland to the south, in search of Dodge City with a sour taste in his mouth. The perfect town for laying low didn’t have the one thing he needed. Food.

*** *** ***

It took him three days to reach the town that the guardspony spoke of, and even at this distance he silently thanked the stallion for his advice. It may have taken him on a wild goose chase after food, having hunted some bizarre mutant creature to preserve his non-perishables, but the town didn’t disappoint at first glance. From outside the city gate he saw far more ponies bustling to and fro within, and with a relieved glance he saw brahmin cattle.

If a town could keep cattle alive and well, for whatever reason, then there must be something here for him to barter with. A job to get the caps necessary to trade for properly shelf-stable food was all he needed, and hopefully this Dodge City would have what he needed. All he needed to do first was find the pony who was looking for help. Then he might be able to get the ball rolling.

As he approached the main gate, which was little more than stacked chariots, a single pony, a stallion garbed in some hodgepodge barding of combat armor and leather approached him, hoisting his rusty, but functional, rifle towards him. Another guardspony, yet seemingly far better equipped than the last town’s.

“What’s your business here griffon?”

The pony spoke in a somewhat polite voice, Eagle had to credit him that much. He shrugged a little a spoke. “Here to do some trading, if you’ll have me; also looking for some work.”

“Trading’s fine with us -that’s our thing here- but ‘work’ can often be... subjective, what’re you looking for?”

“Anything that needs a gun privy griffon, or maybe some short distance Wasteland excursions.”

“Ah, alrighty then. Well I know that Dark Water’s got an offer for something you might be interested in, but others in town like the Saloon might be offering work. Wouldn’t recommend the latter though; you seem a bit ‘professional’ for that.” He chuckled, shifting in his armor with a more relaxed stance. “Either way, I’d recommend chatting with him -our mayor Dark Water. He’s in a store up the road a ways, can’t miss him. Got a hard look, like yours.”

“I’ll be sure to check with him, see what he’s got.” The mention of a store caught his ears, and he was spurred to ask about it. “This store, does it have any provisions; food, water, the works?”

“Yeah it does, and even though we’re in a small drought Dark ought to be fair with you; he doesn’t have it in him to be cruel with barter -shrewd maybe, but not cruel.”

“Then he’s the first I’m to speak with then. Thanks”

“No problem, mister...?”

“The name’s Bartus.”

“Okay mister ‘Bartus’, welcome to Dodge City.”

As Eagle wandered into town he felt a deep twinge of pain in his chest at his choice of false name. The choice on the spot left him staggering mentally. He had always chosen that name if he needed to keep his anonymity, out of reflex, but taking his adoptive father’s name felt... wrong to him every time. He wouldn’t choose his old name -that griffon was long since dead in a mountain of vengeance- yet his father’s felt no more morally superior in any fashion.

The griffon had been a beacon in his younger years, a light and hope for his people, and the griffon that Eagle used to be was little more than a dreamer wishing to reach his greatness. Unfortunately, history had proven him, and many others, wrong, and here he was lifting names from the dead to mask his path ahead like a snake. And a snake he was, ironically, slinking back to the south despite all.

Shaking his head he saw ahead of him the distracting town of Dodge City. It was built into an old ruin, as usual, and the history of the place’s exploits seemed to go entirely unnoticed, yet mimicked in a smaller scale honorific, by the seemingly massive populace as they bustled about to and fro. The city itself, according to what Eagle knew and pieced together, was a pre-War city devoted to Equestrian commerce, and the multitude of blocks that railroads crisscrossed into massive train yards confirmed it to any creature caring enough to know.

This place was once a major artery for the nation, a central location for all the rest to feed off of, yet it obviously wasn’t enough as the merchants now dealt in their little hovels and huts as opposed to the mightiest of yore across thousands of miles. Cars of massive and motionless locomotives sat on the rails, and they housed the merchants of today as they peddled their wares from a great swath of modified cars, and the breadth of their merchandise exceeded even Eagle’s expectations as one’s owner loudly offered something called ‘griffon pinion creams’; made from genuine cat, rad-rat, and radigator oils no less.

