Fallout Equestria: Sola Gratia

The Stable had been the last bastion of hope for the citizens of Equestria. It was a way out, to detach yourself from what was going on in the world, and secure survival given almost any circumstances. We were its inheritors, the descendants of the ponies lucky or paranoid enough to have assured themselves a spot inside of it. Our ancestors had been some of the first to realize that the nightmare wasn’t going to end, that the darkness of war would outlast them, that it would outlast Equestria. They had secured themselves in what was essentially a very advanced hole in the ground while the world outside slowly died. And now we did the same. But it would be false to say that no one left the Stable, and it would be false to say that there was no one left on the outside, in the carcass that was Equestria. We knew there were, as we banished them there, we forced them out, sent them to die.

My father, for example, had been one of the ponies strategically removed from the population of the Stable by banishment. I had never really met him, but from what I’d heard about him: I was glad that I hadn’t. He was a murderer, this much I knew, and for his sins he had been damned. I only knew him from his legacy; ponies here in the Stable seem to think that crime is genetic and very little sympathy is given to the broken family of a sinner. The way people looked at me in the years after he was gone never let me forget what the buck that had played an important, yet solely physical, role in creating me had done. As they shifted away from me and lowered their voices it seemed that they were all subscribing to the belief that the sins of a father really do pass to his sons, or in this case: his daughter.

I didn’t even know who he had killed, or how many, though one was enough to warrant damnation so I kept optimistic, always assuming that he hadn’t gone on any kind of killing spree. I also tried to believe that he must have had a reason, that he wasn’t a black-hearted monster as some would assume of all the damned. I wanted to think that my father was a good buck once, though this feeling of loyalty and hope towards him had always perplexed me. I hadn’t known the departed sinner, yet I felt more of a connection to him than most of the Stable! I kept that truth to myself though, as I surely wouldn’t be allowed near any more sharp objects if they knew that was the way I felt.

The Stable ponies had not made it easy to feel like I belonged; it was almost as if I was supposed to feel like I didn’t. Especially in the early years of my life, while I was effectively living under the shadow of a murderer. But that trend had ended and the cloud of suspicion ponies had held over me had passed, at least in public it seemed to have, and now instead of that suspicion I got sympathy, although the exclusion felt the same.
The sympathy had begun some time ago when I was at the age of cutie-mark crusading, on a glorious quest to find my destiny out of the very limited selection of destinies available in the Stable. At this age my mother had died. And when somepony died here everyone shut out their past opinions and shared an empathetic feeling of remorse. Like they all suddenly remembered how real death was, and drew from their own fear of it to generate the sadness they then felt for a stranger. From an attitude of distrust and fear generated from my father’s damnation, to sympathy and a modicum of care from my Mother’s death. This change seemed fickle and veiled…but I needed it.

Despite the much appreciated change of attitude towards me, I was still an orphan, an orphan who was old enough to look after herself in the Stable’s eyes. It wasn’t too bad; I lived in my parent’s… my mother’s old room and got support from those around me whenever they felt I needed it, support which was mostly in the form of checking in on me to make sure I was still alive. I now understand why their reaction to an orphaned filly led to such a course and unstable support system. Orphans aren’t common in the Stable; in fact, at the time I was the only one, and the first in at least a few generations. So there were no real facilities, no means to take me up fully or even guide me through the rest of my childhood. But I could not say that I was abandoned, as you cannot really be alone in the Stable, no matter how much you may want to be sometimes. In any case, despite the flaws and enduring uncertainty of my up-bringing: I got through it. Now I had reached the age where I could no longer be called an orphan and have, by chronological definition only, grown-up. Despite the fact that I am essentially unemployed and still have no idea what my cutie-mark means.

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The Faith was a group that had grown to include almost a third of the ponies in the Stable and had developed from a difference in opinions and beliefs with how the Stable operated. The Stable was originally occupied by ponies sharing the same blunt belief system, that there was no after-life and the Princesses were members of a powerful species who ruled Equestria as near immortals alone (I say near immortals because it is now a commonly held assumption that they most certainly died in the War.) And the Stable was built around those beliefs, specifically the one that there is no after-life. Ironically it took an idea from an old religion to generate what we had now come to know as the Artificial Afterlife Incorporation System. A system of judgment and eventual placement into an assigned fate of Ascension, Damnation or if your Karma was neutral at the age of retirement and you hadn’t achieved any grand feats in either the good or evil department…well, then nothing really changed for you.

The Faith grew from a small group of slightly more…creative ponies a couple of generations ago who had a set of ideals that were almost just the opposite. Their small group had blossomed as more and more inhabitants found it hard to resign themselves to the belief that the AAI system hinged on; that death was where it all ended, and your singular earthly life-span was all you had and would ever have. My parents had both been part of the Faith and as such I felt a sort of solidarity with them. When my father was damned their reputation had also suffered a little as a result (He had been a prominent member). And when my mother died, none had shown me more sympathy than them. I wasn’t a member. They didn’t subscribe to indoctrination and even my Mother had left me to make up my own mind as I was growing up. I had remained consistently undecided; my inability to make a commitment to either side of the after-life argument left me slightly outside of both of the group’s circles, hovering unsurely in the middle.

I was, however, on my way to one of the Faith’s sermons as I would be every so often. Despite the failure of their assurances that my mother was now in a better place with the Princesses, or Goddesses as they called them, to console me, I was still comforted by the feeling of belonging and unity that I got at the sermons so I occasionally felt a desire to go to them.

I trotted leisurely down one of the Stable’s claustrophobic steel hallways, pacing myself, in no particular rush to arrive on time and hear the entirety of the Confessor’s one hour sermon.
The ritual usually took place after dinner on any two days of the week. So when I went, I would follow everypony from the cafeteria after forcing down whatever hyper-processed synthetic meal that was prepared for us that day. I hadn’t gone to dinner tonight, opting instead to stay in my room and read, not succumbing to the usually irresistible call of nutrient paste shamelessly disguised as food. I peeked into the cafeteria, a place that I now had to pass to get from my room to the lower Atrium, and sated my dull curiosity for the nature of the meal I had missed out on.

“Hey Chips” I greeted the cafeteria buck who’s coat was the same color as my mane, a rooted light brown with prevalent gold implications. His own mane was a much darker, rich mahogany. “Need any help?”

“Nah, I’m just about done here.” Cinnamon Chips replied as he rubbed a damp cloth against one on the communal checkered tables with his magic. Ironically Cinnamon Chips had a name that sounded a lot more delicious than the food he made. I had never even eaten anything that had tasted remotely like cinnamon...the spice not the pony.

“Alright, I’m just on my way to the sermon, stopped by to see what I missed. What’d you make tonight?”

“Same as ever, processed nutrient paste in solid form followed by processed nutrient paste in pudding form for desert.” He answered with a wry smile.

“I mean what did you shape it as this time?”

“Vegetable Pie and Custard, and it was pretty well near convincing.” He chuckled.

“You’re a real artist Chips.” I swung my front hoof forward and checked the time on my Pip-Buck.
“Anyway I better get going; I’ve already missed most of the sermon.”

His tone, following his expression, seemed to get a little more austere.
“Why do you even go to those things? It’d make sense if you believed in some of that nonsense, but last I heard you haven’t had any sort of religious break-down yet. So why bother?”

“I… don’t really know.” I honestly didn’t, frequently asking myself the same question that Chips was posing. Despite my inability to answer it, I had never seen any harm in my admittedly questionable ritual. “I suppose I just need something to do, remember: the Unemployment rate of Equestria is now just me. Having a job might not seem like fun to some ponies but at least it means you have something to do with your time. At least knowing you’re calling lets you know what you’re supposed to be doing”

Chips glanced back at his cutie-mark of a restaurant menu and nodded. “Yeah, suppose I can understand that.” He conceded, “Now don’t let me keep you, run along to your thingy and I’ll see you tomorrow for breakfast, alright? This nutrient paste may not taste good but you need it to keep you going.”

“I’ll be there.” I waved weakly and turned back out into the hallway.
I turned the corner and paused to look back at my ashy, light-gray flank. My enigmatic cutie-mark stared back at me. It was the same as ever, but I couldn’t help but to look at it. Two stylized golden Ones sitting parallel to each other, who could be taken as the number eleven, apart from the small golden dot hovering directly in between them. It looked like one-point-one except the decimal dot had jumped up and floated halfway up the height of the numbers, resting in the middle of the cutie mark like an obnoxious stain. Not that a cutie mark of the number eleven would have been much better. The only comfort I got from looking at my personable symbol was the fact that it was at least aesthetically pleasing, the rich gold it was colored in fit nicely against my gainsboro hide, reflecting on the lighter hints in my mane. The ones were solid and unique, looking more like simple, ancient symbols than the standard numerical value on a terminal screen or Pip-Buck. It still didn’t seem to mean anything though, that was what a cutie-mark was supposed to do, it was supposed to give some reflection on me, on my soul. A cutie-mark of a garbage disposal may not look as pretty as the symbol on my flank, but at least it meant something. The owner would know that they should pursue their bright future in the world of garbage and its respective disposal.

I shook off the irrational ebbing of anger towards my cutie-mark and continued on my way to the atrium, the lower atrium I should say, as the Commissary would never let the Faith use the main one near the stable door for their ‘rituals’. The Commissary were essentially the head of the stable, the second most authoritative figures in the system (the first being the Overmare). They were judge jury and executioner to the AAI system and orchestrated both damnation and ascension (though the Overmare always got the final say and could over-rule any decision proposed) They had tried to rub out the Faith in its infancy, when it was just a dozen rebellious zealots preaching ridiculously flimsy ideologies, their words not mine, but as it grew so did their tolerance for it. The group now constituted of at least a third of our population and was still growing. However, sermons always took place in the secondary, smaller ‘Atrium’. The one advantage of this placement was that the Faith could decorate the area to create the right environment for their ceremonies. I appreciated this, the decorations being one of my favorite aspects of the communion.

As I entered the Atrium, I stopped for a moment to take in the atmosphere of the room. The Confessor was not speaking and the ponies in the stalls, which were similar to those used during the Overmare’s announcements in the main Atrium, had their heads bowed in prayer.

This room during a sermon became the most colorful place in the entire stable, meaning that instead of the all encompassing steely gray with yellow stripes here and there it was steely-gray with red tapestries and carpeting, all illuminated by a frail golden glow emanating from the mock candle-light… featuring yellow stripes here and there. The candle-light itself was simulated by a few unicorn ponies who sat at different spots in the room. I had learned that spell when I was a little filly and could produce a golden glow with minimal effort. Sometimes I read by this light to get some respite from the usual whining fluorescents of the Stable.

Quietly swinging myself onto the end of one of the stalls I sat, head up, waiting for the prayer, or moment of silence or nap or whatever this was, to end. The Confessor looked up first, his eyes opening to reveal purple irises that glimmered in the magical candle-light as he began to speak.

“Praise the Goddesses.” All the heads lifted unanimously and attention turned to the white unicorn in front of us. The glow from the arcane illumination brightened slightly.

“Reflect on the passing thoughts that went through your mind as you opened it to the Goddesses, children of the faith. What fleeting wishes, hopes and dreams did you pray for the fulfillment of? Do you see them? Now imagine them realized. This is what waits for you in the Kingdom of the Skies, the kingdom of the Sun and Moon, not respectively, but together. The Goddesses await you in the land they themselves ascended to when the world was consumed by hate, war and balefire.

“For the Goddesses were not perfect in their mortal forms, they came down so long ago to guide our kind on the path that we could not travel ourselves. Before their coming we quarreled, fought with ourselves and undoubtedly, if our magic and technology had been what they are now, Equestria would have burned. As the rest of the world watched we would have destroyed ourselves.”

“But the Goddesses did come, they unified us under the banner of Equestria and we learned of our mistakes, but you may argue that our education was futile as we were destined only to repeat them. This is not the case my children, we were at peace for more than a thousand years, and when our unity was tested by Nightmare Moon, the demonic incarceration of a Goddess, and Discord, the epitome of Chaos and harbinger of our follies, we prevailed through unity and friendship.”

I knew of the stories he referenced, having read of them from the History Books and data files in the Stable. Our first, ancestral generation had documented most of their experiences escaping the war and I had read many of those that were made available to the public. Strangely enough most of the details of the war and the governance of Equestria during it had been censored, barred or omitted entirely. I knew only vague details of the conflict with the Zebras, and all of what I knew was heavily biased information from the emotional and opinionated logs of the Great War’s generation. The stories of Equestria’s history, though, seemed more credible, if a little sensational. Apparently six small town mares had harnessed the powers of happy thoughts and believing in themselves to defeat two of the greatest powers to challenge Equestria. To me it seemed a little far-fetched, something out of a myth or religious text. Speaking of…

“It is true that despite our successes under the Goddesses rule we were destined to fall, and so we did, when an enemy arose from over the sands and seas we could not stand together to face it, and instead we were drawn apart. Even The Elements of Harmony could not have saved us from our own pride and desperation at that point and though we claimed to fight for our country, in the process we tore it apart from within. And yet, after the end, as the world burned and the Goddesses ascended to their astral plane, we survived. The Goddesses have not rejected us, they will never turn away from us, abandon us in the cold dark, so long as we have faith we will still be together with them. We remain in the under-belly of a scarred and battered Equestria for a reason: Repentance. To pay for the sins of our ancestors and to redeem ourselves in the eyes of our saviors so that one day, we too, can ascend and join with them again, truly. We are not here as punishment for a crime our lost kin committed so long ago, we are here because the Goddesses still believe in us. They believe we are still good; we are to be their proof my children. So let us ensure that we will never fail them again, and strive to do better. Always.”

Despite my detachment towards this belief system, I had to admire its capability as a motivator. It was obvious that those who truly believed drew from their faith to keep going, to be strong and kind and good. They could take comfort from the horrors of reality in the belief that one day they would be taken away from it all, and they would have to work to achieve this. I often wondered whether this system was actually more effective at preventing people from committing crime, sinning, that the Stable’s system was.

Undoubtedly it would be if only everyone truly believed. Faith was the variable that caused the problem; I could take myself as an example and see that it was very easy not to buy into it all. And once you didn’t then it all seemed kind of ridiculous, from your removed standpoint. Was it fair to have ponies aspire to an after-life that would probably never come? Or was it fair to simulate that after-life as the Stable’s system intended to? Maybe I haven’t been able to commit to a side yet because I don’t have a real job and therefore have too much free time to over-think things like this.

“Though you may be enticed by the appeal of an ascension you are guaranteed In life, or you may see the banishment of a sinner to the dead wastes outside the Stable as a suitable punishment, do not give the systems of the Commissary a second look, for this is the system of the lost, the faithless, the ponies who believe our Goddesses are capable of death and existed on no other plane but ours, not as gods but as an advanced species.”

He said these words with an odd tone, not indicative of anger but more of pity.

“Let me reassure you that our ascension is equally guaranteed and does not last a fraction of a lifetime but an eternity; we will walk in the Kingdom of the Skies with our Goddesses I assure you. And what of the sinners? Those from our Faith who were cast out into the dead world, are they beyond saving? No, though they may never return here, there is always repentance; the Goddesses are nothing if not forgiving. This applies to those who refuted them, who deny their existence; none of them are beyond salvation. So talk to your families, help them see the light, save their immortal souls if you can and always remember to do better than those who came before, those lost souls who tore the world apart.”

His stance relaxed then, the Confessor was a powerful speaker. He put emotion into every word and phrase, yet maintained a relaxing and comforting tone. I enjoyed his speeches but they were not the main reason I came to these services. My favorite part was reserved for the end. I looked around to see how the ponies in the stalls had reacted to the sermon as I waited for the Confessor to pack his things. Some looked emotionally affected, wiping tears for the lost and the dead Goddesses from their eyes, while others seemed to be reaffirmed in their belief, proud of themselves and their Faith.

“Grace,”

the Confessor’s distinct voice resounded in the metal Atrium as he said my name. Hazel-Gold eyes locked with his old, shining purple ones.

“I am pleased to see someone who is not of the Faith can take lessons and enjoyment from my sermon, thank you for being here.” I nodded at him respectfully, not wanting to draw any more attention to myself.

“Would you kindly select a hymn from the book for us to sing in closing of our service?”
I nodded again and searched under my stall for the hymn book. My neighbor, a peppermint mare with a white mane, passed me hers.

“Thank you Julep.” She smiled and waited for me to choose one. I paged through the book, starting to feel the eyes of the ponies in the room on me as they patiently waited. I searched until I found one I knew and passed the book back to Julep.

“How about Number 73? I watch the Sun-rise, if that’s alright with everypony.” I looked around, nothing but pleasant looks and smiles. What had I expected; someone attacking me over my hymn choice? As if in answering to my half-question, the light dimmed as the unicorns began to focus on the song.

The music came straight from their horns as if out of a gramophone or radio except with the clarity of pure persistence. Some of the unicorns in the stalls who knew the instrumental parts of the hymn joined in until the sound had swelled to a beautifully rich and complex array of lyres, violins, cellos and double-basses all picking up after one and other, never leaving a moment unfilled with music. We let them bring in the song with an increasingly coordinated and full introduction until all the unicorns who could were a part of the breathtaking mass of sound. Then everypony began to sing.

I watch the sunrise lighting the sky,
Casting its shadows near.
And on this morning bright though it be,
I feel those shadows near me.

But you are always close to me.
Following all my ways…
May I be always close to you.
Following all your ways…

I watch the sunlight shine through the clouds
Warming the earth below.
And at the mid-day, life seems to say:
I feel your brightness near me.

For you are always close to me.
Following all my ways...
May I be always close to you.
Following all your ways…

I watch the sunset fading away,
Lighting the clouds with sleep.
And as the evening closes its eyes,
I feel your presence near me.

For you are always close to me.
Following all my ways…
May I be always close to you.
Following all your ways…

I watch the moonlight guarding the night,
Waiting till morning comes.
The air is silent; earth is at rest.
Only your peace is near me.

Yes, you are always close to me.
Following all my ways…
May I be always close to you.
Following all your ways…

The voices and magical instruments echoed throughout the Stable, resonating off the steel and glass, stretching deep and wide in the great underground sanctuary that contained the last remnants of the old world. This is why I came to the services, even when you weren’t in the Atrium and you heard the sound of the music emanating from within you couldn’t help but feel like you were connected, that you were a part of it. And when your voice constituted a fraction of the entrancingly glorious sound, you knew that you shared in giving the feeling to almost everyone in the Stable, including yourself. As the voices slowed and died down and the instruments tapered off, you could almost hear the slightly delayed echo of the last note radiating out into the world, carrying with it all the hope and joy this group of ponies could muster and sharing this hope and joy with all who heard it.

Some of the fillies and colts of the small families who had come to the service were yawning and rubbing their eyes with their hooves as we filed out of the lower Atrium by the two doors. It was admittedly late and even some of the parents looked tired. We had thanked the Confessor and they had thanked the Goddesses, and now everypony was heading home.

I ascended the small staircase to the upper level where my room was situated, humming to myself as I walked. My room was the farthest from the lower Atrium so the others had already taken a different turn or reached their own, waving goodnight to anypony nearby as they entered. Though the allocation of rooms was random for the most part, in terms of allegiance to the Faith or Commissary, I had noticed that my hallway was mostly inhabited by followers of the latter. I could only assume that this was due to the close proximity to the main Atrium and Administrative offices as the allocations of rooms was not completely random when it came to professions.
For the most part, maintenance workers lived on the lowest level, medical, educational and recreational workers lived on the middle level and the administration made up most of the upper level. The unemployed lived in my room. I pulled out my key-card and slid it through the slot with my magic allowing the doors to slide vertically open. I entered and the automatic portal slowly slid shut behind me, the fluorescent lights flickering to life, brightening the quiet simplicity.

I couldn’t help but feel incredibly alone then, the room seemed emptier as a result of the contrast with the bristling activity of life and that had constituted my evening thus far, the fluorescent lights bluntly complimenting the contrast when compared to the warm golden-red glow of the lower Atrium. I always had this sort of feeling after I visited in on a sermon, as it served to pull me out of my life for a brief period of time, only to drop me back out again an hour later.

This time it was different though. I didn’t feel lonely for myself but rather for the Stable as whole, we were a tight-knit community, I knew almost everypony’s name and everypony seemed to know mine, though I was hardly friends with any of them. And together we were completely alone in the world, a flickering light of Equestria buried under rock and steel. We were like a dysfunctional family bound together by location and a common ancestry, though we had so very little else in common.

On one side of the spectrum, or dinner table if I may beat the metaphor to death, was the traditionalistic head of the household, who was constantly at odds with the idealistic young free-thinker on the other side. Both had to display an impressive level of civility and restraint, if only to avoid ruining dinner.