The ridiculousness of the main bazaar left him agitated; the amount of noise and background chatter setting him on edge. In the end though, such a town ought to have what he needed in trade. If this ‘Dark Water’ had work, then with a town this size he may be able to front the caps necessary for his continued survival. He hoped anyways, as he neared the one building that had the pony’s name painted in black broadly across one of its outside walls.

He entered, shaking the dust from his ensemble before entering, and found himself in a far quieter space of town, seemingly insulated from the outside din. There stood a few ponies perusing wares, a few guards in metal plated leather jackets, and another, far more hard in expression yet soft in an understanding way that stood apart from them. He wore a simple grey jacket of sorts over his dark blue coat, stood tall amongst the rest of the ponies in there with a decently well kempt and short charcoal mane, and the most unique fact among the rest was he was the only one with wings.

That fact alone set Eagle on edge a touch. Very few Wastelanders had wings, most of them either griffon mercenaries or pegasi, who were all practically guaranteed to be dashites; rebels against the Pegasus Enclave, branded and never to return. As Eagle peered at his flanks, he found the pony had just such a brand, open and proud was a cloud and lightning bolt shaped in the scar tissue of burns over whatever cutie-marks he had once -it was the Enclave favored method of exile- and he felt a distant sympathy for the stallion.

That stallion caught Eagle’s sideways glace, and donned a sad half smile of sorts, approached him and sighed before speaking in a lightly accented southern ponies’ tones. “Well howdy there stranger, don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of speaking to you.”

“Don’t think you would’ve. I’m new in town.” Eagle said, donning a small smile of his own as he nodded. “Came in from the west looking for work; I heard you have some.”

“How does some random griffon merc -that’s never been to Dodge City mind- know that I’m Dark Water?”

“To be fair the building has your name on it,” Eagle said, yet his smile receded to a hard, understanding glare “that and the guardspony at the main gate said you’ve got a hard look about you; got to be with that brand.”

At first, Dark Water wanted to hide it out of reflex, but bearing it as a mark of pride he nodded, understanding that the griffon before him somewhat understood his history. Relief became his expression as he fluttered his wings, relieved of the standard ignorance of The Wastes, and he twisted around to the shrewdness of business dealing. “So... you where looking for work then? I’ve got a job but it requires a touch of delicacy.”

“Delicate is how I roll, unless you want loud and noisy.”

“No, oh no we don’t,” Dark said smiling, trying to contain laughter “What I want is somepony -or some creature- able to figure out the plans of a certain gang around here. If you haven’t noticed, gangs like to wander around here in a bad way. I’d like to remove them, one in particular, but that would require evidence. Enough to convince the Council anyways.”

“Gangs eh? I haven’t noticed them but I’ve only been in town for less than an hour.” Eagle found it ironic that gangs seemed to crop up anywhere that ponies settled, like an infection and always causing problems. He had to suppress the urge to comment on how he expected it of larger towns as Dark spoke up again, sighing.

“Yeah... gangs are a nuisance around these parts. Not as much down south, but equally dangerous if you’ve a mind for potential dangers I suppose. I’ve been trying to get our local government to deal with ‘em but, ah... the gears of bureaucracy don’t like to turn, if you catch my meaning.”

“Perfectly, actually.” Eagle said, to which Dark Water smiled slightly.

“Good, then you know that the fact imminent problems are looming over us, yet the ‘peace-keepers’ are too busy with their day to day to bother dealing with threats, annoys me!” he raised his voice a smidgeon, and calmed himself before speaking again. “Ahem... anyways, yes; I’d like for you to head to the derelict part of town and eye out the gangs for me. A look-see is what I’m asking for, not your life. If you find anything, then awesome, if not, then I’ll accuse you of not looking. I know they’re up to something, I know it, but I can’t lay a hoof on it yet.”

He started to mumble to himself before he shook his head, fixed his eyes on Eagle with a hard stare and spoke again. “The name of the gang in question is ‘The Skulls’. Pretty standard bunch, ragged and all with more credence to gang bonds than any effectiveness, yet their activities have left a good deal to be desired. The chem trade’s shot up -which I suspect they’re running a manufacturing operation- and such a business threatens to weaken the rest, understand?”

“Sort of, having an under-market doesn’t bode well for general market health. Especially if that market has anything Illegal.”

Dark Water had to contain a touch of surprise, yet he shook his head and spoke plainly. “Dodge City doesn’t have laws against chems yet, even though it should. I ain’t one to coddle broken wheels, if you catch my meaning, but the rest of town doesn’t care much about it. If they want to catch buzzes and be productive then I’m happy I guess.” He shook his head again, sighing. “Yet that ain’t the case. We’ve got more than two dozen or so ponies in town chasing breezies in smoke rather than actually working. The gangs keep supply up, and-”

“Alright Dark Water,” Eagle said, shaking his head “I don’t need to be convinced, I just need specifics on the job. Like my payment for example.”

“Ah, right. Ahem.” He cleared his throat and looked around, picked up a water canteen from a nearby table and took a swig. “Sorry, I’ve been fuming on this for a while, but your right. The job will pay one fifty in caps, unless you see something you like out of my store for a similar price. I’m willing to pay in goods, I ain’t fickle about it.”

“Most of what I’m interested is preserved foods. Canned goods or military rations, things I can squirrel away and have them keep for a while. Can’t eat caps on the road.”

“Yeah, ain’t that the truth. I got some of that; old dusty box of army rations in the back.” Dark said, nodding. “If you can find out anything I’ll give you the box, I think there’s somewhere around nine or ten packs in there, haven’t checked in a while. Ponies ain’t much of a fan of them when we’ve got proper farming and cattle, some hunters as well, but army rations are still useful.”

“Sounds good,” Eagle said, extending a talon “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Alright then, mister?” Dark said holding out a wing, a feather extended. “Don’t think I ever caught your name.”

“Bartus.” Eagle said, suppressing a grimace.

“Alright Bartus. Hopefully I’ll see you soon.” He said, nodding as he shook Eagle’s Talon with his wing. “Oh, and the part of town they squat in is south of here. Old-Town’s gang territory, so mind yourself.”

“Always do.”

*** *** ***

In Old-Town, past the last of the merchant cars, the eastern farming districts and the residential sections surrounding it, half the homes being more train cars and the other half being actual huts built from wood and spot welded metal sheets, Red Eagle began to see the digression between the wealth of the town to the true squatter’s ruins. He’d seen it before in nearly every major town he visited. The bulk of Old-Town was rubble strewn and a fine example of Equestrian degradation, not to mention an utter lack of the previous districts’ presences.

It felt like a whole new place, only separated by chain-link fences, and the ponies that mulled about seemed to match his description of what the downtrodden of a town should look like. Ragged clothes covering taut fleshed ribs, vacant stares that showed chem use followed by several that huddled together in alleyway corners. He had to suppress the urge to shake his head as it seemed that these ponies were merely the product of their kind’s habit of making these types of places.

“Alright,” he said quietly “If I were a gang member pushing chems and bathtub booze, where’d I hide?”

He recounted the name of the gang, ‘The Skulls’ Dark Water had said, and figured the best thing to do would be to find some graffiti or ponies with distinguishing marks. Often times gangs would tag their ‘territory’ or themselves with easy to understand symbols, and a big pony skull seemed appropriate. Especially if they were illiterate, which he guessed they would be.

Over the course of twenty minutes or so, he had seen several smaller gangs he assumed. Ragged, in similar states as the average squatter in town yet and edge of collectiveness distinguished them from the rabble. He avoided them where he could, not wanting any of them foolish enough to attack him. More trouble than it was worth in his eyes. Eventually, however, he found something that caught his eye. A chem dealer he figured, the unicorn pony stood in the entrance of an alleyway leaning against the blasted brick wall. The detail that caught his eye was the heavily stitched together brown leather jacket with a poorly embroided skull on a shoulder.

He went over it in his head, and wondered if it’d be possible to play this a certain way. He screwed up his face, going over different iterations before shrugging and going with his gut. He approached the pony, suppressing the urge to smile.