There was me, sitting in the middle feeling incredibly awkward, as both sides gave each other funny looks in a silent conflict that I was not a part of, aside from rare occasions when I had to pass the salt from one to the other. For the most part, however, I just sat there and tried to eat as slowly as possible, only to give myself something to be occupied with, as I awaited the chance to be excused and escape to bed.
Maybe I was just hungry since I had skipped dinner.
Hungry and tired

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The next morning I awoke with the strange feeling of absent starvation that sometimes manifested after waking up, it had been at least eighteen hours since I had eaten anything and yet I felt just fine, so I was in no rush to get to breakfast. I had fallen asleep on top of my bedding and had therefore strategically avoided having to re-make it, points for thinking ahead past self! Or rather points for passing out with no regard for your own comfort.

I slid off of my bed and went over to the mirror to regard myself in all my morning glory. My mane looked especially golden in the harsh lighting, changing from its usually brownish-gold to a lighter shade that I called goldish-brown. It was an unappealing mixture of neat and disheveled on one hemisphere of my head, the darker underside of it made apparent by its respective golden locks sticking out so much. My mane was medium-length, soft, self-cut layers and waves of loose, subtle curls, bangs swept up and to the side. Ever since I started taking care of myself I had just let it be, with the occasionally haircut to appease the ebb of my softly raging compulsion for consistency. It looked as if I might almost be due for one but luckily, it was just wavy enough to spare ocular obstruction. I could put it off for now. What I couldn’t put off was a shower; I had found that the best way to destroy my manes will to defy gravity in the morning was to drown it in a torrent of highly pressurized water.

I didn’t bother putting on the standard white Stable Jumpsuit with the gold-trim, as usual, and made my way to the showers naked. Despite some of the more civilized, or stuck-up, ponies of the past insisting on remaining clothed in public, everyone here now accepted that this wasn’t a big deal. Made sense considering you could accurately use the phrase ‘naked as the princesses’ based on the pictures we had been shown at school, assuming that big shiny jewelry doesn’t count. There was nonetheless something awkward about undressing in front of the inadvertent voyeurs at the showers so I preferred to go like this, if I arrived naked then it felt less expository to me somehow.

After showering my hair into a semblance of submission I dried off and went straight to breakfast. I had never taken a liking to my stable attire and tended not to wear it, so my nudity persisted. The garment didn’t have any factional implications like most things in the Stable but once some of the Faith took to dying theirs a royal red, a practice that was quickly banned after a number of Commissary ponies got their new pink jumpsuits back from the communal wash.

I was late for breakfast and so most of the ponies had already cleared out of the large cafeteria. I went through the motions with the few that were there, polite greetings and pleasant, uninvolved conversation about nothing in particular as, one by one; they went off to answer the call of their respective destinies.
Or, to say it in a less dramatic way: They went to work.

Afterwards I helped Chips clean up the cafeteria. Breakfast was his simplest meal because nutrient paste is fairly easy to pass off as oatmeal, but I helped anyway.
When we were done, I set off into the halls to find adventure!...

I often felt guilty about not doing my part for the Stable and volunteered as often as I could for anything that I could. The most abundant in its availability of volunteer work was the medical wing which was currently occupied by one doctor, one nurse and sometimes one volunteer nurse’s assistant i.e. me.

Over the years I had picked up some novice medical spells with my horn under the tuition of Doctor Cross, a deeply red mare with a tight graying mane and a volatile demeanor, who gave me the chance to help out whenever she could. However I strongly believe that even if the world outside wasn’t burnt to a crisp in balefire the Stable would still be the safest place in Equestria and as such, the workload in medical wasn’t even enough to keep the two mares who were employed there occupied.

I stopped in just in case there was a way for me to help the good doctor, however when I arrived I saw that only Nurse Clearheart was present.

“Good Morning Grace” the light pink mare greeted me warmly looking up from her stack of paperwork.

“Hello Nurse. Is this a bad time?”

“I’m sorry to say that it may be, the Doctor is out on a House Call and I’m up to my haunches in this medication assignment drivel.” She gestured to the already noticeable stack of paper on her desk with the quill levitating in her pink magic.

“I didn’t know Cross made house calls, is something going on?”

“Special Case, same reason I have all this bureaucratic work.” Again she gestured with the quill.

“The secret kind of special?” my curiosity peaked, I half hoped it would be a secret so I would at least have a mystery to solve.
“Sort of, you know Saber? The senior member of the Commissary?” I nodded “Well then you know he’s almost at the age of retirement, and we need to get him as healthy as he can get before he ascends.”

“You mean before he’s judged.” I clarified; she didn’t know if he had a good enough Karmic score to warrant ascension yet, he could be closer to neutral and would therefore have to wait a year or two for re-assessment.

“He’s essentially the head of the commissary, where do you think he’s going?” She gave me an odd look like I had missed an important lesson in a class along the line somewhere. “Anyway theoretical speculation aside, I need to make sure he’s authorized to administer the medication he needs by himself. The stubborn buck is insistent on spending his remaining time at work. He won’t come in for anything.”

“Alright, I’ll leave you to it then” I shook off her unsettlingly seditious statement and started towards the door. “Let me know if you ever need my help with anything.”

“Thanks for the offer Grace, I’ll make sure to.” She seemed to be only capable of making gestures with her hovering quill as she simulated a little wave with it.

While I had a competent to passable level of ability in medical volunteer work, I would only get in the way in most of the other more specialized fields. I spent most of what I could call my work time cleaning, working in the clinic or running errands, the most common of which was delivering letters from ponies with complaints or concerns to the overmare. Somehow in my running to and from her office I had sparked what could almost be called a friendship with the influential mare. It was primarily based on the fact that we used to play together as fillies, before our lives split to branch off in such different directions.

She had only become Overmare recently, elected by the democratic voting system which was overseen by the Commissary, who also served as an intermediary in between periodic overmares or stallions. She was still fairly young, only a few years older than me in fact. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like I had any mail to deliver today so I gave up on my quest for adventure and slunk back to my room.

I wasn’t usually bored during the day; as I usually had a fair amount to do in the form of odd jobs or reading up on the past or from its’ literature. It was more that I felt almost impotent. It wasn’t just because of my vague and unnerving cutie-mark, which I somehow couldn’t help but love and tolerate as a part of me, that I didn’t have an affixed job or career, it was more for the same reasons that I didn’t have any friends or relevant relationships beyond near-friendship.

I existed under the radar. Ever since my mother had died it had been that way, while people were willing to make sure I was fed and cared for for a while I lacked a parental figure to guide me through the normal progressions of growing up. In a way I simply hadn’t, I gave myself credit for having ‘made it’ alone, if only for having brought myself to go to school most mornings, but the simple fact was that I hadn’t really taken the step from an adolescent to an adult in terms of how my life progressed.

The Stable was content. If anything, most of its fields of work were over-employed with an adequate or more than adequate fulfillment of job positions at least. It seemed to have blossomed into the hyper-functional society that its designers had hoped for, crime rates were low and the two opposing factions didn’t even have anything as serious as passionate debates, they simply co-existed. The system, or possibly systems if you took the members of the Faith into account, was working. And despite the assurances that I was doing everything I could, and more than I was expected to, I couldn’t help but feel a little…irrelevant.
I spent the early afternoon conversing with Chips when I had gone in to pick up my lunch; a meal that was done in a free-form system rather than a set meal-time like breakfast and dinner, as peoples jobs, or lack thereof, made their day schedules differ.

After that I had returned to my room and sat at my terminal to continue work towards the completion of my own personal goal; to read everything on the entire database of everything. I had chosen to go through the logs of the first generation stable-dwellers chronologically and as such had read more about the fantastical pony super-team who combined the elements of KINDNESS, LAUGHTER, LOYALTY, HONESTY, GENOROSITY and MAGIC to complete the magical rainbow death-beam of concentrated friendship, than I had about the Great War that had inspired the hasty construction of this very Stable.

Most of the Great War stuff was censored or omitted anyway so if I got any kind of information from it it would mostly likely be broken up and incomplete on top of being thoroughly biased. I assumed these logs had been trimmed soon after they were written. The Commissary and the Overmare (or stallion) of the days of yore must have felt that logs describing the greatest failure of our species weren’t conducive to building a new society based on hope for the future. Or they must have seen how depressing it was that they encouraged the belief that death was completely and utterly final while logs describing the deaths of millions sat freely available for any and all to see. In any case, the Faith had come to exist and opposed that belief anyway so they may as well have left the logs completed.

I did find one log entry that seemed fairly promising; it was from about a year after the Stable sealing. I deduced this as we had come to mark the date with the day the doors first closed as a common starting point. This log was labeled year one, day seventeen. It seemed to be just after the Stable’s chief system of governance had been established and followed the introduction of the AAI system. I imagined they had left some time for things to stabilize before they made that announcement. I suppose that it would be quite a lot to take in for someone who had lived on the outside. I decided I could ignore my chronological system this once, skipping ahead almost two decades from where I had left off.

---------------- --------- ---------------

Log of Autumn Blossom
Year 1, Day 17

About two weeks ago we had something of a celebration of the Stable’s one year anniversary, it was…nice. Honestly it was the most normal thing I feel like I’ve done in a while, there was cake and music and games for the children, everyone seemed so happy. A couple of mothers who came into the Stable pregnant gave birth in the last year, and now Sprinkles is pregnant too. I sort of envy the ones born here; this place will be there home, now and forever. That will mean they won’t have to adjust like the rest of us do. Despite how nice the Stable is, especially compared to the alternative, it’s hard to forget why we are here, and how many aren’t. There are a couple interesting methods and tactics the Overstallion has proposed to implement in our education system to <data corrupted>.

Another interesting announcement was made today; they finally explained to us this new system that ponies have been speculating about. We knew it was coming since a couple of us have been drafted into this ‘Commissary’ thing already. Though they finally explained what the elevator on the upper level and the air lock near the Stable door were for. Everyone was called into the main Atrium at around ten o’clock this morning and ushered onto those stalls to listen to the Overstallion make his announcement. Firstly, he covered the obvious, the Commissary. It’s going to work like a committee that authorizes under this Overstallion, and all those in the future, as a diplomatic regulator and voice of the people. Seemed like its main purpose was to reign in the possibly despotic nature of the Overstallion/mare system and also alleviate some of the pressure on that same Overstallion/mare by helping with decisions or the enactment of policies. Nothing out of the ordinary there and if anything the crowd seemed pleased with the idea.

After going over how we can do our part for the community and the nature of the elections, which seemed democratic and fair apart from an arguably long term length, he got to the really interesting part. One thing I noticed while meeting with my fellow inhabitants at the orientation last year is that we were all very scientifically-minded ponies. Usually in a group of over two hundred ponies you could expect to find at least a couple dozen followers of some kind of old religion or subscribers to a slightly more creative belief system than what everyone here seemed to believe. And the system he then explained was seemingly designed to fit around that, which implies that they hadn’t admitted any of the other type of ponies into the Stable. Though they were a great minority, I couldn’t help but imagine a devout pony being turned away from buying a place here because of his beliefs. Maybe <data corrupted>.

The system was simple, yet fascinating; we had noticed a feature in the technological masterpieces attached to everyponies leg, the Pip-bucks, that seemed to be some sort of section for an invisible Karma counter and now we finally knew what they were for. These little devices could accurately monitor and score ponies actions based on morals and ethics and it would do so for the entirety of someponies life. Though apparently it wouldn’t need to after the age of retirement as that was when we were allocated an artificial afterlife, as the Overstallion called it. A person with exceptionally good Karma would be ‘ascended’ and somepony with exceptionally bad Karma would be ‘damned’. The terms held little weight at first but the Overstallion assured us he would explain them in time. He went on to explain the simplistic consequence of neutral karma, which was essentially a pat on the head and an encouraging’ try again next year’. Then, as promised, he carefully explained the two vaguely religious terms.

The system was, in fact, based on an old religion but the similarities were purely as a result of inspiration being drawn from it, ideologically they couldn’t have been more different. Upon retirement, or the crossing of either a positive or negative threshold (At which point the Pip-buck would send an alarm or message to the Stable’s main terminal) a pony was deemed either worthy of Ascension or punishable by Damnation. His description of Ascension was vague but oddly enticing, the elevator on the upper level, which could only be opened with authorization from the Overstallion and head of the Commissary, who was yet to be elected out of the current members, apparently led to a whole other floor of the Stable where the most powerful technological devices in Equestria awaited those who were granted freedom to use them.

They were designed to enclose those who entered them and keep the user eternal and ageless until a time when the Stable could once again be opened to what would have to be a purified, inhabitable world. At the appropriate time, be it in decades or centuries, the ascended could awake after an apparently unlimited span of enclosure being kept the same age and in the same mental and physical state as when they entered them. It would be like going to sleep and having the most beautiful dreams you could imagine for an amount of time that would feel exponentially shorter than it was in reality, then awaking to a rejuvenated Equestria.

He called the devices ‘Stasis Pods’ and said there were hundreds upon hundreds awaiting the best of our generation and every Stable generation to come, so that when the time arrived and the steel door of the Stable rolled open to a new Equestria, it could be repopulated with only the purest of heart and most enlightened of souls. He put a damper on the exited mood by reminding us that to reach the threshold of immediate ascension before retirement was nearly undoable and even at retirement your score would have to be very good to avoid the fate of neutrality. Despite the challenge I had never before seen a room of ponies so excited, and so excited to be good and avoid sin no less. And why not? The thought of getting life in a new world rather than death at an old age in the Stable was a fabulous idea to entertain. And I too was relishing the notion, but our attention was drawn back to the Overstallion as he announced the third and final possibility.

Damnation… it was cruel, it was unthinkable and yet it almost seemed fitting. The only kinds of people it would ever be applied to would have to be black of heart and malicious in intention, murderers, rapists, people whose will to sin was strong enough to drive them to harm their only home to the point where they were banished from it. I looked at the Karma screen on my Pip-buck, fearing its ability to judge me for the first time. There was no dial or gauge visible, the screen held no accessible information about your karmic level until it was accessed by way of the Overstallion’s terminal. And for that you needed authorization from him and the head of the Commissary. To the user, the owner, it did nothing but remind them that they were being scored on who they were, to the most basic degree of their worth as as a pony, and one day that score would determine their very destiny. It was nothing if not effective as even though I hadn’t intention to do anything wrong, I feared it. The grinning buck waving from the screen, served simply to remind you that he would always be there, judging you.

The Overstallion had encouraged us from day one in the Stable to record as many logs as we could of stories and experiences from the world of the past, they are arranged chronologically and I can see some people have written as far back as a two decades before Nightmare Moon returned, that must have been Boulder, he would have been a young colt at the time but he must still has stories to share of those days.

In any case the Overstaillon added in his announcement today that unless we felt like continuing these logs as a diary for ourselves we could stop writing them, the public database will remain open for submissions for a while but I think I will make this my last public log. If I had to leave anything for the next few generations to read I feel my little stories of growing up in the Plains will be more than enough to help you learn a little about what the world was like before the megaspells. If you’re looking for material that’s pre-war then Boulder has shared plenty of the stories of his youth and I would recommend those. Good Reading fellow stable citizen, I commend you on your interest in the past.
Maybe if were both lucky, I’ll see you when the doors open, in the new Equestria.

-Autumn Blossom

------------------- ---------- -------------------

I had to wonder if Autumn Blossom could be down there, sleeping through the stasis, waiting as the time flew by at the unnatural speeds it seemed to while you were asleep. I had never felt a great urge to achieve ascension, in fact, I had seen several ponies turn it down, in favor of spending their remaining years or decades in the company of the family they had reared and the friends they had made. It would undoubtedly by odd waking up in a world full of strangers from varying generations of the countless decades, but the outside world reinhabited did sound appealing.

I had had nights were eight hours of sleep had felt like nothing more than the blink of an eye, where lying down and closing your eyes was all it took to transport you forward in time. The stasis pods were almost like a form of time-travel, what made the decision to accept ascension difficult was that there was no way to go back. You had to make the commitment to never see most of the people you knew again; maybe that’s why the pods weren’t full yet. I knew for a fact more ponies had died here than had been ascended. Comparatively, very few had been damned.

It was interesting to read the opinions of someone who had experienced both the outside world of war-time Equestria and the Stable’s hyper-security. I made a note to check out Boulders logs about life in the Stable, he had lived long before the war had even begun and the stories from his childhood had been almost disturbingly simple and peaceful; Serene and calm, a pure Equestria. I imagined he would have the greatest insight on the contrast between times of peace and war along with time in the Stable.

Now, however, it was late afternoon and I decided I would go talk to the medical mares until dinner, unless they were somehow still busy. After reading the log I was interested to know how unhealthy somepony had to be to be denied ascension, and if this was a possibility for Saber.

I had never really met or conversed with the current head of the Commissary but I would sympathize with anypony who was denied the use of one the stasis pods because they were diagnosed with a case of being very nearly dead. I had to admire his commitment to work through his ailments; he was a visibly frail looking old buck with a mane that had faded to a pale grey over the years. Even his coat was a greyer blue than it once was, but I supposed he didn’t need to be physically spry to be good at his job. His cutie mark was an elaborate scroll or doctrine and from what I had heard from the Overmare he was a good buck to work with, if a little stubborn in his determination to keep the Stable safe and regulated. I wondered what possible disagreements they could have had surrounding the Stable’s safety, maybe I would ask Shad- the Overmare later.

I had to take the staircase down to the Stable’s middle level (not considering the mysteriously placed floor designated for the stasis pods) to get from my room to the medical wing. I liked the middle floor the most out of all of them and sometimes wished my room was here, it was where I spent most of my time, after all. This floor, not my room…Actually yes, my room too. Every floor seemed to have a different feel, a unique personality that reflected on the ponies who occupied it.

The upper floor was cold and serious; it was always the cleanest and got the least traffic as the only real communal area was the atrium. It was designed and maintained professionally, almost compulsively. The reason I had picked up the task of delivering messages to the overmare was that I was probably the pony who travelled between the middle and upper floor the most as I scampered to and from my room all day. Located up here was the main Atrium, the Ascension Elevator, the Air lock and the Stable Door as well as all the administrative offices and residences. Security was also technically located here but it was unclear where Security ended and the Commissary began, as they effectively ran it in its entirety. The commissary was simultaneously small and large. Small in its number of employees but large in terms of what they controlled.

The middle floor was the most varied in its purpose; located here was the lower Atrium, Medical Wing, Cafeteria, classrooms and a large expanse of residential areas which housed most of the ponies in the Stable. Each section had its own feel to it, medical was clean and orderly, the lower atrium, cafeteria and the residential areas were very sociable and buzzing with activity while the Classrooms had a cute, childlike innocence. The children had been allowed to draw on the steel walls of their hallways in crayon and a mural of sorts had developed. Sometimes I could find a drawing I had done in the medley of colorful scribbles. It was my attempt at the sun, which I had seen in some picture books. It was a bright yellow circle with triangles alongside its circumference. It was simple, but nostalgic, and I liked to stop by sometimes and try to find it in the ever growing mural.

The lowest floor was the grittiest and ironically looked like it was the least well maintained, though the ponies working in maintenance all lived here. Every other door had some chugging device behind it that was probably purifying water or recycling food and waste. Food or waste, hopefully these two were processed separately from each other. The walls were rusty and scratched. It was the most sociable within itself compared to the other floors, the maintenance ponies always had some game of cards running or were hanging out together in the hallways. I rarely found myself down there in my usual routine. However once there had been an accident with the steam gauges and a couple of mares had gotten severe burns on their bodies due to an amassment of pressure in one of the pipes, leading to a rapid leak. I had been helping in the medical clinic at the time and tagged along to try and assist when Cross was called down to help. The worst injury I had ever seen was the freshly mutilated face of one of the victims. The mares had survived, but one now had permanent disfiguration on most of her face which, while noticeable, was not nearly as bad as before the doc had patched her up.

The same doc who may well still be out of office, I quickly realized as I entered the medical wing. Though to call it a wing was an exaggeration, it was really just a room which was about the size of the atrium but with a much lower ceiling. The desks of both the Doctor and the nurse sat on opposite sides of the room to my left and right respectively. The walls were lined with beds, each separated from one another by a curtain. There were about twelve in total and I had never seen even half of them full at the same time. At the back of the room was the locked door to storage which was filled with a, seemingly endless, wide array of drugs and supplies. I had spent a lot of time in this room, not only as a volunteer but as a visitor: In countless hours curled up next to my dying mother on the bed just adjacent to the doctor’s desk, my legs tucked under my blank flank as I waited for her to get better. My time here as a filly was probably what had inspired Cross to take me under her metaphorical wing as a part-time apprentice. She had not only allowed me to devote some of my time to her but she had taken some of her own free time to teach me a few medical spells.

The room looked exactly as it had this morning, down to Nurse Clearheart scribbling at the paperwork on her desk. The only change was the stack on her desk had shifted to the right leaving only one or two papers where it had once stood.

“How are you still busy with that?” I asked the nurse sympathetically.

“There are some surprisingly serious implications if I mess this up. Think of this as an example...” I felt more like I was talking to the now hovering quill again as her eyes stayed locked on the sheet before her.

“Say Saber was to O.D on the drugs we’re prescribing him, what proof is there that he messed up and took more than he was dosed over the possibility that we intentionally slipped him the wrong stuff?” She looked up at me and continued.
“We couldn’t run any sort of tox-screen to analyze what was in his system because we’d be the primary suspects of a murder investigations, and anything we claimed would be dismissed as a lie.”

“So fudging up this paper-work could lead to a pretty serious change in lifestyle for you two.” I concluded for her. “I take it you’re not the outdoorsy type.”

“Not after the outdoors got cooked I’m not.” She lifted the page she was working on and placed it on top of the stack with her mouth while simultaneously using her magic to shift the last sheet in front of her.
“ Stick around for a minute if you’ve got the time Grace. I could use your help when I’m done.”

“Sure thing.” I slumped into one of the chairs by the door. They were there in lieu of a waiting room, not that there had ever been any sort of queue here as far as I could remember. I levitated a random magazine out from the stack nearby. The only written material that had ever been produced in the Stable was all created and stored on the terminals; however the magazines had all been published very long ago, outside of the Stable. ‘Future Weapons Today’ I imagined the time frame that title had applied to was now severely out of sync. I had, of course, read this magazine before, along with every other magazine here, but it was admittedly one of my favorites so I paged through looking at the pictures.

There were guns in the Stable, the Commissary held on to most of them, though one hadn’t been fired in the entirety of what I knew of the sanctuary’s history. Those guns were standard fare though, insert bullet, create explosive pressure, bullet leaves, receive shell and defeated opponent, nothing fancy. However I found the energy weapons displayed in this magazine to be a lot more interesting than the actual physical examples of weaponry that the Commissary had.

I always had an irrational little desire In the back of my mind to try out a tri-beam laser rifle. I had even tried to construct one of my own as a filly. My personal tri-beam had been fully powered by imagination and went Pew-Pew whenever it fired its triplicate of invisible rays for zero damage per second. More accurately I went Pew-Pew as I levitated it around and defended the Stable from the looming threat of nopony in particular. It was essentially a series of small cardboard boxes and discarded mechanical parts from maintenance taped and glued together around half a broom-stick. Just as the schematics I had drawn up in the most intimidating shade of crayon I could find had indicated.

The tri-beam laser rifle in the magazine, which also looked a little more impressive, claimed to do 75 damage per shot.
75 out of what? Despite my confusion over the numerical scores this weapon boasted I had always admired it. I even kept the schematics for the scrappily home-made version in my room.

“Done!” Clearheart exclaimed excitedly as she floated the last piece of paper to the top of the stack. ”That was the most paper-work I’ve had to do in years!”

I put the magazine back and sauntered over to the Nurse’s desk.
“I understand the consequences of messing these up, but surely the process is not always this grueling.”
Clearheart was very obviously relieved and exhausted at the same time as a result of her day’s workload.

“No, like I said it’s a Special Case, unusual scenario. Firstly were dealing with one of the higher-ups here, one of the higher-ups within the higher-ups no less, and secondly the stubborn old bastard is making it very difficult to follow proper procedure. I can respect his commitment but he is almost completely at odds with the idea of accepting any form of help and won’t let anyone else take care of him. His unfaltering and frankly idiotic devotion to his position is part of the problem anyway; the buck simply works too hard!”

“It’s difficult to understand considering we barely even know what he’s doing. Sometimes I think he has to deal with more issues than the Overmare does. That’s the way it seems at least.”

“He wouldn’t have it any other way. And I’m sure whatever he’s so stressed about is for the betterment and protection of the Stable, in his mind. I personally think he’s just struggling to come to terms with the fact that, ascension or not, he’s retiring and any kind of control he has now is passing into somepony else’s hooves.” Clearheart expertly divided the now completed stack of paperwork into two piles.

“I hardly know the buck and I can tell he’s a control freak, I bet he’s sure that the Stable’s going to go spiraling into chaos as soon as he’s out of the picture. Though I honestly think we’ll barely notice the change in management; it’s never seemed to have much of an impact before.” I moved closer and let the nurse strap a saddlebag onto me. She then proceeded to put one of the stacks of paper inside it.
“So what do you need me to do with this?” I finally felt like I was achieving something today and was excited to get started.

“Well half these papers need to go to Cross and Saber for their signatures and admissions of compliance.” She put the other pile into her own saddlebag. “That’s where I’m headed now. So what I need you to do is take your half to the Overmare, she’ll know what to do with them, so just wait till she’s done and then bring them back and put them in my drawer if I’m still out.”

“Good luck out there Clearheart; I’ll see you on the other side.” I gave her a salute and prepared to charge off unto the breach once more. I would plunge into the fluorescent darkness to ensure the fair maiden’s bureaucracy arrived at its destination, I knew full well this mission could be my last but justice must be delivered for my Princess and my honor! For Equestria!
“I exist to push paperwork and chew bubblegum! And I’m all out of gum! I will not fail you Clearheart!”

“ I hate to say this Grace but you need to get a job.”

“Just have your heaving bosom ready for my return maiden!” I knew I was really going to wish I hadn’t said that later on, but now was not the time for regret: I had a menial task to do!

I bounded out of the door, not because I was in any sort of hurry but because I didn’t want to have to deal with the fallout of my last statement just yet. At least I hadn’t said anything about her flanks.

I couldn’t help but get a little over-excited, this was the first thing I had done that held any sort of importance in a long while. Sure Clearheart could have gone to the Overmare right after she went to Cross and Saber but that would have left the clinic unattended for twice as long! And there were lives at stake! Not right now in reality… but hypothetically there were!

My excitement ebbed as I turned the monotonously gray corners one after the other, with brief stretches of monotonously gray hallway in between. I went from an abrasive adventurer on a glorious quest to a slightly enthused delivery-mare who was just happy to have the work by the time I got to my destination.

The Overmare’s office looked over the main atrium but was still technically part of the same upper level that my room was part of, although it was most likely above it somewhere. The atrium determined what constituted the upper level and it was two stories high so the ‘level’ was made up of two floors in reality. I buzzed the Stable-equivalent of a doorbell and waited for the response.

“Who is it?” The smooth voice of Shady Sands, our newly elected Overmare, came through the completely unnecessary receiver. I could hear both her actual voice and its tinny counterpart through the door and the intercom respectively.

“It’s Grace; I have some paperwork from medical that needs a good signing.” The door slid open and I stepped into the circular room, opening my saddlebag and pulling out the documents with my telekinesis as I went. The Overmare looked flustered, not by my arrival but from what I had gathered must be a heated political atmosphere due to what I had heard about Saber’s behavior.

Shady was a tan colored mare with a dark-brown mane and tail, both braided into dreadlocks. Her cutie-mark was a large red star embellished with darker shades of red forming its outline, she had eyes which were a rich hazel but now looked slightly bloodshot and weary. I almost felt sorry for bringing her more work to deal with and hoped that whatever she needed to do with these papers would be over quickly and with minimal effort, for her sake.
“ You look…tired, are you feeling alright?” I asked as I lay the stack of sheets in front of her, upside down. She quickly remedied this with her freaky earth-pony dexterity lifting the sheets, somehow all together, and flipping them over back onto her desk. Maintaining this dexterity she picked up (!?) a pen and began to sign the documents, skimming each one with impressive speed before doing so.

“Nothing out of the ordinary, politics are…strange. It takes some time to get used to them. Out of everypony running this place I’m the one with both the most power and the least experience and it’s apparent the commissary is having trouble overlooking that.” I could tell she wasn’t telling me her feelings about the commissary in full, probably out of respect for maintaining civility.

“It seems to me that something big is going on. Is it just Saber’s retirement or is there something else?”
I had to stop having conversations with ponies while they went through paperwork, the minimal eye contact and resultant feeling that I was being a nuisance made it very awkward.

She looked at me like she had just realized I was there, when I had entered she hadn’t paid me much attention and had gone straight from what she was working to the documents from the medical clinic. Now she seemed to be appraising me, I could almost hear her mind at work.
“I…I’m sorry Grace I didn’t really register that it was you at first.” She put down (!?) the pen and stepped out from behind her oval-shaped desk to walk up to me.

“Oh no that’s alright, you don’t have to get up for me, I’m happy to…help. I was told to just wait for you to finish the documents and bring them back to Nurse Clearheart; I didn’t mean to interrupt Sha-…Ma’am.” Forget what I said: this was way more awkward, I had forgotten how much I disliked eye contact. Especially when it was with the Overmare!

“Relax Grace, you know me I can’t just expect you to sit there and put up with my poor manners. And besides there’s something I needed to talk to you about anyway.” She motioned for the couch against the wall to my right. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”
“Alright, sorry Shady, I just couldn’t help but feel like I was getting in your way. You seem awfully busy.” I took a seat on the cushy couch as she gracefully swung herself onto the other end.

“It’s no bother, in fact; you saved me time by coming straight to me. I was planning to talk to you at breakfast tomorrow, but I suppose a giving you a little notice for what I’m going to ask might be better.” She was speaking to me as if she legitimately needed my help, as me, not as a courier or an extra pair of hooves and horn to pass tools to the ponies doing the actual work. The feeling was odd.

“What could you possibly need my help with?” I was legitimately perplexed.

“Don’t sell yourself short Grace, if you’re willing to help me then you could play an important role in future of the Stable. And I know that you are more than competent. However I need you to see that too, otherwise you might as well not be.” She left the statement open ended, as if to let me decide whether I truly believed I was capable of anything more than odd jobs and volunteer work.

“Not that I don’t hold a healthy opinion of myself…” I lied? “It’s just that I can’t really see how I could possibly help you with anything you’re currently involved with. Maybe I’m just making assumptions here but whatever the case is I am always willing to help out when I can, so if you need anything, I’m up for it.”

“Thank you, but don’t sign on to support me with everything just yet, I expect you to decide that tomorrow. For now all I ask is that you attend a meeting between me and the Commissary, Saber included, if Cross thinks he’s up for it.” She seemed pleased by my willingness to help and even more pleased at the possibility that Saber might not be allowed to attend the meeting despite his own willingness.

“A meeting? What’s it about?” When did I become somepony who got invited to meetings?

“Change.” She had a genuinely excited grin on her face as she almost purred out the word.
“Let me be frank and say that you are unique, as you are probably the most un-biased inhabitant of this Stable. I need somepony who will listen to what I am proposing, not as a member of the Commissary or the Faith but as a free-thinking individual, a pony. You can think only for yourself and for the Stable, and that’s exactly the kind of perspective I’ll need to convince these traditionalists that we need to make some big changes around here.”

“Can’t you just go ahead and ignore their protests? I thought they were just advisors; surely they can’t actually force you to submit to their disagreements.” Stopping a dictator was one thing but preventing the overmare from making any changes seemed like a privilege the commissary shouldn’t have.

“I would rather do this diplomatically. The transition I’m planning needs a coherent structure of leadership; I would rather have them on my side for this, so I have to convince them first, I have to at least try. And besides I need to know that what I’m doing is the right thing, I need to see if somepony will agree with me because so far I’ve faced nothing but opposition.” She sighed indicating that she had faced a lot of obstacles in this and now wanted nothing more than to be justified and honestly affirmed for once.
“What I’m proposing is just that, a proposal, the commissary needs to see how one member of the public will take it, before they can agree to me suggesting it to the rest of them. With all these factional allegiances and the way ponies seem to care more about what’s good for their beliefs rather than what’s good for themselves, you’re the only pony I trust to think rationally for once, to think about what’s good for us, for the Stable, rather than for the Commissary or those religious zealots.”

“I see the factional allegiance thing applies to you as well.” I teased, I didn’t mind her attitude towards the Faith but felt I needed to clarify that she saw the hypocrisy.

“Yes, I suppose it does, but the fact that you aren’t offended is a testament to the validity of what I’m saying, you can see why it has to be you.” She seemed to think that there was a chance that I wouldn’t want to be involved.

“Like I said, I’m up for it, just tell me where I need to be and what time I need to be there.”

“Thank you Grace, I hope you’ll see things my way but if not then please be honest, this may alter the future of the Stable very directly and I need to know if I really am in the wrong.” She put her hooves around me and gave me a weak embrace before pulling away, sliding off the couch then making her way back around her desk and slumping down in her chair. Despite the glimmering sparks of excitement I had just seen in her eyes, she still looked very tired and I hated the fact that, from what I had seen of the previous overmare, this is how she would most likely be for as long as she sat behind that desk. I hoped that, whatever happened tomorrow, I could help her somehow.
“The meeting is at nine, you’ll have plenty of time to go to breakfast, shower and get dressed. And it is being held in the conference room… it’s the door down the hall from this office, on the right.”
I nodded to her and started to get up before I remembered the reason I had come here.

“Shady…” I saw that she was already busy with the pen back in her hoof.

“Don’t worry, just give me a minute or two and I’ll have these ready to go.” She flicked through the pages at surprising speed and I felt a little sorry for Clearheart. She had spent the entire day making those reports air-tight even though it wouldn’t really matter unless Saber died as a result of the medication they had given him. The documents took a lot less time to sign than they did to write. I didn’t even bother looking for something to read as the Overmare rapidly stacked the sheets onto either one of the two piles she was making. She worked with almost as much finesse as Clearheart despite her lack of magic and was done in easily under a minute. I walked over to the desk and opened my saddlebag.

“Thank you again Grace, for the delivery and for tomorrow, I really appreciate the help.” She slid about half of the papers into my bag and the other half into her filing cabinet.

“No problem, I can tell that you have a lot on your plate here and if you ever need anything, please ask.”

“Sure thing, just have a good night.” She gave another weak smile and waved her hoof. I waved back and turned to leave trying my best to stay calm. I was violently battling with myself to restrain my excitement.

This was huge! All in the same day I had helped the medical team that kept the people of this Stable healthy ensure that they weren’t culpable in a murder case and been asked for help by the Overmare!
I felt validated, relevant, and even important! This was the first time in a long time that I had any sort of obligation or responsibility and I was relishing it! Despite my efforts to internalize these emotions and repress any sort of outburst like at the clinic again, I couldn’t help but walk with a spring in my step and a smile on my face. My mind was mulling over the information with such focus that I barely registered the entire journey to the middle level, it had become so routine to me that I could do it on instinct, and in what seemed like no time at all I had arrived at my destination.

Both of the medical mares were still out, which was surprising considering the extra time I must have taken talking to the Overmare, so I placed the documents into Clearheart’s desk as she had instructed. I was actually a little relieved that she and her bosom weren’t around.

Unlike my last boost of excitement on receiving the courier task, that must obviously now be non-existent considering the job was finished, my excitement for tomorrow was not fading and I bounced back to my room with just as much energy and spirit as when I had left the Overmare’s office. It was going to be a big day, possibly my biggest day, and the anticipation would have been unbearable if I didn’t welcome the feeling of having it so much. I was intent on skipping dinner again as I paced my room willing time to pass, as it was. It wouldn’t go any faster though, the Jerk. I could hear the doors outside sliding open and closed as the other occupants of my hallway headed out to the cafeteria. I had planned on skipping dinner but had been unaware that I was actively doing so now; I thought it was still only late afternoon. I checked my Pip-buck to confirm that it was really that late already. It was! Joy! Only a few more hours until I had somewhere to be, somewhere that people were counting on me to be! I wanted to sleep just so I could get to morning faster.

It was like hearth’s warming eve back when I was a little filly. And, appropriately, it was almost hearth’s warming eve; the Confessor had already started to talk about its proximity. The Faith of course had their own interpretation of the holiday, or as they liked to say the ‘holy day’, typical princess insertion in a normally princess-less story. They really seemed a little self-depreciating in their insistence that ponies were almost completely incompetent before the ‘Goddesses’ enlightened them. Conveniently the ‘Goddesses’ always seemed to be uninvolved whenever something bad happened i.e. the Great War, which they had spearheaded according to my sources. I still wasn’t sure whose idea the balefire bombs had been though, hopefully I would get to that part. Or rather a log of someone explaining that part that wasn’t an incomprehensible mish-mash of ‘corrupted data’ and other information rendered completely out of context.

Needless to say, I couldn’t sleep, last night I had gone to bed a couple of hours later than this so it was understandable, even without my considerable excitement keeping me awake. I decided that rather than do all those brain-calming exercises where I took deep breaths and counted down from one hundred I would simply think until I was too tired to do anything but sleep. I began to speculate about what the Overmare could have planned but abandoned that train of thought so it would be a complete surprise. I tried to think about how I would know how to make the right decision, but that was hard since I had no idea what the decision would be. What could it be? No you fool, you’ll ruin the surprise!
Somewhere amidst all the internal debate and sampling, followed by the subsequent dismissal of all potential courses for my train of thought, I ended up falling asleep. Effective!

-----------------------------------------------

I awoke the next morning, to thankfully find myself feeling a little less giddy, in fact, I was nervous. The untamable excitement that had stemmed from the reality of being a part of something had subsided a little, to be replaced by the fear of responsibility that stemmed from the same reality. I wasn’t going to go into that meeting acting like an excitable filly on the day of her favorite holiday, I was going to go like the trained professional that I wasn’t! So, like a true professional, I decided I needed to wear clothes. With my white Stable jumpsuit, not like I had a choice, swung over my back I made my way to the showers. Today was a big day, a day for soap and thorough grooming!

Back at my room I stood to be judged in front of my tall wall mirror. The Jumpsuit was neat and pressed as a result of my rare usage of it and my coat and mane looked almost silky, still messy though. Subscribing to the very stupid and naïve belief that so many ponies fall victim to I figured I could trim my own mane. Luckily for me, it went alright. I didn’t do anything to drastic I just cut back the hair that hung over my face a little, until it hung over my forehead. My mane was still a little jagged and choppy but chopping at it wasn’t going to help that. I swept up the brown locks from the floor of my room; with magic of course, as I couldn’t operate a broom unless it was one of the components of my ramshackle tri-beam laser rifle. I didn’t think I looked particularly good, but I certainly looked less like an unemployed scamp and more like a voice for the people than I had before. Considering the way I stood up my dinner last night I figured I owed it to food, and to my starving body, to make an appearance at breakfast.

For once I walked through the halls with a steady flow of ponies around me, we were all important ponies with places to be, so of course we had a schedule to stick to, and there would be no dawdling in this Stable! It felt odd after so many days of missing meals or arriving late to sit in the now almost full cafeteria. The meal wasn’t even trying to pass off as oatmeal; the ambitious Cinnamon Chips had made a bold attempt at porridge this time. I had to give the buck credit for making the paste taste slightly and sometimes dramatically different for every meal. Even though it looked similar, this had its own flavors and even texture compared to the usual oatmeal. He wasn’t the only employee in the Stable’s food industry obviously but I knew he made the most effort towards any kind of innovation or variation.

Leaving the cafeteria, I realized that I hadn’t seen the Overmare at any meals in quite some time. Her over-work was even more of a schedule changer than my under-work; while I usually ate late she must tend to eat early, as in midday the day before when she allowed herself to take a break long enough to smoke a cigarette and scarf down a small snack in between exhales and inhales for the sole purpose of avoiding starvation. Despite looking wearier Shady Sands had started to look skinnier too, it was almost as if she was wasting away, eroded by the politics and politicians she had to deal with day in and day out.
I really hoped things went her way today. Though I wasn’t going to let my sympathy compromise my decision, I still really hoped she hadn’t wasted all this time and effort on a completely lost cause.

It was time. I stood outside the conference room door. ‘Conference Room’ it proudly boasted on a yellow sign above its frame. The door slid open, it wasn’t manually operated when locked like the Overmare’s and opened simply because I was standing there. I nearly let out a little whinny in fear as I looked around the room, if any kind of welcome was being attempted it was failing, badly. In public the ponies who constituted the commissary were basically the regular populous of the Stable, they seemed no more intimidating than members of the Faith were. But while the Confessor was warm and approachable the ponies of the Commissary, as the administration it was, seemed cold and serious.

Everypony around the table wore suits, actual suits. I had of course seen this before but when those suits clad several ponies seated around a conference table all staring at you with visible disdain in their expressions then you could be excused for trembling like a peaking kettle. I was actually afraid, even the Overmare sat dressed in her own jumpsuit as well as a brown vest with a serious expression on her face. It felt like I was interrupting an argument, which was a very likely notion. As I nodded my head in an unreturned greeting and made my way to an empty chair while they all looked on in silence, the Overmare broke the silence.

“I thank you for being here Grace.” A nearby mare typed furiously on a terminal in dictation. Seriously?

“Now,” she began to stand “May I begin?” her tone was formal and brisk. The mare resumed typing.