“Hey,” Eagle said, trying his best first impression “I heard you guys sell chems around here.”

“Well... ain’t yah just a blunt bird?” The gang member said, cackling with a contorted face. “Even if I did, whatsit to yah?”

“I’m representing an... interested party. Looking to make a bulk purchase for wares.”

“Really?” the gang member said, raising a brow with a skeptical expression. “What, did Motley put yah up to this? Old mare really ain’t good at takin’ no fer an answer”

“Even if she did, what’s it to you? Aren’t caps caps?”

“No, not with the way she’s been workin’ with the cunts up there in Up-Town. Direct orders from the boss to tell her and her cronies to fuck off pal.”

“Well then,” Eagle said, smiling “Good thing I’m not with her. Actually with a caravan heading west to Appleloosa.”

“Appleloosa!?” the ganger startled, disbelief tearing across his face. “You mean to say you’d go out there to those two-bit slavers all willin’ like?”

“Yeah,” Eagle said with a shrug “their caps are good, and they can’t get enough chems to drug out their slaves, and their own guys. That’s why I’m willing to buy a shit load of chems if you’re selling. I’m not talking a few hits of Dash, I’m talking whatever you’ve got in stock; maybe twenty five or thirty doses of Dash, Buck, Painkillers, even Rage if you got it.” he lied through his teeth.

The laundry list of chems Eagle said made the ganger’s eyes widen with avarice, although it was laden with a strange surprise that he guessed was to the offer. Eagle did a short number crunch in his head and figured the lump sum was perhaps around two or three thousand caps, more than enough to sate the appetite of a pony looking for the ever famous big score. Even if the ganger decided to be an idiot, he could make use of that.

“Well... we ain’t too keen on trading with slavers or slaver ‘associates’, but... In light of that, I think the boss would like a word or two wit’ yah.”

*** *** ***

It didn’t take long for Eagle to realize what the ganger was doing. Leading him through a network of alleyways, deeper into the complex of burnt-out buildings and away from prying eyes and ears he rolled his eyes and scoffed as the ganger turned around; two others emerged from the shadows plainly seen and heard by him.

“Well guess what fellas, this griffon here is saying he’s wantin’ to buy up what we got for chems. All of it I mean, then sell it to Appleloosa; of all places.” The ganger chortled, shaking his head as a magic wreathed switchblade appeared from his jacket; the aura matching his horn’s magic. The knife clunked with a metallic zing. “So here’s the deal feather-head. We’re gonna skip the part where I ask you how the hell you knew our plans. Sellin’ chems to Appleloosa was our score, and we ain’t keen on lettin’ yah rake in the profits or bolt outta ‘ere with that bright idea.”

The other two gangers were dressed similarly to the first one, light jackets without any real armored barding to speak of, with the only difference being their choices of weapons. The switchblade was accompanied by a long dirk of sorts and a rough hewn club, both mouth-wielded by the earth ponies. It was obvious they were trying to simply scare with numbers; ineffectually, but obvious.

“Sad it had to be this way -as yer a clever egg and we could use yah- but I’m gonna assume the boss ain’t keen on it, or you peepin’ in on our scores. You ain’t leavin’ ‘ere whole.”

“Hmph,” Eagle grunted, shaking his head and glowering under his hat’s brim. “Here’s the thing Skulls. I needed you alone.”

In a jerking motion, Eagle pounced forward at one of the gangers in a cat-like strike, a silvery flash of steel leaping into his talon and burying itself into the chest of the target. The pony grunted in shock of the sudden blow he hadn’t expected and dropped his weapon. Eagle spun around, ripped the blade from the pony’s chest and parried a strike from the switchblade that flung at him in the air.

The collision surprised him. The telekinetic strength of the unicorn was strong, but not strong enough to hold up again his attack, and with a wing beat Eagle vaulted over him at the other ganger who was startled out of his wits.

The fear in his eyes was recognized in Eagle’s mid-flight pounce, and with a deft feint and decisive strike he managed to find purchase with his blade in the ganger’s neck. With a sharp twist and tug, an artery opened wide, and a swift kick allowed Eagle to vault from the second target to the third who had recovered his weapon. A fast strike with his blood-coated knife made sparks shoot from both the blades, and the unicorn retreated to a fair distance, his rump bumping into the wall behind him.