“If you would not mind allowing us a few questions for our guest, we would like to know why she is here.” I noticed Saber out of the blur of suits and contempt as he spoke.

“To what end? She is the ideal pony to gauge a reaction from, I’ve explained this already.” The Overmare was clearly sick of waiting but she barely broke the feigned air of civility in the room.

“We would like to see if she agrees with your assessment of her; see where she thinks she stands.”
His words dripped with condescending under-tones.
“It will not take long if you truly judged her correctly.”

“I don’t see the point…but proceed if you must. This is all for your approval after all.” Even though her reply applied to all the suited ponies sitting around the table she seemed to be talking to Saber very specifically. He was the face of the opposition she faced, after all.

“Thank you Ms. Sands,” his gaze turned to me, followed by everypony else’s. I almost couldn’t meet his icy blue eyes across the table. I hoped my uncontrollable trembling wasn’t noticeable.
“Grace is it?” he didn’t pause for an answer. “Tell me what you believe.”

“Saber, how is this relevant?” The Overmare gave me a worried look as she interrupted our blossoming exchange and drew his eyes back to her for a moment.

“Overmare, if you want our cooperation you will let us know what we need to know.”

“It doesn’t matter what she believes in or where her allegiances lie, all that matters is that she is a citizen of this stable and will have its best interest at heart! This is a test for how the Stable will react to my decision and you said you would accept one subject, her she is, straight from the Stable! You believe I am wrong… I believe I am right. We need to find out what the Stable will believe and these are the means we agreed on. She has no idea what’s going on, so for our purposes she has no option but to be un-biased, so let’s get on with it!.” The civility was quickly giving way to hostility. It seemed the Overmare hadn’t flaunted my ideal neutrality to Saber as she had to me, I was sure he knew though, everypony else in the Stable was aware of my non-commitment to either side. I suppose he was using the potential questions as a stall to break the Overmare’s resolve further, and it was working.

“May I say something,” both their eyes swung rapidly to me as I almost whispered out the words, which I immediately regretted as everypony else’s followed yet again.

“No,” said Saber, The second in command

“Yes,” said the Overmare, The first.

I collected my thoughts and tried to reign in my rapidly beating heart. It was time to step up and tell them what I really thought, and hopefully reassure them that I could do this. I imagined that I was alone, that all the eyes on me were not really there. I let the failures of my past well up inside me to fuel the drive to succeed at something, I let my insecurities step up to be beaten back as I tried to prove myself.

“I am here because the Overmare chose me, she didn’t do so because she thinks I am more likely to side with her in this, she did so because she is desperate for an honest response. I understand that it is the Commissary’s job to oppose a decision they feel is counter-productive to the Stable’s safety, security or well-being but you’re unflinching commitment to do so with no willingness to really listen to the Overmare’s argument has caused her to doubt herself. And the last thing the Stable needs is a divided structure of governance led by a leader who doesn’t believe in her decisions simply because the ponies she works with won’t give her a chance. The Overmare is elected based on the belief that she will do the right thing for the Stable with her absolute power. Your job was to elect her according to this ideal and you did, so you must be willing to hear her out. Though I can see that at this point that that won’t be possible, so what you really need now is an intermediary. I can be that intermediary. I swear to listen and respond to the proposal with complete honesty and with my own opinion on whether it is one the Stable is ready for, or even needs to hear at all.” I met Saber’s glare dead on even though I really felt like cowering from its cold blue judgment.

His physical ailments were easy to forget as his eyes looked no less young and powerful as they ever had. Here was a buck who had put off retirement for almost fifteen years at the risk of death before ascension, fifteen years that he could have most likely been living through centuries from now in a rejuvenated world. He lived for this job and lived for this Stable, his intentions were honest but he was stubborn in his ways. Experience and confidence were the cause for that, and I had to try and make him see past them, to open his mind just a little for Shady Sand’s sake.
“If you let me do this, I’ll do it right.” I closed and awaited their response.
The Overmare gave me a quick smile of approval before she turned her gaze to Saber.
He too was smiling, though it was sickly… scorning and cold compared to Shady’s warm regard.

“You understand things better than I gave you credit for. I yield that you will most certainly generate an intelligently thought-out opinion. You may even be capable of making the right decision in your response. Whether you accurately determine what is best for the Stable remains to be seen, but I have no more objections to you trying. As long as you agree that if you see the truth as we see it, you will convince the Overmare not to go ahead with her plans despite our agreement, as I suspect she fully intends to do” He gave the Overmare a knowing look that she hurriedly evaded, indicating that the assumption he had made was very close to the truth.

I had no problem with agreeing to those terms. If I really believed whatever the Overmare proposed would be detrimental to the Stable I would try to convince her to honor her promise not to go through with it. She might even listen to me, as she was almost completely relying on my opinion to validate her at this point.

“If I truly see things your way,” that would be that the Overmare is absolutely wrong without question
“I agree to try to convince her to stay true to the agreement and not propose this to the Stable.”
I said this with a conviction and finality that would hopefully indicate I was now ready to get on with this.

“That seems fair,” The Overmare nodded “I will be beginning, if there isn’t any legitimate reason that I shouldn’t.” She looked at Saber who just waved his hoof encouragingly and rotated in his chair to face the head of the table, I did the same, as did everypony else. I really hoped Saber had a suitable replacement waiting because right now the rest of the Commissary in the room seemed awfully reliant on his lead.

“Good. I present this as my final proposal and ask that you all listen and weigh the points I make fairly. This will be a lot easier to enact with your full cooperation and understanding. This is essentially what I plan to present to the Stable tomorrow, Grace willing, and would also ask you to provide any input you may have on any changes I could make to smoothen the presentation out. I know you have heard these points before but the Stable has to understand them in full the first time they hear them.”

I felt very sad for her then, she was trying her hardest to be democratic but the cold glares of the Commissary indicated that if she made the speech tomorrow she would get little help from them on its presentation. They were a unit, almost a hive-mind, if one opposed her all would. I could empathize with how reluctant she was to enact her absolute decision making power with this kind of opposition.

“The Stable is our home, our ancestors came here seeking refuge from a world on the brink of destruction and had they not then we would not be here today, it saved them from the fate that was rapidly approaching with no signs of stopping, the fate that befell the world, it saved them from death. It now houses not only the last, greatest technological advancements of a long-gone era, but the descendants of that era, the descendants of Equestria.”

She spoke with rehearsed perfection and her tone fluctuated neatly from word to word, this was carefully written and practiced. Another pang of sympathy surged through me as the faces of the ponies around me remained grave, set in stone, indicative of their intent to remain set in their beliefs.

“We were given a new way of life, a system that was designed to prevent the descent of pony-kind into violence and war, so obviously occurring around the designers, from occurring again. And now we live by this system, we reward the worthy and banish those who have harmed us, in both cases using the technological gifts we have been given by our forefathers: In one instance to grant the greatest gift and in the other to deprive somepony of them all. The first part of our mission was to live by these rules, and we have thrived by them, but this is not all we were intended to do. We are all that is left of Equestria, all that is left to restore it to its former glory and yet we still hide from it. In fact we use it as a punishment for the worst of us while simultaneously using it as a promise for the best of us. You’ve all heard this promise. Some of you strive to achieve it even now…Ascension.”

She was lost in her speech; her resolve remained solid even though she was presenting this to a room of ponies, the majority of whom had heard it all before. I was intrigued however, and awaited the reveal she was building up to.

“You know what is promised on the other side of those stasis pods, the other side of that hyper-accelerated sleep, a rejuvenated Equestria. Ascension serves as a means to accelerate forward, to a world that is growing again into what it once was, but it accelerates nowhere if we are not willing to begin this process. We were put here to save Equestria, and while we are assuredly not the only ponies left in this once great land we are the only ones with the technology and strength to save it. Out there are the descendants of those who survived the great burning, and they are all survivors even now. But we can save them. We have the means to produce food, we have the means to purify water and we have the resolve to rebuild Equestria. What I am about to suggest is no small thing, It is an idea that have contemplated and worked over for arduous weeks, but now I am sure.”

It dawned on me.

“The fallout is long over, the fires have been long dead and Equestria is waiting. Do you see nothing wrong with the fact that we call what was once our country a place for the damned!? Do you not see that despite this we also call it the place for the ascended!? It is up to us to make this change! To restore Equestria to the reward that our brothers and sisters below us have waited for! To save all who remain out in the wastes and together build a new nation, under the same glorious flag! We can show the world that Equestria is not dead, Equestria never died! It is ready to be healed and I ask you if you are ready to heal it! Some of my words may not hold weight with those of you who are of The Faith but hear this, the nation your Goddesses created can be restored, by those who truly call themselves their children! We need to redeem ourselves, whether it be to the Goddesses or not, it is a fact. And redemption awaits us.
Equestria awaits us! What I propose to you today is that we answer the call. We will go out into what will once again be known as our country and restore it. For we have the technology and the strength but I must ask you, do we have the will? Are you willing to finally complete what we were saved to do?
Are you willing to emerge from the safest place in Equestria, the only Stable ever built, to share the gift of safety and prosperity to re-create a world where it is not a question? A world where happiness was once prosperous and death was a tragedy, not a common occurrence. I am willing, but I need your help, together we are strong and together we can rise, but only together can we prevail. So I ask one final time.
Are you willing to open that door one last time, never to close it again?”

There it was. One of the commissary started applauding and to my surprise instead of being silenced he was joined by the others. I joined in and pounded my hooves together to reward her for all her struggle. As we applauded I knew it was just for show, she hadn’t convinced them, but for once they appreciated her attempts and were meeting them with a more respectful attitude. Now that I knew, I could relate to both sides of this argument. The passion and potential I had seen in Shady Sand’s speech was amazing, her points were justified and the prospect sounded incredibly appealing. However the potential for failure loomed like a shadow behind every idea, behind every possibility for success, her words reminded me that we were the last potential saviors Equestria had but also its last potential survivors.

The Overmare looked incredibly relieved, she had been pushing for this for who knows how long and to her the closure she so needed was finally approaching. Her speech was powerful, her idea was ambitious yet achievable and she now knew it was almost ready to begin. All that was left was the question of my endorsement. All that could stand between her and her vision was me. And realizing part-way through the speech what she intended I knew what I was going to say. I would wait until I was asked, when the room had calmed to its usual suspenseful silence.

Shady looked over at Saber, she had a tired but accepting expression on her face and was smiling at the old buck, not in mockery or victory but in what almost looked like friendship. The anger was gone from both their faces as their conflict was now effectively over. This was either going to go one way or the other and they were no longer in control of the nature of that eventuality. He smiled back.
“I don’t suppose some emotive wording and embellishment was enough to change your mind?” she knew the answer to her question but gave it as a peace offering, she had accepted his opinion.

“I’m sorry but I’m fairly sure we are still in agreement that this is not the right thing to do for the Stable.” He looked around at his peers for any sign of disagreement but all were ultimately unmoved.
“I know I personally appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I’m afraid it will fail. I sincerely hope you have seen things our way Grace, but I will not try to convince you any farther. We have adapted before as a governing body to face new changes and if you believe in the Overmare and her plan then I suppose we must do so again.”

I was glad to see that Saber had realized resisting the potentially unavoidable course of action would cause more damage than going along with it. I suppose that if the Commissary were committed to the safety of the Stable’s inhabitants then they couldn’t just sit idly by and endanger them further while these changes took place. Despite their protests and quarreling they had an authority to answer to and a duty to fulfill. This sealed the issue for me, not that I had much doubt in my mind. With the commissary reluctantly aiding her then the Overmare would lead the Stable to face whatever was out there and fulfill our inherited purpose to recreate Equestria. I was enormously relieved that the decision was clear enough for me to make quickly because the pressure of the anticipation in the room was only growing faster.

“I can tell you that both the Faith and the…” The term commissary was difficult to use in a situation where it didn’t apply to both the ponies who ran it and the ponies who followed its belief system
“…rest of the citizens will be convinced, just as I have been, by your speech. It’s a good idea and I truly believe it has been long enough for the potential for revival to have arisen out there. I think you should make that proposal to the whole Stable tomorrow and I am also fairly sure that they will be as approving of the plan as I am. You’re right Overmare.”

I don’t know what I expected her reaction to be but it wasn’t this. She looked relieved, to be sure, but not excited. Her response was calm, careful and indicated to me that this was a too serious to her to be considered a victory but rather a confirmation. She nodded slowly and looked right into my eyes.

“Give me the reason.” Her stare didn’t break as she continued.
“I know I should be doing this and I know why I think that… Why do you?”

She needed to know that my opinion had basis, that she could trust it. I obliged.
“There are ponies suffering out there, there’s not even the slightest possibility that there were no survivors. That’s how we are as a species. Equestria is still out there. It’s broken and scorched but we can fix it. We have to.”

“We can only hope that the Stable agrees. I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.” She said, smiling.

“I suppose you’ll want to explain the next phase of your plan to Grace, I assume she’s involved. If you don’t need us for anything then we’ll go. We’ve heard enough of it to begin preparations.” Saber spoke up and as he stood the rest of the suits followed suit. Any plan gets painfully boring after hearing it a certain number of times and judging by the Commissary’s haste to vacate the Conference Room they had easily exceeded that number in their many debates on the topic.
“All that’s left to do is prepare myself to give the speech to everypony tomorrow, so I suppose I won’t need to meet with you again until afterwards. We’ll iron out the details then, depending on how things go.”
She nodded to him, the hostility was gone but the friendliness between them had all but disappeared from that moment of Limbo. The period where neither of them had gotten their way yet, and they had no reason to fight each other as the determination of who would, was no longer in their control. He nodded back and the heads of the Commissary filed out of the room, one after the other.

“Do you think they’ll make things difficult?” I asked the mare, who was now slumped unprofessionally in her chair.

“I think they care more about the Stable than getting their way. So if the Stable is with me tomorrow then they’ll have to get on board too. If they aren’t: I assume I’ll be fired, and at least then I won’t have to worry about the Commissary again.” She almost seemed like she would prefer the latter.

“Fired? Surely they can’t fire you for suggesting an idea.”

“For an idea like this they can. It only makes sense. If people are too set in their ways to see this plan for what it could be, and instead resign themselves to the safety of complacency then they won’t want the leader who suggested it in charge anymore. I’ll happily resign if they’re that against the idea. There’s no way this is happening unless the Stable wants it to happen. And that’s the way it should be.”

“So that’ll be it then?” I was starting to question how sure I was about the Stable agreeing to this.

“No the idea will stick around. The few people who did like the sound of it would keep it in circulation. I wouldn’t be surprised if it got brought up again by the next Overmare. Or the next. Eventually someone would force it or the Stable could eventually come around and it’ll happen. It’s just better if we get started as soon as possible, I doubt things are getting much better on their own out there.”

“Well let’s hope for the best for tomorrow then. What did Saber mean by what he said before he left?”

“Ah, yes, well this should interest you. Come to my office. This’ll only take a minute.” She started out of the conference room and I followed her. I was hoping she’d look less tired after her victory but although she smiled, she still walked with an implicit weariness. When we got to her office she offered me a seat on the couch beside her once again.

“Grace, I hope you realize what an important role you just played in the coming changes. You did an excellent job in there. Not only because you made the right choice but because you did so for the right reasons. For that I commend you, you were un-biased and made a good judgment. Thank you.”

“Thank you for the opportunity ma’am. I’m just glad I saw things your way. It’s clear that you know what you’re doing, although the Commissary’s concerns aren’t baseless. This is a big risk we’re taking.” I relished my ability to use the word ‘we’re’, I was included!

“Yes and I’d like you to be part of the precautions I intend on taking. I can only tell you if this is a sure thing or not when the Stable makes its choice tomorrow, but if we’re going out there I’d like you to be involved.” Her words were friendly yet formal and I felt the excitement of continued relevance building within me. I could only speculate as to what she meant, but I had my hopes.

“Before we can commit to opening the doors permanently to the outside world we will need to assess it, see what we’re facing exactly.” She continued “We’ve never sent anypony out there who has come back, seeing as we wouldn’t have let them in. The damned are the only ponies from this Stable who know what it’s like, and considering that we basically forced them to find out, they have never returned to share that information.” She didn’t seem sorry for the ponies that the Commissary had sent out in the past; in fact she almost seemed angry at them, with good reason.
“I plan to send scouts out first, this process is no doubt going to be slow and we won’t proceed any further than scouting until we’ve done a considerable amount of reconnaissance and mapping. We may even have to abandon the whole plan if somehow it really is still uninhabitable out there. So testing the waters is an essential step.” She was leading on to something. “What do you think?”

“I would have made it a condition of my agreement if I wasn’t sure you would have already thought of it. We need all the information we can get to do this right.” I nodded. “But what do you need me for?”

“How would you like to be one of the first ones out?” She gave me a grin and took in my own, enjoying the expressed excitement that she had brought to the surface.

“That sounds fantastic! I couldn’t have asked for a better responsibility,” I was practically jumping up and down. “Count me in!” I would have been embarrassed but I was too happy to be self-conscious, I thought yesterday had been a good work day for me but now I almost had a real job!

“I’m glad to see you’re so sure, but I can’t let you sign on just like that. It’s been a busy morning and I need you to be sure you want to do this.” She was amused with my reaction and tried to control my enthusiasm back like a mother would her child’s.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Overmare, I promise! I’ve learned a lot from all the old-war resources I’ve read. I probably already know how to use a gun without shooting anyone by accident or anything!”
I was doing this; I knew for sure, no doubt in my mind. I was going to be a Scout! I didn’t have to wait until later to give her an answer. She giggled a little at my assurances.

“I have no doubt that you’re up to the challenge,” A more serious look crossed her face then. “I just really need you to think this over. It could be dangerous, anything could happen, anything could be out there. I need you to be sure. Come back to me later today and tell me if you’re still willing. I know you’re sure you are now but please, think about it.” She almost looked grim at this point. It nearly sounded like she didn’t want me to go. I guess I could humor her and ease her mind by giving her my answer later. Like I needed to think about it: I would have to be insane to pass up on an opportunity like this!

“Alright, if you’re that concerned then I’ll mull it over and give you my final answer later.” I said begrudgingly, getting off the couch as I spoke. The grim look passed and she seemed pleased again.

“Thank you, I know you want to get started now but there isn’t really anything we can do until tomorrow. No harm in taking some time to consider your options.” She reminded me.
“I’ll see you later Grace.” Again we waved at each other and I left the room to go and ‘think’.

As I walked back to my room, I wondered if the jovial spring in my step was now permanent, considering that it had endured almost all day. This is what it felt like to be so close to having a purpose. See cutie-mark? I don’t need your help to guide me through life! I gave a triumphant look to the golden symbol on my flank even though it was both inanimate and an integral part of my own being.

I almost wished that over the years I had made some friends in the Stable, or that some of the ponies here had made more effort to let me in. I had always been a little bit of an outcast, with only a few ponies treating me like an equal rather than an oddity. Even with these few I had developed what could assuredly not be called a friendship. Now I wanted someone to talk to, to share the events of my day with, but I had no one who I would discuss this kind of thing with.

Besides I’m sure the Overmare wouldn’t want me spreading the news before she got the chance to, but still it would have been nice to feel like I could’ve. I could tell myself that I didn’t need any kind of relationship with depth or intimacy but the truth was: I felt an absence inside me. I missed my mother, she had been all I had needed back then. A friend, a confidant and a parent all in one, sadly she had died before helping me realize how much I needed somepony like her.

When I got to my room I took a necklace I had kept from her and put it around my neck, as a reminder. If I ever did get to go outside I would bury it for her sake. We didn’t ask about where dead bodies ended up here, we didn’t want to know. In lieu of a burial or funeral ponies who had passed got a remembrance ceremony of sorts. Eulogies were given and stories were told, it was nice, but my mother deserved a burial, beneath real soil with a tombstone that felt the warmth of the sun. I would put one up by the buried necklace, somewhere beautiful.
If I was hoping for anything outside of the Stable, it was for beautiful places to still exist.

I promised myself that I would wait until after dinner to go see the Overmare, there was another sermon scheduled for today but I was obviously not obligated to go. Maybe if I got back in time I could drop in for the hymn, which would be the perfect way to end this day. I was feeling the same unnerving anticipation that I had felt last night, and time was trickling by at an aggravatingly slow pace. I needed a distraction. I searched my terminal for any logs that had an interesting title, they were ordered chronologically so the names were often random and unrelated to the logs adjacent. I found one that seemed worth a look entitled: The First Damnation. I opened it. It was short so I decided I would spurn my chronological reading system yet again, to indulge my curiosity.