Eagle landed squarely on his fours in a low stance, eyes brimming with menace that the ganger hadn’t expected with the knife held at chest level, wreathed in his friend’s blood. Fear addled his voice, and he tried to reassert himself.

“The fuck you learn that? I ain’t ever seen a griffon fight like that before!”

“From where I’m standing you fuckers haven’t fought a griffon before,” he smiled grimly “you ponies are predictable. And stupid, which suits me to the ground.” Eagle began to press on slowly, blood droplets from his knife making a dully shimmering path of his advance. “Now... about your gang...”

*** *** ***

It didn’t take long for the unicorn to break. Eagle may have had to chase him down a short distance, break a hind leg of his and drag him to a secluded spot for his interrogation, but the information flowed like water when the appropriate leverage was applied.

Turns out unicorns are awfully squeamish when it comes to their horns. You may break their bones, burn their skin, and apply any torture methods one might imagine like teeth pulling all the way to castration. This one only needed one knife twist away from severing his magic forever.

He had to admit one thing though, it seemed as if his half-lies hit a nerve. He knew Appleloosa had slavers there, and knew of their practices on drugging slaves, but the luck that the gang was planning to exploit that market was unbelievably convenient. These gangers were planning on selling out massive shipments of chems to slavers out of town; a plan that he was sure the Mayor wasn’t privy or amenable to. He hoped he could find it on paper somewhere, but doubted being able to.

With the information he needed though, the main hide-out of their gang, he left the ganger dead and bound to a pillar in some building off the beaten path. He now prowled whatever rooftops were still intact, of which weren’t many at all as most of the buildings were merely jagged remains of their former heights. He flew from one vantage point to another until he saw the ‘camp’ down below. Little more than he’d seen, or expected, of Old-Town there were numerous gangers below, all of them wearing some version of the gang’s signature jacket; the skulls on the shoulder displayed proudly.

He scanned over them and the surrounding environs. There were two main huts that were built in the middle of the large courtyard, both of which were painted in various motifs of the gang’s designs, and the surrounding smaller ones looked like simple hovels for ponies to crash in or store goods. The entire compound was surrounded by a chain-link fence with a single gate, and there were patchwork barbed wire lengths around the fence.

The One hut that piqued his interest had an old pre-War drugstore sign hanging on the outside, half canted and wrecked, but the large red letters beneath the triple butterfly motif couldn’t be missed. He wondered which building would possess what he needed, and guessed that the ‘drugstore’ would be a production facility. There probably wouldn’t be anything but chemistry setups and such within those walls, not much chance of it holding papers or logs, but it might have had containers brimming with chems.

If he could go in, steal a bunch of them and get the necessary information he needed he felt he could get out of town with a fair bit of wealth for the trouble. He shook his head though, trying to refocus himself on the primary objective of the job. Order of business number one was getting in.

There would be little hope of any direct approach, as they seemed to have a majority of the routes secured enough, save for the one that seemed audacious at first glace. Eagle wondered if, under the cover of night, if he could fly down from above, steal in and find what he needed and bail the same way.

“Best bet most likely.” He whispered to himself. Turning away he scanned the rooftop around him, found a stairwell access and descended a floor to find a secluded spot. It was there he made camp for the next few hours. His PipBuck read seven fifty, and he would have a while before dark to prepare.

So he did, honing his blade, checking his firearms hoping they wouldn’t be necessary as well as having a small meal. He even took out that unicorn’s switchblade he took and gave it a proper edge, thinking that he could probably use it to sow some chaos amongst them if needed. The blade had a few distinguishing marks, the most prominent the name etched across the handle.

‘Filet’.

*** *** ***

About half an hour after dark is when Red Eagle stood up from his short rest, his PipBuck’s quiet alarm waking him. He went up the roof access and peered back down into the now half shadowed camp of The Skulls as a few meandered to and fro, most of them in no more than groups of two and looking as if they were turning in for the day. He kept watch for a while, trying to see if any were in guard routes but surprisingly found only one that might fit the bill. A single pony made a clear cut path around the camp site, a path that he recognized timings and marked them, and would be easy to avoid given proper caution.

Eagle breathed deeply, double checking all he could see before he flexed himself out, popping bones and stretching his muscles. With a final motion he waited for the guard to pass to a specific spot, and he leapt from the rooftop and glided down near silently in the evening darkness.

Landing behind a large dumpster he crouched down as quietly as possible, his dark adjusted eyes darting to and fro for potential witnesses and finding none. He let a few minutes pass before he looked back out, the back of the guard was seen as he rotated back across the courtyard. With that, he slunk out near silently, save for the rasping of his boots on pavement, as he neared the main door of the largest shack. He tested the door’s lever-knob and cursed silently to find it locked.

He darted his eyes back at the guard. A few minutes were all he had if he wanted to pick the lock, which would be preferable, yet the fast option would make noise; a lot of it in the relatively quiet evening air. He screwed his face up and made a snap decision to try his luck picking it, marking the location of the guard and he set to work.

Withdrawing an old picking set from his pack, a red hued fabric roll that when unfurled revealed all manner of probes and odd shaped picks at his disposal. He eyed the lock quickly, took out two of the tools and started fiddling with the keyhole.

Luckily he found success, even if just barely. The lock gave a short responsive ‘click’ after a minute’s effort and he squirreled away his pick set, opened the door slowly with a whine of the rusty hinges, entered quickly shutting the door behind him.

What lay inside surprised him to say the least. Somewhat clean, save for some rubble dustings and gang graffiti on the walls, with a few lights dotted the walls inside. It was empty except for a few gangers sleeping on low rung cots -which he marked two- and a few broken down desks and cabinets. He tested the floor for noise, finding little, and began his slow and methodical approach to one of the cabinets.

Opening it resulted in a far louder metallic screech than he anticipated. He darted his eyes over to the gangers where it seemed not a one of them stirred. Sighing quietly in relief he tried a few others, meeting the same resistance in several of them that gave that screech. Growing agitated, he shook his head as to how many of these drawers were simply abused and he wondered if he should kill the two gangers in there to search in peace.

Opting not to unless it was necessary he kept trying the other drawers, occasionally looking back at the gangers for signs of waking. Eventually, he found one drawer that slid open easily, and most importantly silently. What he found inside was... quite the prize at a glace.

It looked like a ledger or journal of sorts; flipping through it was a log of transactions and receipts between the gang and buyers. Eagle wondered if the book had any creature of importance’s name within its pages, but he wouldn’t know them if he took the time to read through it anyways, so he kept digging.

After what felt like an eternity of digging through piles and piles of half destroyed papers along with a few burnt books he felt as if he had finally found something, a small wooden lockbox that was intact, only the noise of a waking pony kept him from investigating it further.

“The hell?” was all the pony could say as Eagle leapt forward and killed him in a decisive knife strike, albeit with far more noise than he liked. He had to follow through, bounding at the other as he tried to leap from his cot. The pony hadn’t the time to defend himself, and he had even less time to sound an alarm.

Muttering a chastisement to himself about not having dealt with them prior, he took out the switchblade. It would be a decent cover up for his actions there, he hoped; a little internal feud to insinuate. He stabbed the corpses of the ponies with the switchblade erratically, their lifeless bodies giving hollow and wet tearing sounds as blood began to stain their bodies. He dropped the blood coated switchblade on the ground in one puddle, and satisfied he returned to inspecting the little lockbox.

The wooden frame of the small chest seemed pretty frail, the lock on the front of it equally so. He took his knife and levered on its lid and with a loud creaking of wood and a pop the box opened, revealing its insides to be a small notepad of sorts. He withdrew it and opened the pages, flipping through it he read a few lines to discover that Dark Water had been right -only he didn’t know how right exactly.

Somepony in town by the name of Maul was dealing with the gang, giving them supplies to make chems and fueling his own under the table chem business. The information was all there, shipment lists, payments, numbers. Everything Eagle thought that Dark Water might’ve needed to do what he needed -maybe more if he could connect what he heard earlier to it.