------------------- ---------- -------------------

Log of: Crane
Year 1, Day 306

I can’t think of anything else that has happened that is as important to log as this. Just about ten months ago the Commissary, as they’ve come to be called, was founded to maintain order and protect the Stable. Along with them came the AAI system, that’s Artificial Afterlife Incorporation in case they don’t use that abbreviation anymore, which was finally demonstrated in effect just yesterday. We couldn’t have asked for a more clear-cut example. Ponies have been worrying that to follow up on the need to damn somepony once in awhile ponies who didn’t do anything too bad would be sent out, they were worried that the bar wasn’t going to be set low enough. It just got set real low though, real fucking low.

Billington snapped, the mare just lost it, she seemed so normal, even happy. I would almost feel sorry for her, but you don’t get any sympathy after you kill a filly. I thought I’d seen people fall from grace before, back when the whole world was going crazy because of the war, but this was just sick. That bitch murdered a little filly, someone else’s daughter! If this damnation system wasn’t already in place I would have seen her hang. She may as well have though, you can almost hear the world burning outside, and she’s going to get torn up by storms and fire minutes after she leaves. She deserves it for little Abellene.

Doesn’t look like they have plans to try to work in a trial system into this AAI thing, no lawyers and what-not. The Overstallion and the Commissary acted as judge and jury. Now whatever’s out there has probably already done its job as executioner. Most of it wasn’t in public; they kept Billington in a holding cell for the night and made a whole show of ‘damning’ her this morning. The judging and juring stuff wasn’t in public I mean. The Over-stallion presented all the evidence and made sure we all understood and agreed that she was guilt. But we already knew that. She just sat there, throughout his whole speech, until she broke down at the end and tried to apologize. I don’t know who she wants forgiveness from; she’s certainly not getting it from us. They gave her a few chances to speak but she had basically confessed already, she wasn’t looking to prove her innocence. She couldn’t have.

Seeing as how we already trust the Commissary to handle this sort of thing I was actually impressed by the effort they went to to make sure we were happy. They know they need to show us how this system is gonna work and they did well to get support. I’m not gonna doubt a bunch of ponies that me and my fellow citizens elected into their positions when it comes to enforcing law. People saw this bitch do it anyway, so her goose was already cooked. They put on quite a show anyway. They marched her out of here through the aisles and out the door to the airlock; they encouraged us to watch as they dragged that psycho to her doom. She didn’t scream or protest, she just cried. I would’ve liked an explanation, a reason for why she dashed a little filly’s head open against the Stable floor, but it almost looked like she didn’t know it herself.

The Overstallion gave us some reassurances and explained how he understood what we were all going through. He told us that the first few years would be the hardest but that we would need to adjust, to forget whatever we had seen out there and commit to the safety of the Stable. Maybe he wanted us to write our memoirs of the war in the terminals so we could put them someplace that wasn’t our head. He announced that in events like this the public database would be re-opened for submissions, I took that as an invitation to let all reading this know that the bitch deserved what she got. I’m going to go to Abellene’s remembrance ceremony and put thoughts of Billington behind me. It’s time for the anger to be replaced with remorse and support for that poor filly’s parents. There are no burials here, no one’s going to see her little face again, it was smashed open. If anyone knows why Billington did it… post something while the database is open, would you? I know I’d really like to find out.

------------------- ---------- -------------------

Crane had been a war contractor before entering the Stable. He had been a regular contractor but then the war picked up and basically everyone had the prefix war- added to their job title. He had written in more detail about the craziness he had seen in Equestria as it spun towards the day of the bombs and he hadn’t been lying that what Billington had done had come out the worst. I felt a little sick at the thought of her crime and scanned the nearby logs for an explanation. They were mostly dated months apart so must have corresponded with different significant events the Over-Stallion wanted them to write about. I guess no one ever figured out why she did it.

When I was done scanning through a couple of logs, finding others by both Autumn Blossom and Crane that I made a mental note to check out later, it was already time for dinner. I felt a little bad for not even trying to do what the Overmare had told me and I committed to think about my decision through my meal.

I made my way to the cafeteria but decided to stop by at the children’s mural on the way. I felt if I looked at it I would see something that Abellene had drawn. I didn’t know if the mural had even started back then. I doubted it. In any case you can’t help irrationality sometimes, so I made my way over to the classrooms. I obviously had no idea who had drawn what except for my yellow sun so I ended up just staring at the entire mural for a few minutes.
Inevitably, looking at my own scribble made me think of my childhood and I had a subsequent realization: If we were really going to open the Stable then the damnations would be over. I assumed the ascended would stay where they were until things had settled down but the punishment of damnation would become unusable. That would mean that Billington would remain the first damnation… and my father would forever be the last.

I didn’t think of him with the same disgust and anger that Crane had evidently felt towards Billington but I also wasn’t sure what he had done. Could he have also murdered a child? I vowed to find out; I wasn’t sure who would be willing to tell me though. The Overmare and most of the other ponies I knew would have been almost as young as I had been at the time. Maybe I could bring myself to talk to Saber about it one day. I headed back and rejoined the stream of ponies entering the cafeteria.

Adhering to my promise I spent the meal mulling over the Overmare’s proposal, instead of sitting uncomfortably as the nearby ponies had conversations around me. I understood the potential danger, I wasn’t ignoring the fact that I could potentially be injured or killed, but the alternative was worse. I couldn’t stay behind as, once again, my fellow Stable-dwellers moved on without me. I couldn’t watch the Scouts head out and risk their lives for the betterment of our future as I cowered behind the shield of reinforced steel that was the Stable, I couldn’t miss this opportunity to help rebuild Equestria.

I had to put the Overmare’s mind at ease though. I decided I would show her what I had learned in my years of combing over the works of literacy and guidance that filled the Stable’s terminals, magazines and books. I had studied tactics and weapons of the bygone era and felt more capable for it, as soon as I had a gun in my telekinesis I was sure I could disassemble it and reassemble it with relative ease. That is assuming that I only encountered the dozen or so weapons I had read about in Future Weapons Today or Guns and Bullets. I wouldn’t mention the limited range of my knowledge but rather the intensity of it in the fields that I had studied. I would download some of the resources into my Pip-Buck and bring some of my books to show her, it would be more impressive if I came prepared, it would show her that I had really put thought and effort into this.

After dinner, a few dozen ponies started to head to the lower Atrium for tonight’s service. I didn’t attend most services, so I didn’t feel bad for missing this one. I doubted after my convincing presentation to the Overmare was over that I would even have time to join them for the closing song.

I travelled back to my room alongside the other ponies who felt no obligation to go to the Confessor’s service. I found it interesting that in the logs I had read of the Stable so far there was no mention of the Faith. I wondered when they had originated and how they had suddenly sprung up to grow into the major constituent of the Stable they were now. I hoped I could read of more relevant events that ponies of the past had written about so I could find out more about the Stable’s history. The public database had never opened in my lifetime. I assumed that, eventually, all the ‘first-times’ had passed and been documented so there was no longer a need for more submissions.

The database was, however, still usable for reading and even downloading. I plugged my Pip-Buck into the terminal back at my room and skimmed through the list of material I had read on it. I downloaded a few books on tactical combat and survival and then started the process of downloading the logs I had read just so I could flash the impressively, or pathetically, large list to Shady Sands.

After ten minutes the empty progress bar had only filled up about a fraction of the way so I broke off the connection. I packed a couple of magazines and books of an appropriate nature into my saddlebags and tallied what I had to present in my mind. I would show her the books and terminal data to demonstrate that I would be able to achieve more on the outside than just death, as well as reassure her that I had put thought and time into this commitment. Surely after I showed her that I thought I was capable and easily determined enough, she would feel better about my desperation to take part in this plan. The Overmare would have enough to worry about without having to bother over my sorry flank out in the wastes.

As I was double-checking the data section of my Pip-Buck to make sure I didn’t need to add anything else there was a knock on my door. Most doors in the Stable didn’t have a buzzer like the Overmare’s but the knock was still enough to make me jump. I hadn’t heard one in an almost inconceivably long time and I was admittedly startled. I pressed the release button and the door slid open to reveal a light green mare with a professional air about her. I obviously knew her face but couldn’t quite recall her name and hoped she would introduce herself first.

“Grace…” Great she knew my name and I didn’t know hers, even worse. She looked me up and down.
“The Overmare would like to see you.” She looked like she was a little annoyed with having to come and collect me. I imagined she wasn’t used to doing something as trivial as this. Before I could even respond she had trotted off, apparently having had enough with being a messenger she wasn’t about to act as an escort too. At least I hadn’t needed to know her name.

This was perfect! I had taken so long to prepare that the Overmare had had to call me herself; this would be helpful in convincing her that I had thought this through. In a way I had, sure, but my opinion hadn’t wavered for a second: I was doing this.

On my way to the Overmare’s office I passed a few rooms that had their doors open while the ponies within sat, silently waiting. Even though the followers of the Commissary, who made up most of my floor, had too much pride to attend a Faith service they would try to listen in during the songs. I had been preparing my material for quite some time and I imagined the Confessor was about to wrap up his sermon and choose someone out of the crowd to pick a hymn. I couldn’t blame my neighbors for wanting to listen, the sound was always beautiful. It was a unifying experience, despite some of the listener’s attempts to stay so separate from the source.

As I walked up the staircase to the Overmare’s office I could hear the warm sound that was the unicorns beginning to play their arcane instruments and the ponies in the stalls humming along. The ventilation systems as well as the material the Stable was made of truly made the sound reach every corner of the underground safe-haven. From Security to Maintenance the music could be heard with varying degrees of audibility and from where I was I could even recognize the song by its introduction. The voices came then, they had a distant quality to them, as if all I was really hearing was their echoes rising from down below, travelling through rock and steel and recycled air to reach me. And despite their hollow ambiguous nature I could still decipher the song from the hymnal echoes. Not a hymn, it was an old opera song, and the lyrics became distorted into indiscernible sound with the music. My mind filled in the words where I knew they were supposed to be as the music played on. It was beautiful.

When I'm alone I dream of the horizon and words fail me.
There is no light in a room where there is no sun
and there is no sun if you're not here with me, with me.
From every window unfurls my heart the heart that you have won.
Into me you've poured the light,
the light that you found by the side of the road.

Time to say goodbye.
Places that I've never seen or experienced with you.
Now I shall, I'll sail with you upon ships across the seas,
seas that exist no more,
it's time to say goodbye.

I slowed my pace to truly take it in; I had heard the hymns reduced to their basic, sublime intonations over a distance like this before, but never this particular song. In reality it wasn’t a hymn but a memoir of a dead world, and it affected me to hear it like it was.
As I reached the Overmare’s door I found it was unlocked, yielding open before me. I was encapsulated in the music and it took me a second to realize what was wrong.

The Overmare wasn’t at her desk; I didn’t think she was there at all, until I circled the empty lectern.
Shady Sands lay slumped on the floor, her head cocked back unnaturally and her body sprawled out.
Around her head, spreading out like an aura, forming a halo with her wild braids was rich, red blood.
She was dead.

When you're far away I dream of the horizon and words fail me.
And of course I know that you're with me, with me.
You, my moon, you are with me.
My sun, you're here with me with me, with me, with me.

The voices that I was creating in my head to fill in words for the disjointed music immediately devolved from those of angels to horrible screams of torment. The beauty died and the ghosts of the emotions it had evoked replaced it, horror, fear and anger. I wished the music would stop. I tried to make my subconscious cease its screaming as it marched on with the echoing song.

Time to say goodbye.
Places that I've never seen or experienced with you.
Now I shall, I'll sail with you upon ships across the seas,
seas that exist no more,

I didn’t scream and I couldn’t move, I just stared at the corpse, I tried to look into her eyes which were wide and open and empty but I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the source of the blood. A gaping hole in the middle of her forehead, passing all the way through her. I could see the inside of her head, bloody and wet, blown apart by the bullet that had come burrowing through. I wanted it to stop; I wanted all my senses to shut down so I couldn’t see the gore or smell the death in the air or hear the unearthly music that induced the horrible noise in my head.

I'll revive them with you.
I'll go with you upon ships across the seas,
seas that exist no more,
I'll revive them with you.
I'll go with you.

You and me.

Chapter 2: Grace is Gone

Fallout Equestria: Sola Gratia
Chapter 2: Grace is Gone
“Karma’s a real bitch; you’d be wise to remember that.”

The blood met my hooves as it spread. I was standing so close, but I couldn’t run or even look away. I was consumed in it all. But as the music came to an end, I started to feel what I was seeing, see what I was feeling. I let out a loud gasping cry as the tears came and I collapsed into the gore, choking.

I could smell her, I could even taste her blood as it splashed across my face and into my gasping mouth during my panic, but none of it registered. Although the music had stopped my mind was far from clear, I couldn’t think or re-act, I just lay there. I had seen my mother die, that had been depressing, the emotion it had evoked was sadness, but it had been expected, it had been slow. This was an entirely new experience, and it shocked me. Sudden, violent death was something I hadn’t been forced to handle before. I was angry and horrified, but above all I was confused, torn apart by my own conflicting emotions.

In my shock I barely noticed the ponies that entered the room then. As they dragged me out by my front legs I just stared back at the spreading pool of blood. I didn’t react to anything that was happening to me, until I found myself in a cell. The blood was already dry on my coat but I could still smell it, I tried to ignore it and worked on figuring out what I had just seen. I hadn’t expected it, but I knew who was behind it.

The Commissary had killed her; they had been willing to cross the furthest threshold of morality and sin to get their way. They had murdered an innocent because they had lost. They had blown Shady Sand’s head apart because of the decision I had made. I felt little guilt; it was occluded by a hot, throbbing anger. I found I had regained control of my faculties, or rather my anger had, and now I slammed my hooves against the bars, again and again, screaming for Saber. No one came, I was alone in the cold darkness with my rage, but the silence didn’t stop me from pounding against the steel and yelling as loudly as my strained lungs would allow.

I was glad that the shock had delayed this reaction until know, if I had exploded like this in the Overmare’s office then I would have probably resisted the Security ponies that had dragged me here. They would have seen a mare with blood covering the front of her coat standing over a corpse, a mare with burning fury in her eyes and very little restraint. They had had guns, though at the mercy of my stunned silence; hadn’t needed to use them. I stopped my assault on the bars of the cell and gave my rasping voice a rest, I had to think, I had to make a plan, I had to find Saber, confront him.

Would he leave me here? It was late and as the sermon had ended I imagined most ponies in the Stable were now in their rooms, oblivious to their dead leader. There was no reason he had to come give me the satisfaction of confirmation; he could leave me to fester in this cell like a fresh wound unattended. I didn’t need the confirmation though, he had done it, maybe he hadn’t fired the gun or even seen her die but he must have given the order. There were no free radicals in the Commissary, whatever they did, they did as a unit. I wouldn’t have been surprised if they had voted to decide whether they would kill her with a bullet or a knife. The bastards hadn’t been able to open their minds, so they had opened her’s instead. They were so sure that the Stable would die as a result of her plan that they had seen no other alternative but to kill her. The security ponies had probably seen to her corpse, someone would be examining it, they would suspect me. It may have been my fault somehow, but I wasn’t the killer that belonged in this cell.

I burned myself out emotionally and physically in the hours that followed, I screamed for a time but it was pointless, I beat against the bars but they would crack my hooves before I could even put a dent in them. Even so I tried until I was hoarse, my legs and muscles aching in dull abandon. I went from tears to rage over and over as if sadness and anger couldn’t share me, constantly fighting over which one of them had control. I didn’t sleep, I never would have been able to fall asleep, but the blood, the pain and the exertion of it all were going to make me pass out. In my weakened state I had to spend half my time lying in the fetal position, resting so I could spend the other half feverishly pacing the room. I didn’t rest in between my nightmares, wherein I watched the corpse bleed and heard the eternal musical mockery that ordained it, and my conscious time, when I beat my body sore against cold steel and concrete. Eventually I couldn’t even tell if I was conscious or not, if I had slept it was for minutes at a time, not hours.

---------------------------------------------

I didn’t track the time through the restless nightmare of a night, but eventually the security ponies returned, which I assumed to signify morning. I didn’t know their names, I had seen them before but I couldn’t remember them beyond their faces. Just like the mare who had come to call me to the Overmare’s office yesterday. She must have known, she wasn’t sent by the Overmare, she was sent to implicate me in the murder. I was being framed, it was easy to ignore through the emotions I felt for Shady Sands, but I would eventually have to deal with myself, and I was not in a capital situation.

“Security!” I whispered urgently to the guards who had joined me in the detention room. “Hey, you two! listen to me!” They didn’t acknowledge me.
“Please, I didn’t do this, just listen to me for a minute and I can explain!”
They stayed locked in place and didn’t even spare a glance at each other. Why would they listen to me?
“My name is Grace… and I didn’t have anything to do with the Overmare’s death.” That wasn’t entirely true but I wasn’t going to implicate myself any further just to absolve my guilt.
“If you give me a chance I can help you find out who really did it.”

“I know who did it.” The padded buck on the left side of the room said, ever emotionless.

“I can see why you think that, but it wasn’t me! Please!” I was practically begging the stoic pair.

“I know.”

“What? Then why are you keeping me here? We can tell them the truth, we can avenge Shady!”
No response from either of them.
They were a part of this, I realized, they knew full well that I wasn’t guilty, yet they followed their orders to keep me where I didn’t deserve to be. The whole system was in on this. I was stuck.
“Get me Saber! The least you could do is get me somepony who’ll talk to me!”

“You’re trial will happen this afternoon, then you can see Saber and talk.” The dark mare said in a monotone. I couldn’t tell what these two were feeling; I had no idea if I could convince them to help me. They could be completely compassionless for all I knew, or the silent act could be their way of suppressing the guilt they were feeling.

“If you’re decent ponies and you know what’s going on… then you must see that what you’re allowing here is wrong. Please, you need to help me; Shady Sands deserves to be avenged.”

“It’s for the good of the Stable. This will be a lot easier for you if you accept that.” The mare concluded.

They were indoctrinated; they shared the exact same opinion as Saber and the other heads of the Commissary. They were a unit, a hive-mind, Administration, Security it didn’t matter. All of them were in on it; all of them thought this was what they had to do. I was in deep trouble.

I gave up on negotiating with my guards and pushed the emotional clutter to the back of my mind. I needed to think, I had to convince everypony in the trial that this was all a lie. From what little I knew about the procedures I could count on it being a public event, in my chances to speak all I would have to do is instill doubt in the Stable, doubt in the system of governance that had never been considered dubious before. I would have to convince dozens of content ponies, whose civilization was nearing a utopian status, that the leadership responsible for that state was lying to them. That the Commissary were corrupt murderers… Deep trouble.

I didn’t get to see anypony in the following hours; I was left alone with only the silent guards and my own desperate thoughts to keep my company. I planned out exactly what I was going to say, I would point to everypony I knew was involved and try to implicate them. Saber, the mare who had summoned me, these guards, I would make them all answer for what they were involved in. However I couldn’t get over the strong suspicion that this trial was going to go any other way but fairly. I knew what had happened; I even knew why it had happened. But in a conflict between my word and Saber’s I couldn’t help but think that the Stable would act as faithfully as it ever had to its system of governance. Even the Faith, though they didn’t follow the same belief system, trusted the Commissary to rule them, almost unquestionably.
I was scared, I wished I had somepony to talk to, someone who I knew would believe me and who wasn’t a part of all this conspiracy bull. But I was alone.

The day was torturous, I could do nothing but wait and worry, nothing changed in the detention block for hours at a time. The guards stood completely still, only leaving one at a time to take a break or, just once, to get me something to eat. Apparently they didn’t bother dressing up the food for prisoners; it was paste, plain and simple. As I forced it down I was very grateful that Cinnamon Chips had been so good at his job. I had to wonder if he would even believe me, he had no real reason to, though sadly he was one of my best chances.

I had never been in the cells, or even into the security section of the Stable, so I could pass some of the time examining the room. To my conscious memory, it was the first time I was in a place that I was seeing for the first time. I needed this; I needed something to distract me. I couldn’t let myself think about how dire my situation was, my emotions, or the corpse.

The only notable event of the entire morning and afternoon was the announcement over the Stable PA system. Fairly early in the morning, a few hours after I had tried to talk to the guards, there was a call for Stable-wide assembly in the main Atrium. They were no doubt announcing the death of the Overmare, Saber’s temporary posting as Overstallion and the procedure for electing a permanent replacement. They would also determine a time for Shady Sand’s memorial and announce my trial for this afternoon. Everypony now thought I was a murderer; I would have one chance to convince them otherwise.

To stop myself from going insane I tried to lose track of time, the anticipation and fear for the trial would have made monitoring its slow passage beyond aggravating and subsequently detrimental to my already fragile mental state. Therefore I had no idea of knowing when the process of the trial would start… then it did. Almost simultaneously the guards drew their weapons, the buck with his horn and the mare with her mouth, they moved by strict procedure and the buck approached the cell door.