Nodding in approval he squirreled away the ledger and notepad in his packs, left the broken lock box on a desk and approached the door. He flipped the light switch, rendering the inside of the shack dark, cracked the door open, and peered outside to find the guard pony on the other side of the compound. Luckily, he thought, and inched his way out when the pony wasn’t looking. He wanted to take a look inside the chem shack, but he didn’t want to risk discovery. He had already pushed his luck to the breaking point, and opted to leave with what he had while he could without inciting a battle in town. ‘He wanted nice and quiet, after all.’

Slinking out the way he came, he retreated behind the cover of darkness and with a beat of his wings set sail into the murky air above. He tried to keep quiet, and if any of them heard his departure none of them signaled it.

He would have smirked, but his focus kept him from doing so. ‘A job well done,’ he thought ‘in and out, easy caps.’ And thus he made his way back to the entrance of Old-Town, found the cover of a building he could hole up in for the rest of the night, and slept until morning.

*** *** ***

His PipBuck’s clock read eight o’ five by the time he reached Dark Water’s store, and Red Eagle fought a yawn before entering the building. He looked around, saw Dark Water as he stood there flexing the lethargy out of his wings and body. He smiled as he saw Eagle.

“Welcome back friend, how’s the mornin’ treating you?”

“Not as important as how it’s treating you Dark,” Eagle said, grinning “found something you might be interested in.”

“Ah, well... follow me to the back then. Hey Shell, watch the store a bit for me would you?”

“On it sir.” One of the mare guards said, taking a position next to where Dark Water stood overseeing the store.

“Better if this is quiet. Follow me.”

Eagle followed Dark Water into the back of the store and through the door in the wall, and through was little more than a small modest room. A small wooden board declared it to be the mayor’s office in all its humble glory. Eagle wondered if he was poor, or if he was simply a far more down-to-earth pony than most in power. He had to suppress a chuckle at the unintended joke.

Dark Water however took a seat behind his desk, pulled a few papers and a pen from a drawer and set them out on the flat surface before him. He sighed, yawning as he stretched again, and fixed Eagle with a hard stare of suspense. “So... whaddaya got for me?”

“A ledger I think,” Eagle said as he fished out the items he retrieved “this notebook is chock full of names and amounts -looks like the merchandise too- and a log of The Skulls’ dealing with some character called ‘Maul’.”

“Maul!?” Dark said surprised, shaking his head. “Are you certain of this?”

“I pulled these out of their hideout last night,” he set out the two books on his desk, standing upright “It was in one of their shacks there, locked away pretty well I might add. Another thing also, I couldn’t find hard evidence on it but one ganger I caught told me they were planning on selling massive amount of chems to Appleloosa; slavers as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“Ho-lee-shit...” The mayor said, taken aback by the news as he flipped through the pages of the ledger and found the pony’s name on the list of buyers in one, and the complete transactions on the other. “Maul you tricky sonuvabitch. I knew you were dirty but this?” Dark took time to scratch his chin, absorbing and thinking on the information. Finally he sighed shortly and began explaining.

“Maul’s a... well he’s part of the Council, and one of the main driving forces behind the town’s success. What I’m reading here is he’s trying to turn this place into a fuckin’ chem den alongside the regular commerce. And if what you said is true then he might be planning much worse. This town don’t deal with slavers; one of the only true laws we got.

“Look Eagle, you’ve done more than earned your pay, but I’ve got another job if you’re interested. You’ve dug up far more than The Skulls and their... plans; you’ve dug up a conspiracy. A Council member in league with gangs... Not to mention the rest. It’s grounds for exile and-”

“I can’t afford more than a day’s excursion on this.” Eagle interrupted flatly. “Now I don’t mind another job, but it depends on details. What do you need me for exactly?”