“It’s time for the trial; I hope you aren’t thinking of trying anything.” He said as he slipped out a key.

“I won’t give you any trouble.” I promised, honestly and pathetically.
He nodded and unlocked the door. For a moment I thought he trusted me enough to follow them obediently but then he strapped a shackle around my neck that he then attached to the mare’s barding. We walked in silence towards the noise of the gathering in the main Atrium; I had to wonder if the detention room was sound-proof, explaining why no pony on this level had heard my screams. The fear built inside me and reached a crescendo as I was lead onto the raised stage, to be beheld by the audience. They didn’t look happy, not even close; they were united, standardized by their fury. It was clear from the expressions on most of their faces that they were buying into this. I singled out Clearheart who thankfully met my gaze with a sad look; I couldn’t tell if it was pitying or remorseful. Some screamed murderer while others yelled profane slurs, a few simply glared at me in the hot silence of hatred. To them I was nothing, I wasn’t worth saving, I wasn’t even worth listening to, I was a killer.

Sharing the stage with me were the two guards, a few Commissary jurors and Saber.
On a unique bench running perpendicular to the stalls sat the mare who had called me last night, the Confessor and the head of security: Chief Grayback, a steel colored earth pony with a jet-black mane and tail, I knew him to be gentle in his enforcement of the law, but thorough. I expected Saber had something planned for each of the three, ready to unfold during the ‘trial’. He motioned for the seething crowd to settle down so that he could begin. I didn’t know what to expect but I knew I would make the most of any opportunities I got. And if I wasn’t given any… I would forfeit my air of civility to take one. For now I had to act innocent, be innocent; I figured waiting calmly and following procedure would help. Saber’s horn lit up and he began to talk in a frail but projected voice. A voice that was suspiciously ragged and aged when compared to the one I had heard in the meeting yesterday morning.

“Good Afternoon, ponies of the Stable. I understand your anger but I have kept my own in check, and in honor of fair proceedings I ask that you do the same.” The crowd calmed, they knew they would get what they wanted in time, they knew I was going to be damned.

“Thank You. I know we are assembled here on a day of great sadness, but we have an obligation: to justice, to the system, and to the memory of Shady Sands, our Overmare. I was to be ascended soon but as I decreed this morning it is my obligation to stand in Ms. Sands place until a new head of office is elected. We all have obligations.” When did that happen? No way was I going to let the bastard get ascended after he organized an assassination… he deserved the destiny that he was sentencing me to.

“It has been a while since we held a trial, over a decade I believe, and though we have a…similar pony on the doorstep of judgment I feel I need to briefly describe the proceedings.” That was low.
“After I am done opening the case and explaining the nature of the crime we will call our head of Security to explain the proof, display the hard evidence. After him we will have a civilian witnesses to solidify the ‘suspect’s’ culpability.” By this he must have meant the mare on the bench.
“Before final judgment we will allow the ‘suspect’ a period of time to speak from where she is chained, this is usually used for confessions or apologies but, may also be used to refute evidence and in defense. It is optional and the choice not to speak will be taken as a confession.” He turned to address me directly. “Choose your words wisely, as they will be the last you speak to the ponies of this Stable.” He was making presumptions, drawing unfair associations between me and my heritage, and you could hear him discredit the very term ‘suspect’ by his tone. The audience seemed to agree and accept everything he was saying however. Clearheart still met my eyes when I looked at her but I could already see this was going to be incredibly difficult. I didn’t feel the urge to intrude and continued waiting.

“Grace Marie subscribes to no belief system, few of you know her and none call her a colleague. She is held accountable today for the murder of our Overmare, Shady Sands. The murder was performed last night in the Overmare’s office after the victim had sent a messenger,” he waved his hoof towards the green mare on the bench, the one he himself had most likely sent to get me to the scene of the crime.
“Misses Sorbet, whose testimony we will hear shortly, to summon Grace. The murder weapon was a 45. Automatic pistol which is not registered under Security’s ordinance and was previously undocumented. Apart from a similar pistol being the weapon of focus in a previous murder case. In the previous murder case.” Wait, what the heck? What were they trying to say? That I used my father’s gun… a weapon he had somehow passed on to me from beyond the Stable door? This was horsespit!

“Just something to consider, admittedly passable as a coincidence. Though only one 45. Auto pistol has been recorded In the Stable’s last few decades of history.” He was almost blatantly suggesting that I was guilty by association with my father. He was bold but his desperation to convince the ponies of the Stable indicated that their case must be fairly weak otherwise. I didn’t do anything stupid...yet.

“The bullet,” he continued “passed directly through Shady Sand’s head, killing her instantly. At least we can be thankful for our departed’s quick, essentially painless death.” To this a few of the ponies in the crowd bowed their head along with Saber. He then made a motion to the head of security to join him.

“I ask that Chief Grayback present the evidence we have amassed. Please pay attention as the evidence is decidedly irrefutable, and any confirmation you may need lies in their presentation.” His horn stopped glowing as he stepped back. I was angry at the old buck, I thought I had respected him but now I saw him for the stubborn murderer he was at heart. I pulled against my bonds and was yanked backed by the mare I was still chained to. I wanted to get to him. I admit, I wanted to hurt him. He had killed my friend, he was responsible for the death of an innocent, of a mare who was only trying to do what she thought was best for the Stable, just because he disagreed with her. If I got out of this I would see that he paid for his sins. The large Chief stepped up to the pedestal and began to speak. His voice was more powerful than Saber’s but much softer due to his lack of unicorn magic. It was clear from their reaction that some of the crowd couldn’t hear him. Saber stood next to the larger buck and his horn lit up again to help Grayback project his voice. A unicorn had had to do the same for the Overmare when she herself had spoken in the large Atrium. I settled down and focused to see what evidence they had against me.

“I’m sorry to be speaking to you under these circumstances but as Chief of Security I must present to you some descriptive details of the crime scene. I urge you to listen but understand the reluctance.” Both Saber and Grayback got through to the crowd with their words; both bucks respected for their authority and accepted. What they said was truth, unquestionably. They hated me, to empathize with them.

“The Overmare’s body was found sprawled behind her desk; the bullet was shot directly into her forehead and exited through the back of her skull. The wall behind her was spattered with blood and…cranial material indicating the shot was definitely fired from where we suspected: Directly in front of the Overmare’s desk. The casing was found close to this location and the gun itself lay on the ground nearby.” As he mentioned the casing and gun he gestured to a unicorn security pony who was holding up both items for the crowd to inspect. The fact that the gun existed was enough for them to seem satisfied.
I hadn’t seen a gun; then again, I hadn’t been paying much attention. They could’ve planted it at any time.

“Our biggest piece of evidence will seem like our most obvious as is often the case. We found the suspect in the Overmare’s Office with the body soon after the shot was heard. She was covered in blood. You can see evidence of this for yourselves, and I can assure you that that is Shady Sand’s blood on the suspect.”
I couldn’t bring myself to lick the stains off in the cells when I had had time to cleanse them, and the guards hadn’t paid any attention to my requests for water. I had forgotten about it until now and realized why the ponies in the crowd had immediately accepted my guilt. I was covered in evidence. I wanted to interject; I wanted to argue that they had come to the office after they heard my cries not after they heard a shot but I felt the urge ebb away to rationality. I needed to follow procedure, I needed to behave.

“Given the time frame confirmed by Ms. Sorbet we can determine that the Overmare was seen alive just before the suspect was sent to her office, moments later we found her dead in the office with the suspect, who was covered in her blood alongside a discarded 45 Automatic Pistol and a discharged bullet casing. No one else entered the administrative section during this timeframe and I can account for all my security ponies. Saber can also account for every other pony in the section if need be. We conclude that the suspect had motivated plans to kill the Overmare beforehand and used the opportunity given to her. Based on this evidence we find that the suspect is very clearly guilty. Though Mrs. Sorbet will now give her testimony to confirm that the suspect was, in fact, the only one who saw the Overmare between her being confirmed alive and confirmed dead, concluding this case.” The strong gray stallion stepped back off the stage and the mare, Sorbet, took his place. Saber was going to question her, so even though she was a unicorn, he would have to use his magic on himself. As Grayback stepped down Saber’s horn stopped glowing briefly and my mood immediately changed. I knew I was angry but for most of the trial I had felt it repressed at the back of my mind, it hadn’t become any more physical than a constant, dull pulse. As the unicorn’s magic faltered the urge to act flared up again, I felt myself moving, struggling, I pulled against my chains again. They were speaking exclusively in lies and fabrications! I had to stop this, I couldn’t wait, I had to tell people the truth.

I was about to yell out when Saber began to speak, his magic activating as I felt the desire rapidly die. He was doing something to me, he was pacifying my actions with his magic, and now that I realized it I broke the calm acceptance that had been previously induced on me. My mind fought against the effects of the spell but it had complete control over my body, I couldn’t motivate myself to do anything, I couldn’t yell and I couldn’t move, I was trapped. He was using the ruse of projecting his voice so no suspicion would be drawn, if he had kept his horn aglow continuously someone may have become suspicious at my silence, but he was smart and he had come up with the perfect ploy to fool the onlookers. This trial was forfeit, my will to redeem my name burned in my mind, torturous, as I couldn’t act on it.

“Thank you for testifying Ms. Sorbet, with your confirmation I believe it will be made very clear that this case is one-sided, maybe even unnecessary.” Saber said in his unnaturally loud voice.

“I would do anything to see my Overmare’s killer brought to justice.” She looked right at me, subtlety was gone, everyone believed I was guilty and the Commissary had no reason to give me a civil trial.
“Ask and I will answer, I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.” She lifted in hoof in a promise to justice that she had already broken. Saber nodded.

“What did the Overmare task you with the last time that you saw her?” He asked.

“I was given instructions to talk with one Grace Marie in her room and relay the Overmare’s desire for a meeting, I was unsure of the Overmare’s intent but I obeyed.” She spoke in a practiced tone.

“Why didn’t you escort the suspect on her way to the Overmare’s office?” He was asking the questions he knew the more critical thinkers in the crowd would be asking themselves, to dissuade doubt, and truth.

“This task was to be my last for the night and I planned to return to my quarters after the message was received and accepted. I admit I was a little aggravated that I was being given such a menial task and didn’t think to put any extra effort into it. I’m sorry I…I failed to protect the Overmare.” Even her emotions seemed practice. I saw this while looking at her as somepony who knew the deceit behind her demeanor however the unsuspecting crowd was buying into her false guilt.

“Don’t blame yourself dear; remember with your help we can bring justice to the one truly responsible.”
I yelled and protested in my mind but none of it transferred into reality. I felt as if I was screaming, but nothing came out, a nightmare. I processed the words to refute his claims but said nothing. I couldn’t.

“You’re right…I’m…What else do you need to know?” The audience was sold on her act.

“Surely you would have noticed the weapon in the possession of the accused as she left for the office… and why would she have brought the weapon at all if it was the Overmare that called for her?.” Finally a question that drew some doubt on this ridiculously weak story, I doubted the answer would help me however. This whole thing was planned…practiced even, every question had an answer that would implicate me; everything was designed to assure the Stable that I was guilty; I didn’t know what I was going to do.

“She had seen the Overmare in the morning I remember… I don’t know what they talked about but it must have been what set her…what set the suspect off. She must have been planning to kill the Overmare and took the opportunity given to her.” I could feel physical pain as I struggled against the divide between thought and action. My mind gave orders again and again but my body wouldn’t react, I just sat and stared as inside I fought Saber’s unfeasible magical influence.

“And the weapon?”

“I didn’t stay long enough to see her leave but she was wearing a saddlebag that would have been large enough to conceal the pistol.” Some of the ponies I had passed in the hallways nodded in knowing confirmation. The guard next to me was wearing my saddlebag, having confiscated it last night; he swung it off with his telekinesis and presented it to the crowd.
“Yes, that’s the one.”

“Good, thank you Ms. Sorbet. I think that will be enough.” He motioned for her to sit down as he took her place at the pedestal.

I surveyed the crowd again, some were nodding, some looked angry and some wouldn’t even meet my gaze. I was glad I could at least control my eyes to an extent, not that it would help me. I looked at Clearheart…and she looked away. She couldn’t even make eye contact with me.
They had convinced her, they had convinced the pony who was most likely to believe in me.
This was over, I stood in front of all the ponies I had ever known in my life, reduced to a murderer.
I stood covered in the blood of their leader, a pony they had loved and respected, trapped in my own mind as Saber cast his holding spell. I had never heard of this kind of thing, I didn’t even know Saber had any aptitude with magic, and yet here I was, incarcerated by it. I was going to be damned.

“While the jurors deliberate,” the ‘jurors’ were the heads of the Commissary that I had seen at the conference room table and now they stood in their intimidating suits, cold and unified, beside the stage.

“We will give the suspect time to refute the charges, or atone for them.” He looked back at me, horn aglow in a pale blue, and smiled. My rage imploded then as the repressed protests and screams desperately pushed to be heard. They merged together into red noise and anger as they were imprisoned to my mental plane. Just as I thought I was going to experience a brain hemorrhage based on the pain I was experiencing; his horn stopped glowing, the magic stopped, and it all came out.

He must have seen it in my eyes, the fury, and had released his restraints on my body as it reached its peak. I went from having an unresponsive body, doing nothing as I tried to make it obey, to having it suddenly adhere to every order I had given it, all at once while I desperately tried to stop it. I rapidly alternated between rearing and bucking, pulling violently on the chain binding me to the Security mare and slamming her to the ground. The scream I let out was raw with repressed bloodlust; there were no words, only what I imagined a welled up reservoir of pure anger being released would sound like. The dam wall broke and the barrage of emotion was released, I couldn’t have stopped it even if I had been warned. It was over just as quickly as it had begun, but as I gained control over myself and complied to my own restraints Saber’s locked me into place again. He had let me loose just long enough and after the chaos was over he had trapped me again. My chance to speak was wasted, instead of revealing the truth or simply sitting in forced silence I had had a violent outburst; I had lost my chance by failing to deal with the resurrection of control so suddenly. I must have looked insane, like a savage…like a murderer.
To Saber I looked perfect.

“I’ll take that as a confession.” Still smiling he turned back to the horrified crowd. The looks on their faces indicated that the anger was gone; it had been replaced by fear. They were afraid of me. I had played the final role in sealing my own destiny. I had given them the proof they needed. Nobody doubted the Commissary and my judgment would come without question. There was no way I was avoiding it.
It was over.

“What have you ruled?” He turned back to the jurors. The ponies of the Stable were hardly even paying attention; they were ready for me to leave. They were desperate for me to leave.

A white mare stepped up to the stage, an earth pony, though I wasn’t even watching Saber’s horn as I could still feel the spell holding me. It didn’t need to anymore; I was done.

“Grace Marie is found guilty of the murder of Shady Sands our Overmare. The crime of murder had always been, and will always be, punishable by damnation. We have deemed it a fitting sentence in this instance and conclude that Grace is no longer a member of the Stable. For the betterment of our society and the protection of our populous she is to be removed from our home by banishment. Damnation awaits her.” The crowd didn’t cheer or applaud; they just persisted in either their wide-eyed staring or an aversion of their gaze, sliding limply back into the stalls. They gave a wide berth to the middle passage that I would be escorted down, huddling together as they compressed away from it.

“The Confessor will now perform the rite of damnation as is customary for members of the Faith. Though Grace is not a member, the Confessor is willing to give it to any he feels are in need of one last prayer.” Saber said, giving me one final glance before descending off the stage. I could move again, but I didn’t want to. Saber would stop me from trying anything assuredly… but I wouldn’t; my will was broken.
As the Confessor stepped up the unicorns of the Faith began creating the sound of percussion. They played a slow and steady beat with their horns; it was rising slowly and would follow me on my way to the airlock. It was the music they played for the damned.

“Though she is not a child of the Faith, I perform this rite for the sake of her soul in hopes that, when faced with this mock afterlife she will prepare herself for her real one.” The Confessor’s voice spoke over the beat of the drums, his purple eyes were no longer shining, his tone was solemn and slow.
“Everypony is capable of repentance in the eyes of the Goddesses, even one who doesn’t believe. The death and suffering of the outside world will serve as your bane in this life sinner, but beyond it, what awaits is up to you. Redemption is the path to salvation, repent and you shall be saved. You will be lost but through virtue and forgiveness you may also be found, to eventually come to the same land that the pure will be gifted with. You can walk the path of sin for a time… but change your course and you may one day come to inhabit the Kingdom of the Skies.” The guards began to pull me along, off the stage and through the path between the stalls. I didn’t look up; I kept my eyes locked to the ground as I tried to ignore the fearful stares and hateful whispers from the ponies of the Stable.
“May the virtues bestowed upon our kind by the Goddesses find you, and may they absolve your soul.”
His voice rang out from behind me, I took no comfort in them, I had done no wrong and yet there was no purified land awaiting me. The Kingdom of the Skies was not my future, Equestria was all that was ahead of me, the Stable was all that was behind. Despite the knowledge that I would never see any of these ponies again I did not take the chance to look at them, to talk to them, to try one final time to convince them that they weren’t looking at anything but a murderer. It was over.

Soon the haze had passed, the Atrium teeming behind me as I followed my wary escorts down one last steel hallway. I was alone with my two guards and Chief Grayback, the chief behind us as the guards flanked me on either side. I would have walked out on my own volition then, I didn’t need to be forced, there was nothing left for me here. They had taken it from me. We reached the room that exited into the airlock, an exit that nopony except the damned had presumably ever used. They removed the chain collar from my bruised neck. Those marks had been from my own violent outburst, when the cold metal had served to restrain my still aching body.

The guards turned to leave us, the Chief of Security and I, to perform whatever final piece of ceremony was left to this process. They didn’t go far, standing at opposite ends of the door we had come through. Silent and stoic, as they had been when standing at opposite walls of the detention block. I wasn’t mad at them, all the passion I had had was gone, it had left me at the moment I knew that I could not save myself. It had left me at the moment I had realized that I would fail the truth and fail Shady Sands. Chief Grayback looked at me levelly, I wasn’t sure if I was crying but my eyes felt wet and sore, and he sighed.

“I’m so sorry for this.” Of course he knew, the whole Commissary seemed to know. “I truly am.”

“How many knew…all of you?” I asked softly.

“Yes, about twenty. Saber, myself and all the members of Admin and Security.”

“How could you let this happen? Some of you are good ponies… but you’re all standing by and allowing murder and deception to run rampant in your own home.” My voice was weak, pleading. I felt like I had been crying and screaming for hours, though I hadn’t even been allowed that.

“It’s for the good of the Stable, the ends justify the means. But I know that, especially from where you’re standing, that’s hard to believe. You don’t deserve this.” He seemed genuinely remorseful, I supposed he would be. And yet he was allowing this to happen, he hadn’t tried to save me, he hadn’t tried to stop Shady Sand’s murder, quite the opposite in fact. It was hard to understand how so many could alternate between such opposing poles of moral standing. Good ponies had allowed terrible atrocities because they believed they were necessary. It reminded me of what I had read about the War.

“Shady Sands didn’t deserve to die. You know that. You can fix this, go back and tell them the truth, it’s not too late to make up for what you’ve let happen.”

“I can’t, it would make her death meaningless. She was sacrificed to save the Stable. If I tell them the truth then even without her, the idea of leaving the Stable will fester, it will spread, eventually it will happen and we will all be lead to a cold death in the wastes. There’s no going back now.” They had been so afraid of an idea that they had killed to protect themselves from it. He was right, there was no going back. “We’re saving hundreds of lives by sacrificing one…two. The Stable will stay safe for hundreds of years to come, thanks to us…thanks to you.” He put his hoof on my side.

“I should probably leave; I see that you won’t be convinced.” I whispered. “We’ve reached the point where going back would be worse than fixing this. It doesn’t make it right though, nothing can atone for what has happened. I…I can’t stay here, just let me go.” I was exhausted and depressed. I didn’t feel like I was the only one who had failed anymore. I could see that they all had. They thought they had saved the Stable but they had done so through murder and lies. They had sacrificed their ideals, those of truth and democracy, to prevent change. No matter who they thought they were saving, no matter how many generations of consistent cowardice they had assured, they could never justify their methods. The ends did not justify the means, and they would have to live with that. They were beyond saving.

“I have a few things I want to give you. I’m not sending you out there to die.”

“You’re the ones who believe it’s so dangerous out there, why bother trying to help somepony that you’ve already marked as a corpse. According to the Commissary I won’t survive long enough for it to matter.”

“I have to do something.”
He went to the far corner of the room and lifted a saddlebag in his mouth, then brought it over and emptied it in front of me.

“These things…were your father’s. I know you probably never knew him, but they aren’t for sentimentality, they’re for survival.”

“Why would you give me his things? Why do you even have them here?” I asked, it was hard for me to feel grateful after what this buck had been a part of, but a chilling acceptance was beginning to pass over me like a wave. I would never really forgive these ponies for what they had done but I was starting to come to terms with what was going to happen. Knowing I had no other options.

“We confiscated these things form him on the day he was damned… we don’t usually let anyone take anything out, but I owe you, we all do.” His eyes were downcast. ”As to why we have it, well, the gun we planted as the murder weapon, it really was your fathers. We brought the rest of this stuff up with it out of storage. Saber agreed when I requested permissions to pass them on to you.” He gave me a collared white shirt, an ornate vest and a thick coat with a golden symbol on the side. I examined the articles of clothing closely. The shirt was similar to the stable’s utility jumpsuit except had no flank half, the vest was dark brown with golden inscriptions running along its hems, like stitching and scripture combined. The coat was a lighter shade of brown and would collar around my neck as it rested upon my back, it wasn’t long and I estimated its hem would just about cover my cutie-mark.

“You sent him out there naked and unarmed?” I wasn’t concerned, just curious.

“We just took his saddlebags, these were inside, he was wearing his jumpsuit and had a knife. His gun was also in the pack.” He lifted the gun out. I had seen it at the trial, hated it, but the thick pistol was admittedly beautiful up close. It was silver with greyer decals, its handle dark but speckled with gold and light brown dots, like countless stars in the darkness. It had an inscription running along its length, in an ancient language that I couldn’t read. He put it back in the saddlebag and urged me to put on the clothes, I obliged. They fit well and were surprisingly clean and sturdy; I felt uncomfortably warm in the coat but kept it on. Grayback swung the saddlebags over my back and strapped them on, securing them tightly.

“Grace I need to show you something on your Pip-buck, something that may well keep you alive.” He was obviously burdened by his guilt and for a moment I found it hard to be angry at the strong old buck. I listened as he gave me a detailed description of something called S.A.T.S; I had already read about it in the Pip-buck manual but had never seen a practical use for it in the Stable. He gave me simple instructions on how to use it and explained what each value that would pop up in my Eyes Forward Sparkle would mean; he also explained that a red band indicated a hostile target whereas the white ones I had seen almost all my life symbolized non-hostiles. Judging from experience I figured a white band didn’t always indicate someone who wasn’t a threat, Saber certainly didn’t deserve its naïve judgment. I had never seen use for these functions before but understood how valuable they would be in a combat situation. You could essentially stop time, strategize and line up your shots while your opponent stood frozen in place, it could save your life. He finished off his explanation.
“Maybe you were right Grace, maybe it won’t be so bad out there, but I’d like you to be able to take care of yourself nonetheless.”

“With the whole Stable together we could have faced whatever is out there Grayback, why couldn’t we have at least send scouts, why couldn’t we try? Anything is better than defaming our principles, abandoning our morals to do something like this.”

“An idea is a powerful thing; we had to stop the Overmare from sharing that idea. You know that Saber tried convincing her, but in the end, we did what was necessary to protect the Stable. I hope someday you’ll see that.”

“I won’t. I know they’ve got you convinced that what you’re doing is somehow justified, but I’ll just never be able to see it that way. I just can’t.” I was resigned to this whole situation, I wasn’t going to be able to tell the Stable the truth and Saber would probably ascend as soon as another Overmare was elected. I had to stop caring, somehow I would have to put this all behind me, this wasn’t my home, though it hadn’t been for years honestly. I had no stake in it and had already done what I could to try and change it, leading myself here. I was going to be alone, but not for the first time.

“Good luck out there Grace; I truly wish it didn’t have to come to this.” He pressed the button to open the sleek doors to the airlock, bowing his head to me as he held the button.

“It didn’t.” I admonished as I walked into the entrance room of the Stable. The airlock, the first room the ponies of the old world had seen while entering, the last that the damned passed through on their way out. That was me now, I was one of the damned, and I hoped that I was the first of them who had come to this on these terms. The small metal door slid shut behind me and I stood alone with only the giant cog of reinforced steel between me and Equestria. In reality this door had been all that had been dividing us from the outside this whole time, it had made all the difference between life and death for our ancestors. It had decided who lived and died in that horrible war, who would shelter behind it and who would burn alongside the world.

The metal creaked and I could hear the sound of pressurized air being released as the internal mechanisms of this great technology went to work. The air seemed to change in the room as soon as the door clicked away from where it had been set. The divider slid towards me before rolling tooth after tooth to the side revealing the incredible darkness beyond it, it was the deepest black I had ever seen, and yet it called to me. I had no desire to stay, nor any reason to, and not even fear was enough to make me hesitate. I began my approach towards the all consuming darkness; I began on the path to my damnation.

Footnote: Level up!
Perk Added: Daddy’s Filly: Getting kicked out of the same Stable by damnation isn’t the only thing you and your dad have in common! You gain +5 in small guns and +5 in explosives. The apple doesn’t fall far etc.

Chapter 3: Road to Damascus

Fallout Equestria: Sola Gratia
Chapter 3: Road to Damascus
“I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the End.”

I walked over the threshold of metal into the course passageway of rock, the ground was dirty and rough and I immediately felt as if I was in another world. The Stable had been smooth and cold with artificial detail in eternally familiar patterns, now this simple, blasted tunnel seemed like the most complicated thing that I had ever seen. I stepped completely into the tunnel, turning to watch the Stable door’s mechanism slowly engage, wondering if I would ever see this kind of technology at work again in the ruins of the old world, or if I would even survive long enough to have the opportunity to. The cog-shaped door rolled shut and, as steam was released from its compressed pistons and the door clicked closed, I had an overwhelming sense of loss. I would never see anypony I had ever known again, every relationship developed and every memory made was gone. I didn’t feel as If they may as well have been dead to me but rather that I was to them. I was the one removed from it all, not them, everything in the Stable would be the same, I just wouldn’t be a part of it. I stared at the door, trying to keep myself from breaking down, submitting to the welling, indiscriminate emotion of drastic, irreversible change.

I slowly started to re-attach with reality then, pulling myself out of my own mind and surveying the area around the door. There wasn’t any evidence that anypony had been here before, apart from the dried blood on the floor. I had seen blood before; in my service as initiate to the stable’s medical mare, Doctor Cross. I had dealt with a number of injuries during this time, picking up on a couple of medical spells by banal repetition. Over the years I had grown passably proficient in some of the more basic ones. I boasted a record of fifteen patients and no fatalities, although the worst of the cases I had handled on my own had been a buck with a fractured hoof, a case that anypony would have had a hard time messing up enough to kill him. Still I could hopefully use my medical experience to survive whatever was out there, although I doubted it would be any less than exponentially more dangerous than the Stable had been.

I was stalling; there was no point in reminiscing and pining over my lost home now, but a part of me needed to stay close to it. I felt that if the Stable was the safest place in Equestria, then just outside the Stable would rank at second safest at least. As plans went, cowering at the door until I starved or froze to death was awfully short-term in its simplicity, though a whole lot more predictable than braving whatever was beyond the tunnel. At least I knew how I would die if I stayed here; slowly and alone, although looking back down at the dried blood, it seemed as if there may be more tangible possibilities for death. Maybe the yielder of this ancient blood had decided to go through with his own version of my mock plan, only to face the next pony sent out, likely an actual murderer as the damned were supposed to be, enthusiastic to enter a world of anarchy and lawlessness with lots of killing for all… or at least to all.

That thought got me moving, I rose off of my dusted haunches, realizing I had probably been sitting in some poor sinners blood, and turned to face my new life, however short and unpleasant it would be. I started walking towards the darkness and wondered whether this passage actually led directly to the outside. For all I knew the Stable could have been built at the bottom of one of the gem mines that sparked this war. I forgot whether it was a lack of gems or an abundance of them that had got Equestria into this mess; I knew it had something to do with the mix of a lack of resources and a lot of patriotism.

I started to feel it then, on my face and hide and even in my lungs, the air seemed…lighter, like the Stable and the dank underground hadn’t given it enough room to breathe and now, as I approached the surface, the air was getting freer and clearer. It was cold, but thanks to my father’s old coat I didn’t really feel it. In the Stable the coat had felt like an unnecessary burden, warming me to a state of muggy unpleasantness, but now I felt as if it was protecting me from the bite of the dropping temperature. Looking at what I had with me I realized I had probably gotten off lucky. On my way out of the Stable, despite how unexpected the exit was, I had gotten everything I would have thought to bring with me If I had been given the choice; A coat and barding as well as a gun, saddlebags and some advice from the old security chief. I appreciated the advice the most… well, maybe after the gun.

Finally a sure sign that I was making progress, light, it shone down the tunnel in the shape of a thin, rectangular perimeter ahead of me. I quickened my pace in anticipation. Despite my fears and confusion I was incredibly curious on what the world that I had only seen in books and heard of in stories had become. The door stood before me, the rectangle of light emanating from the shoddy gap at which the aperture met its frame. Compared to the Stable door this looked like it had been built in an arts and craft class for kindergarteners who ate more of the glue than they used. It still took me a couple of seconds to figure out how to use it though, now I was glad that I was completely alone as I struggled to understand this primitive portal; in the Stable all the doors just slid open by their own automation, or at the press of a button, but It seemed I would have to operate this one manually. I pushed a handle down with one hoof and waited… nothing happened. The door didn’t seem able to slide up, down, left or right. Noticing the hinges I realized it swung outwards like those in a bathroom stall. I forcefully pushed against the wood with my other hoof while still holding down the handle, forcing the inadvertent blockade to yield. I had very little time to celebrate my victory over the door as I was blinded by the light it had been shielding me from.

The Sun was directly ahead of me, staring me down through the gap between the mountains and the clouds. If I had come out an hour earlier or later I wouldn’t have been directly exposed to its rays, assuming it still moved the way that it had before the war. After my eyes adjusted to the contrast of the blazing sun with the dark and dreary tunnel from just a few seconds ago and the dull fluorescent lighting of my entire life, I took in my surroundings. The tunnel opened out at a higher altitude than I had expected. I hadn’t taken into account the gradual incline of my walk out of it and was surprised to find myself looking out over a valley made by the mountain range I was standing embedded within and the range, jutting out of the earth, directly across from me to form the opposite border of this valley beneath the sun. I had turned my head downwards at first to shield my eyes from the intense white light and seen that, directly ahead of me, there was a path heading down through the rocky terrain into the valley below. I couldn’t see much of it as it curved behind a ridge to my right, but I knew that I would have to head that way if I wanted to get anywhere…unless I felt like rock-climbing my way backwards over the mountains.

My eyes had fully adjusted now so I lifted my gaze to the horizon. In the distance, beyond this valley and another, the most prominent feature of the landscape was a towering mountain, in the left field of my vision, whose summit almost broke through the cloud cover that filled most of the sky. It was dark and ominous, looming over the entire area as if as a reminder that nuclear apocalypse meant little to these timeless monoliths of earth, these immortal beings that dated back millions of years, having survived multiple ‘world-ending’ apocalypses.

Despite the mountains imposing appearance my attention was quickly drawn away to something even larger, even more terrifying and beyond any measure of age. The sky seemed to stretch on for an eternity like a giant ceiling of black and dark shades of gray, constantly shifting and rearranging, unpredictable and impossibly stable in its instability. In the distance, over the mountains, where I thought I had seen the sun was a contrasting band of brilliant white where the cloud cover had faded away, leaving only the infinite light of the sun. I thought I would be able to see it, a sphere or a source-point for all that light, but the celestial body was impossible to identify amidst the white expanse. The band of light was only broken by the mountains, who seemed like cracks in its purity, splitting it vertically from the similarly dark and menacing clouds to the bleak ground below. The surface was dead, trees stood naked and every color I had seen in pictures had been reduced to a morbid, bleaker version of itself. It was all dead, we had killed it. And yet it was beautiful to me. My life had been nothing but fluorescent lights and a monotonous gray stretching on and on through every room and every memory, and without even realizing my disposition, I had become sick of it. This was beauty, this was real, this was the land that our ancestors had doomed us to inhabit and that they had doomed trying to defend, this was Equestria. A shadow of its former glory, it was a dying world that refused to die. And now I was a part of it.

Being introduced to this new place so suddenly tore the previous thoughts and emotions from my mind, I now had much more to think about than what had happened in the Stable. Replacing the already fading anger and sadness were curiosity and fear; I was fascinated by what I saw but also afraid of how little I knew about it all. I felt a strange urge to find out more, to explore and discover, despite my caution, not only did I want to know what lay within the valley but what could be found beyond it. The mountain and the horizon appealed to my sense of wonder and I regarded them for quite some time before deciding what I would do next. I had become acclimated to the suns light and decided that I would head towards it, along the mountain path. The escarpment behind me curved in such a way that it was almost concave, its slope got gradually steeper and steeper until it almost turned in on itself. I certainly wasn’t going that way.

Just as I was about to set off I noticed something near the tunnel’s door that I had overlooked. What was once a skeleton had now broken down into a fraction of a full body’s frame, collapsed limply upon itself. The skull is what drew my attention most starkly, it was almost fully intact and its dark eyes contrasted with the aged, ivory bone and gray strata. It was lying in what must have once been a pool of blood that had persisted as a dark stain on the pale earth; this skeleton must have belonged to the source of the blood in the cave. Any clothes or belongings it had once held had already been taken, torn away by time. After my initial shock I turned to move on. I had to wonder if the pony that had once supported these bones was dying when he left the stable or if he had been injured just outside of it. The former seemed unsettlingly more likely.

I began to make my way along the path, taking the first turn around the mountainside. I enjoyed the cold breeze and the feeling of natural light; it was new, almost exhilarating. The path was wide and wound downward; it was surrounded on either side by broken stone or dead grass, prompting me to stick to it. This was the path ponies had once travelled up in panic to escape the coming fire, but now it seemed worn and decrepit. The pass wasn’t paved but beaten and if vegetation had been able to then it would have overgrown it long ago. My hooves had become dirty, dirtier than they had ever been, and they were now covered in a powder of gray and brown dust.

In the process of observing everything I passed, I had distracted myself and, turning to look back, I saw that I had already travelled quite a ways. I could see the mountains tapering off to my right and continuing on to my left. I was almost at the base of the range and the wind was dying down, leaving my descent in the meeker chill of static air. Reaching flat ground I turned to survey my path of descent; the way was wound upon itself, broken up by rock and dead trees. The mountain seemed to lord over me as it bent slightly off from vertical. It wasn’t nearly as tall as the black mountain to the north, however. I had decided that the direction I had been facing when I exited the door, and the direction that I similarly headed towards as I descended the mountain, was north. Meaning the range continued far to the east but died off a few miles to the west, its middle blocking the view of my proclaimed south.

Turning back along my path, I froze up at the subtle noises nearby. The crunch of dead grass being crushed and the rolling sound of rock against rock as pebbles bounced and moved. It sounded just like the noises I had been making during my walk, meaning that it was the sound of hoofsteps against the dead ground. I was alarmed and looked frantically to my sides as I backed up slowly. I wanted any first encounters to be on my terms, I wanted to know what was coming before the fact.
But they had already seen me and as I attempted to slink away they quickened their pace in response. I caught them dashing through my peripherals, closing into the middle of my vision until they were directly in front of me. Two had come from my left and one had come from my right. They had planned to confront me; an organized affront enacted on a bumbling newborn as she abrasively stumbled along her way.

They looked similar but distinct, as if they shared the same style but not the same existence; studded brown leather, spikes and scrap metal covered their dirty bodies. Their manes were all roughly cut and filthy, whatever color they had been was now obscured by dust or dye. What stood out the most of their similarly different appearances were their faces. They were the faces of three different ponies, one mare and two bucks, but they shared cuts, scars and an unnaturally tortured appearance. Their eyes were dark and bloodshot while their teeth were yellow at best and missing at worst. Most unsettling of all was their one shared expression; a leering grin that melded anger with greed, violence with excitement and madness with malice. I was afraid of them but didn’t draw my gun, their weapons were but sharpened sticks and rusted knives and I still didn’t want to escalate the situation, I watched them carefully though. They retained their distance, their chance to use the advantage of surprise had gone and I hoped that meant that they intended me no harm, unfortunately it could also mean that they didn’t consider me a threat. One of the bucks stepped forward, his mane was green, greasily held up in a line of spikes, his torn up muzzle stretched in a sneer that displayed his impressively full set of rotted teeth.

“You armed?” His voice was jeering: disturbingly chipper. He didn’t seem to blink.

“No” I lied, if that was the first question somepony asked then I was going to maintain the illusion that I was harmless, until they revealed their true intent. I wasn’t going to judge the strangers by their dirty hides and scrappy clothing, I had nothing to relate them to, but I would remain cautious.

“Good…” He began to step forward, and one of the other ponies followed with a wild precision. Before I could act the mare spoke out, stopping the bucks in their tracks.

“Wait!” she barked. “Don’t hurt her.” I didn’t detect a sliver of genuine concern on her face or in her tone.

“Why not? It’s been days since we got to have any fun, we’ve been picking over ruins and corpses. Let us have a chance to play with something that breathes…and bleeds…for once.” The other buck nodded eagerly, I noticed he was missing half of his tongue. The severed stub danced unpleasantly in his mouth.

“If we kill her then she’s worthless to us, step back!” I didn’t know what I was going to do here; I had never fired a gun before, I had never even been in a fight before. But here I was: outnumbered and afraid. I was armed better… if it came to a fight then I would have to shoot them before they could get to me.

“Don’t worry,” the buck with the intact tongue chuckled. “We’ll leave her breathing, maybe not standing, but breathing.” The mare was clearly the one in charge as despite his compromise the bucks remained in place, waiting for her response.

“You won’t touch her, every cut or bruise you leave on her decreases her value. She looks like a Stable pony, she’s so clean and…unused.” The buck opened his mouth to speak.
“And if you try any of the things he tried with me then I’ll cut off something worse than your tongue.” She gestured to the silenced buck as evidence of her mutilating ability. If she meant what I thought she meant then this mare had just saved me from a horrible fate. I would have thanked her but the way she was taking about me didn’t indicate that she had my best intentions in mind.

“What do you want from me? Why stop them?” I asked the bedraggled commander.

“You’re a Stable pony, aren’t you sweetheart?” She spoke almost as if I was a child.

“Yes,” If being a stable pony had saved me from being raped then I certainly wasn’t going to lie about it.

“I intend to sell you.” She stated. “I don’t care what happens to you after that but for now you’re worth a lot more to me unscarred and untouched. You’re fresh, strong even, we’ll get more caps and enjoyment from selling you than we would from your corpse.” Now she stepped ahead of the bucks, taking dominance.

“You’re right, I am strong, and I’m not about to let myself be treated like an object,” I levitated my pistol out and pointed it at the buck who had drawn his knife. “Leave me alone.” I didn’t know what I was doing, I wasn’t strong and if we fought I would probably lose. I had to try and dissuade them from attacking me.

“Good to see you’re smart enough to lie,” she said looking at my gun. “Don’t try and pull any tricks like that in front of the buyers, they prefer the submissive and stupid type. Disarm her.” She stepped aside to allow the bucks a clear path to me.

The tongueless buck charged me, a short rusty knife clutched in his mouth. His battle cry was almost pathetic, muffled as well as mumbled and I couldn’t help hesitating as I pointed the gun at him. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t kill a pony like this. But before I could finish my internal conflict the pony charging me made a final lunge… that was decidedly interrupted as his head exploded.

I was showered in warm gore, sparingly as I clenched my eyes shut. I hadn’t pulled the trigger and yet the remains of this bucks head were now smeared across my own. I desperately pawed at the gore with my hooves and my magic, wanting to reveal the pictures that matched the sounds of shouts and gunfire. The shots exploded in singularity, I heard two go off, echoing in my ears, and the yells stopped, first the other buck then the mare. I couldn’t look up as I gagged and spluttered with my head to the ground, the warm blood and brains removed from my face but now splattered around me. If the shooter had wanted to, he could have killed me then and there. But, still alive, I had time to regain my composure and looked up to thank my savior… only to behold a glaring corpse.

What stood before me could barely be described as a buck, it had the structure of a pony but looked like it had been both burned and melted until its dirty green skin was nothing but crimson ribbons and rags. Large expanses of muscle and veins were bare, exposed, pumping and twitching for any and all to see. The pony-thing wore what looked like leather armor that thankfully covered most of the thing’s chest, but its demonic face was fully exposed. One side of his muzzle was entirely skinless, its teeth were as clear as those on the skeleton at the mountain door and the tendons holding its upper and lower jaw together glistened bloody red. What remained of its copper colored hair did little to hide the patches of exposed skull and meat on the creature’s head. One of its ears was missing. The worst part was its eyes, there was no distinction between pupil and iris, the black solidity of the center had been clouded over by the muddy green of the surrounding ring, it almost looked as if the iris had burst and flooded the pupil with color, which now swashed and spread. They were murky and lifeless.