“An arrest for starters.” he screwed his face up as his mind raced with the possibilities, taking time to plot out how to deal with them, but Eagle’s impatient glare made him clear his throat. “Knowing Maul though, that would become a full scale riot. He’d probably incite his ponies against mine and the city’s, meaning a small war in the streets. He ain’t one to go quietly, so I’ll need every warm body I can muster. I’m going to have to send out a message with a Caravan out east, get some Talons here just to bolster our forces-”

Eagle’s nostrils flared at the mention, as Talon Company, the league of pre and post-War griffon mercenaries, was the single group he expressly wanted to avoid at all costs.

“I can’t stay then if that’s the case.” Eagle said, keeping himself calm. “Me and the Talons got a... history I’d rather keep private. Lower the chances I see them the better.”

“Really? Well shit then...” Dark screwed up his face, but after a minute’s contemplation he relented. “Fine then. Well, Dodge City thanks you for your service. No offence but I’d rather have five or six of them as opposed to just you. Not that you’re incompetent, far from it from your work, but strength in numbers and all.”

“I understand,” Eagle said with an ounce of apprehension in his voice, whether it was towards Dark Water or Talon Company he couldn’t tell “once I get my payment I’ll be on the road as soon as possible. I don’t want to be anywhere nearby when the shooting starts.”

“That would be best, but it ain’t going to start for another few days at the least. Paperwork to file and allegiances to secure and all...”

He sighed, rubbing his eyes with his wing tips. He stood up and made to leave the room, waving for Eagle to follow. They went through the back of the store until they found themselves in a corner that Dark began to dig through, emerging from the piles of boxes with one in particular that he handed it to Eagle, who opened it to reveal a multitude of different pre-War Equestrian military rations.

“Here’s your rations. Although, I must admit you’ve done more than that for me today. Anything else you need for the road? See anything you like?”

“Got any healing potions? Can’t have enough of those.”

“Even though I’ll need as much as I can scrape together yeah, I can give you three or four of ‘em. Lemme see.” He dug through a few more boxes on some shelves and eventually returned with a dented and scratched medical box; the yellow and pink paintjob worn to bare steel in spots. The butterfly motif remained, despite all. “Yeah, here we go. Gotta sort this shit some day, but here.”

He popped open the box and revealed the relatively intact medical gear inside. A few bandages, forceps and tweezers and the like, but most importantly the dazzling glowing purple potions inside were still there.

“Thanks.” Eagle said as he stashed away the three potions into his packs. Relatively satisfied he nodded to Dark, and made his way to leave the store. “Been a pleasure, Dark Water; good luck with the next few weeks.”

“You too Bartus, you too.”

*** *** ***

About a mile outside the city, Red Eagle had to take a moment of reflection.

Another town, touched in a way he wouldn’t have expected from little more than his passing, and all it did was make him grumble under his breath as he walked southwards; realization kicking in for another time in his life.

He didn’t simply ‘pass through’ at all. He arrived, needing supplies and work to get them and he found what he needed. In the end, the job seemed simple, succinct, and it was for all intents and purposes. The results were not so simple.

In his ‘passing’, five ponies were dead, and more were sure to follow as the discoveries opened up a can of worms too large for the town to ignore. If Dark Water was right, then his little one day job opened grounds for a short and bloody civil war, and his moniker rang true again. Simply trying to survive had cost many places their lives, their livelihoods, and he wondered just how deep that truth would continue on against him, plaguing his thoughts as his mercenary mind tried desperately to bury his melancholies.

Going south into The Hoof meant a fight, most definitely, but what of his return? Would this package mean trouble for Crystal City? A bloody feud or some other crazed murder spree? What truly sparked confliction was he thought he wouldn’t even care either way.

He scoffed, as he knew no matter what he would be stuck in such a cycle of death. He’d need work, that work meant death and that would lead to more -like cutting an artery the single act would bleed the target dry. ‘Typical Wasteland brahminshit’ he thought as he kept walking south, trying to forget it all and simply focus on the road ahead.

He didn’t succeed though, only managing to change topics for a time before night fell across the face of Equestria, and sleep held him before the morning comes again. The day after only promising more of the mindless routine he so often encountered; mind numbing monotony as his companion.

Footnote: Red Eagle maximum level

Next Chapter: Chapter 6: The Hunters Estimated time remaining: 10 Hours