I didn’t scream or run, I stayed rooted on the spot despite the pool of gore at my feet and the decayed pony in front of me. My gun still hovered at my side but I was in no state to use it as my mind struggled to comprehend what I was seeing. What stood before me should logically be dead, it was as if a rotten corpse had woken up and could somehow still function as if it were alive. I had heard the Faith talk of the demons of their Damnation and what I had imagined from their description was the closest thing to a comparison I could formulate. The walking corpse in front of me was no demon however, it had saved me, and all I could do to show my gratitude was slide my gun back into my saddlebags and stare.

“Come with me.” His voice was as flayed as his skin. It almost seemed to echo over itself.

“What are you?” I asked abrasively, immediately felt guilty for it, this thing… this pony had saved me and yet I couldn’t get over his appearance.

“Charon, I have been sent to escort you.” He did not look happy, from what I could tell.

“Escort me where?” Charon, like Sorbet before him, had been sent by another’s volition, which explained his lack of enthusiasm.

“To Hell,” he replied curtly, like it was an answer that would actually explain anything to me.

“Charon… I appreciate your help but I can’t quite wrap my head around all this. It’s a lot to take in. All the blood and… you just showed up out of nowhere and… I’m sorry but I’m a little confused.” I had a lot of questions, some that I was too afraid to ask.

“Talk to Damascus.” He replied bluntly.

“Where is Damascus?”

“I have been sent to escort you to him.” His tone was almost monotonous, his lines seemed rehashed. This whole experience, while mind-blowing to me… and my first attacker… didn’t seem to interest him.

“How did you know I was here?” He had come for me almost as soon as I had left the Stable and I was admittedly a little suspicious of his timing.

“I am obligated to escort you to Damascus.” I guess he was serious about that.

“All right,” This wasn’t exactly an easy conversation, if it counted as one at all. “I respect that you just want to do your job and I do owe you for saving me just then. But at least tell me how I know that I can trust you?” That was the only line of questioning I dared to pursue.

“No choice.” He turned and started walking at a brisk pace along the path. I wasn’t entirely okay with following him, but it was obvious that my doubts didn’t matter, as I didn’t want to find out what would happen if I refused. My most pressing question would remain unanswered and un-ask able, I wanted to know what had made Charon the way he was, and how he was even alive. But only an idiot would ask that sort of question to a buck with his disposition… and shotgun.

Technically I was now in the valley, the terrain was rocky and the ground was anything but flat but I could still see much more than I could on the mountain pass. The rocky outcroppings from the mountains continued out from the ranges and in some places large formations blocked my view to either the west or east. The land sloped in rolling hills with rock often undercutting the earth, dead trees scattered the landscape looking more like burnt bones than the vibrant green plants I had been promised in books. Any vegetation that remained i.e. the bushes and grass, had no traces of the color green, they were as gray and charred as the trees and they didn’t even yield to sway in the gentle wind. From the looks of them they were more likely to crack or crumble under pressure, statues. Still I found the crunch of the earth underneath my hooves to be very satisfying and I enjoyed the clean clarity of the air, no matter how dead this place was it still served as a welcome change from the Stable.

The mountains became less imposing as we moved further away and even seemed small when compared to the consistently gargantuan one to the north. The white band of light was no longer visible at this lower elevation and all I could see of the sky were the dark clouds that obstructed it. Walking along the same makeshift path northwards we eventually reached what must have once been a town. Though all that remained of the small settlement were broken husks and burnt buildings, I had never seen a house but I couldn’t imagine anypony living in any of these. The walls had mostly collapsed inwards and the most intact building was a tall hall that must have been reinforced with concrete as it sat firm at the end of the cracked street veering to my left. This street was the end of one of two splits, the root of it continued north, consolidated with its brother, and connected with a highway that I could barely see through the remains of the town. We had entered onto the other split that ended at a mostly intact, large building labeled ‘Acheron SUPERMARKET’. The street felt far more familiar in its flat solidity than the raw, unstable earth had under my hooves.

“This is Acheron?” I asked Charon who had been silent for the entirety of our walk.

“Yes. Wait here, I’ll be back to take you the rest of the way.”

“Where are you going?” I was honestly a little worried to be left on my own after my encounter with the rapists/murderers turned salesponies. I would have to become a more confident marksman if I wanted to feel safe. I could’ve shot the charging buck’s leg at least instead of just freezing up; I worried that if Charon hadn’t shown up I would have just let myself be captured.

“There are more raiders somewhere back there. Never only three. Best to deter whole group now and prevent future incidents. Find a cellar and wait in it.” He gave orders in the same plain, harsh tone that he said everything and I no longer felt offended by his bluntness.

“I’ll hold up in that solid looking building while you do whatever you need to.” I compromised, the town hall looked a lot sturdier than the ruins around me.

“No, solid doesn’t mean safe. Opposite In fact, building might have rats or even ferals. Find a cellar and I’ll contact you on your Pip-buck.” He gestured to a radio strapped to his armor.

“This thing has a radio? Like a broadcast function?” I asked looking at my Pip-buck.

“No, it has a receiver, you’ll pick up a new frequency when I get close enough, you won’t be able to talk back but I’ll tell you when and where to come find me.

I nodded, I would figure out how to use the receiver on my own, it seemed like he had something important to do and I didn’t want to keep him. He sprinted back the way we had come at my nod leaving me alone in the middle of the gray street. I stepped into the closest building that wasn’t the supermarket and began to pick through the ruins. I hoped to find a cellar door or passage of some sort, but also kept an eye out for anything interesting or useful. The entirety of the house’s upper floor had collapsed onto the lower and it was apparent that rooms of distinct purpose had folded into each other. The fridge lay crushed under a steel bed frame and barred access, while the rest of the ‘kitchen’ had the remains of a porcelain bathroom set crushed on and around it. The ceiling was gone but some of the wooden bars than had held it in place still remained, they didn’t look stable.

Finding nothing but burnt books and crushed furniture I moved on to the most intact house I could find. I didn’t bother using the door as there were several perfectly accessible holes in the walls and I stepped into the house by way of one of them. The lower floor held no indication of a cellar and I headed up the rotting stairs out of curiosity. I found an irreparably damaged terminal in what must have been an office once, then, searching through some drawers, I found a bunch of what I assumed were ‘bits’. I had read that it took multiple thousands of theses to afford a place in the Stable. What were the Stable’s constructors planning to do with money if the world ended? Searching the bedrooms I found another pair of carcasses that looked even older than the one I had seen at the mountain door.

The skeletons were blackened but intact and both lay on a large mattress, dimly lit by the subtle gray of the cloudy sky as it cut through the room’s decrepit walls. They were wrapped, bound together, holding each other in a mortified embrace that had been preserved forever in time. The pair of ponies had died in each other’s grasp as they burned in the fires of the war, they had been together in their last moments, only letting go as death took them. Their bones were a painful reminder of the sadness encapsulating what had happened so long ago and to me served as an eternal memorial to the dead and dying. I didn’t disturb the dead lovers and backed out of the room quietly, as if I had intruded on their unity. I hurried to exit the building, feeling like an invader in their home… their tomb.

Back out on the street I caught a glimpse of movement in the corner of my eye and turned to investigate. Something had moved towards the town hall so I turned down the other street, warily approaching. I kept quiet and stayed behind any cover I could find so as not to draw attention to myself. As I crouched behind the broken wall of a home’s ashy garden, I saw the source of the activity. Another figure that had the shape of a pony, though somehow vastly different, was standing in front of the town hall; the day had become dark enough to allow a visual flicker of intact street lights, illuminating the dark figure.

The first thing I noticed was that the pony was a Pegasus; it clearly had wings, occasionally hovering a few feet above the ground as it surveyed the building. Its entire body was covered in dark armor that reflected tints of blue in the fluorescent light. I couldn’t see its face beneath the insectoid visor and was intent on keeping my distance. Curiosity held me, as I had never seen a Pegasus before and had always wondered why none of them had made it into the Stable. I was also fascinated with its ability to fly, gracing the streets for the briefest intervals between elegant bounds into the air.

I stepped a little bit closer, maintaining my cover, and a red line appeared on my E.F.S identifying the armored Pegasus as a hostile threat. I backpedaled into cover, but before I could run the pony swung around in the air to face me, gripping a bit in its mouth, connected to the sleek contraption it was wearing. I hadn’t made a sound so it must have also had some form of E.F.S, the radar registering my presence as I entered its range. I realized the contraption must be some sort of weapon with the bit acting as a trigger to make up for the lack of telekinetic ability. I drew my pistol and checked to make sure it was loaded while I slowly backed away behind the wall. The Pegasus then swooped rapidly above me and looked down; my eyes met the yellow visor occluding its own. I activated SATS. Time froze as everything became still. The world took on a gray tint and subtle movements, seemingly automatic before, ceased, making the barren ruins look even less alive. It was surreal in its simplicity and daunting in its potential.

Lining up two shots with the pegasusesese- other pony’s guns I let loose my chokehold on time. The 45 caliber bullets fired one after the other. The first missed, but the second compensated by hitting something that looked important on the armament. The weapon began to groan and stall as the Pegasus attempted to fire it, fruitlessly. The machine seemed to have a repair mechanism and the chugs and stutters it was making began to become sparser as the hole covered itself. I took the opportunity to sprint away, desperately searching for a place to hide. This opponent was better armored and armed. It looked like a military unit. Once its guns were firing it would mow me down from above before I landed another shot. I wasn’t going to win this fight, and I had a feeling that even Charon couldn’t save me this time.

I ducked to and from the cover of brick and shadow as I weaved my way back to the supermarket. Eventually it was clear that my pursuer had lost the trail. The Pegasus circled desperately in the air scanning the area. I crawled underneath a collapsed wall to avoid detection, the lasers firing from the repaired weapon lit up the dim sky as they landed sporadically around the area. I continued my retreat, slowly and carefully crawling from fallen walls to torn foundations, towards the supermarket. I timed my final dash for the entrance so that the hostile was as far away as his scrupulous circuit would take him. If the Pegasus had been able to fly lower and avoid the jagged ruins then its E.F.S would have likely picked up my movement. Luckily for me I managed to slip through the one functional set of doors undetected.

I could only hope that the airborne soldier wasn’t determined enough to pick over every ruin in his search.

The interior of the supermarket was much darker than the town outside; most of the windows had been barred up and blocked the fading, late afternoon light. The door had apparently been barricaded once, indicated by the splintered planks and broken nails lying around it. To my right was a flickering red vending machine labeled ‘Sparkle Cola!’ which was as wavering in its illumination as the street lights outside had been. I could make out rows of shelves and a line of tills in the dim gray through the doorway ahead of me; everything seemed empty, ravaged, as the desperate ponies of the Equestrian wasteland had scavenged and scrounged through it, leaving it bare and forgotten.

I had no luck tinkering with the vending machine, though I suspected that whatever had been inside would have already been taken I tried fiddling with it anyway. I found a screwdriver lodged into a panel on the machine’s side, somepony had tried to pry the metal covering off to access its raw insides. I floated the screwdriver into my saddlebags. My mechanical skills had never been great but considering how hollow the building seemed I figured I should take as much of what could potentially be useful as I could.

I hugged the wall through the doorway as I scanned the supermarket with my E.F.S; I wanted to make sure it was empty before lighting up to search the place. I had put a number of empty sparkle cola bottles and tin cans at the door so that if it swung open the noise of the glass and garbage rolling and breaking would alert me. I hoped the Pegasus would not feel inclined to search the building at all, but if it did I wanted to be warned. It had certainly been aggressive, the first Pegasus I had ever seen, assuming it was as I speculated under that armor: truly a pony and not some sort of monstrous imitation of one.

After my scan along the internal perimeter of the supermarket I felt confident that I was alone and that I could risk a little light. My horn glowed gold as the magic spread, dispersing the arcane shine in a small area around me. I could produce something much brighter than a candle or a flashlight, but restrained myself to a dim glow. My magic flickered and danced like a flame and was akin to a natural oil lantern balanced on my forehead. Somehow the light stayed out of my eyes creating, seemingly to me, an aura rather than a specific bright source right above my eyes. The spell had been designed for personal use and instead of turning me into a shiny, but blinded, pony; it enlightened the area around me, allowing me to scour the grim shelves and aisles of the store.

While the accessible supplies were long gone I saw a group of ammunition boxes on one side of the large room and a terminal-locked door on the other. Coming full circuit towards the entrance, I headed to the boxes. They stood behind a division that required me to walk through a doorway for access to the slightly separated area. Unbeknownst to me this design had translated to an ideal set-up for a trap to somepony. As I walked through the frame I head a sound come from beneath my hoof.

A quick succession of beeps that drew my attention to the subtle yellow disk.
I leapt back around the door frame reflexively as the mine went off. Shrapnel and debris from the concentrated explosion flew through the doorway prompting me to hug myself…’evasively’.

As the dust settled I peaked over the division back into the room: there were two other mines placed just far enough away to detonate by their own trigger rather than as a byproduct of the nearby explosion. The mines had two noticeable features on their faces: A dim red light and a small gear in its center. I lifted the closest with my telekinesis and began to fiddle with the gear, keeping it at range; I found that twisting the gear counter-clockwise resulted in the red light going out. Hopefully this meant it was disarmed. I applied pressure to every point on the mine with my magic, assuring that it was inactive before hovering it closer

I repeated the process with the other mine to less success. Though my magic was adequate in its strength, my accuracy and precision left something to be desired. As I lifted the second mine, telekinetic pressure triggered its shining button and it went off in the air. I wasn’t fast enough to duck but luckily I was far enough to avoid serious injury. A piece of the mine grazed my face leaving a shallow scar underneath my left eye. It stung, and the heat from the detonation washed over me. But considering the potential damage, I got off easy. The proximity mine was almost ineffective when it lacked any proximity to its target. I packed the deactivated mine into my saddlebags and cautiously entered the segregated area.

Somepony had gone to great lengths to protect these boxes and for a moment I felt disinclined to tamper with them. These were potentially somepony’s property, a claim that they had gone dangerous lengths to insure against the interference of others. But anypony willing to kill the unwary over a few bullets that they had left behind as bait wasn’t worth my sympathetic forfeit. A couple of the cases were unlocked and inside I found two different kinds of ammunition, neither of which I had a compatible weapon for. Energy Cells and 556 mm rounds. The clip of 556 ammunition was almost half as big as my only gun but I decided to hold onto it anyway. If bullets were precious enough to guard explosively then I wasn’t leaving any behind. I recognized the energy cells as the fodder for laser pistols and the like; I hoped to find energy weapons, so I stored those too. The last case was locked and apart from digging around in the lock with my screwdriver, hoping to get lucky, I had no means to open it. I had never picked a lock before and I had no idea if it could even be done consistently, so I opted for a more straightforward solution.

---------------------

I aimed my pistol over the division back into the segregated half-room. I had left the mine, armed and sensitive, beside the locked case. Hopefully the explosion triggered by my shot would be enough to open the case while preserving its contents. I preferred the idea of using the mine this way instead of what it had been originally designed for. The thought of accidentally blowing up another pony, initiating their last moments in a fountain of meat and blood disturbed me. The thought of doing so intentionally was somehow even worse.

I lined up the barrel of the pistol and the mine, firing a single round when I had adequately fussed over the course of trajectory. It hit the mine dead-on, resulting in another compact explosion that sent the box sailing over the division, landing somewhere to my right near the tills. I had avoided all incoming debris successfully this time and, picking myself off the ground, headed towards the case’s landing zone. The lid was hanging on by the fraction of a hinge and the 45. bullets inside were already rolling out of their boxes. I gathered them up along with two frag grenades which, thankfully, hadn’t been set off in the blast.

After picking up some food that was potentially still edible, canned and heavily packaged, I headed to the terminal across the supermarket. There were some skeletons scattered here and there that quickened my pace through the dark, empty aisles. Guided by the glow of my horn I avoided several sharp and rusty metal jaws that looked very much like traps set up on the floor. Somepony had turned this place into a death-trap. I hoped they hadn’t stuck around in the danger zone of their creation, if they had then, considering that I was a blatant, audibly intrusive thief; I needed to be ready for a confrontation.

I stopped casting my light spell as I entered the green glow of the terminal. It had presumably been a means to open the nearby door, although it had already been hacked. The machine flashed on a screen that displayed the correct password: ‘Super-Duper’. Somepony had had the technological know-how to bypass a terminal lock, surprising considering the circumstances out here.

I didn’t expect to find much in the room but I entered to investigate anyway. It was small but cluttered, seemingly overburdened by thin metal shelves and stacks of junk and salvage. The debris ranged from pieces of vacuum cleaner to leaf blowers and I found little that seemed useful apart from a hammer, a leather belt and two medical braces that I packed into my saddlebags. The most distinct aspect of the room was another terminal linked to an open, tubular casket. On the floor in front of the case lay something that, for a moment, looked like another, if unusually solid, dead pony.

The machine was shaped like an equine and was similar in appearance to a mannequin, with metal plating and a visor. It had sustained a bullet ‘wound’ to the head, a grim recall, which had put it out of commission. I salvaged the body for a few pieces of scrap metal, sensor modules and electronics, doing one last scan of the room once I had picked the robot clean.

Finding little else, I settled down in a corner to await Charon’s call, hoping that he wasn’t in any danger from the, hopefully absent, Pegasus. The scum that Charon had saved me from were a paltry threat when compared to the heavily ordained flying soldier. Though I had survived it, and I doubted he could possibly fare worse than I had.

I found the radio section on my Pip-Buck and noticed a new distinct frequency replacing the Stable PA system: Galaxy News Radio. I tuned in to pass the time; maybe I could get insight on what was going on in Equestria. Seeing as this claimed to be a news station. Though it also claimed that this information pertained to the whole Galaxy…

Static emanated from my Pip-Buck but distinguishable over it was a tinny yet charismatic voice.

“Hell-llloooo Capital Wasteland! This is D…J…Pon3! Coming to you loud and proud from the middle of downtown Manehattan! What’s left of it anyway…” I looked at the map on my Pip-buck, the topography of the land was vaguely displayed but only three markers were visible. Two solid ones labeled, Scenic Overlook and Acheron, as well as a singular hollow one labeled ‘Railway Station’. No sign of Manehattan.

“It’s time for another special Public Service Announcement, so listen up children ‘coz this shit’s important! Now we all know what a raider is, and we know from experience that there are a hell of a lot of those bastards out there pillaging the wastes. But if you haven’t encountered one before, let me give you some advice. Leave your pride out of it, your life is worth a lot more. These psychopaths aren’t looking for surrender either, best deal you’ll get is being sold to the Slavers, and that’s after a couple of hours of rigorous rape and torture. So don’t feel ashamed if you hide, run or even shoot if you have to, because these ponies don’t know what mercy is… and they certainly don’t deserve it.”

Helpful advice, it would have made shooting that charging raider a lot easier if I had known that they were definitively cruel and sadistic to boot.

“If you see those distinctive bloody spikes or decorative body parts and you haven’t already realized you’re not dealing with somebody you want to make friends with… then I hope you’ll know to keep your distance now. My advice is to stay quiet, but it wouldn’t hurt to have another raider with a bullet through their head, if you can handle yourself in a firefight.”
The deep voice of the enthusiastic buck continued, over the indefinite expanse of airwaves between me and Manehattan.

“Thanks for liste-ning chil-dren!” He sang, then carrying on in his regular tone. “This is DJ Pon3 bringing you the truth, no matter how bad it hurts!” I switched the radio off as he concluded.

Hearing the DJ made me feel a little more hopeful that there was some form of civilization out there, this pony had an audience and he was helping them survive. Somewhere in Manehattan there was enough surviving technology and security to support a whole radio station and that brightened my expectations of the world. However the news that raiders were a common enough occurrence to warrant a PSA dampened that hope. It sounded as if there were a lot of ponies out there like the ones I had encountered at the base of the mountains, and they were definitely not making Equestria an easier place to survive. But the DJ was… and that was enough to improve my mood. I reminded myself to listen as often as possible so I could learn all that I could about this place; maybe he would explain the armored Pegasus or if there was anywhere that was still safe. I hoped the signal got better wherever I was headed.

Another frequency popped up on the Pip-Buck’s radio screen. It wasn’t named, apart from a sequence of seemingly meaningless numbers and dots, but I assumed it was Charon’s radio broadcast.

“Coast is clear; I’m on the intersection in the middle of town. I will wait here until you arrive for me.” The gravelly voice of the decaying pony came through much clearer than the DJ’s had, I could understand him completely. I headed out of the supermarket, taking the time to examine my findings: Junk and Ammunition. I guess that’s really all there is left of Equestria, or at least of Acheron. Scavengers and Scraps. Seeing the bottles and tins I had set as an alarm reassuringly undisturbed by the doorway, I exited into the street.

It was dusk; a term that now applied to the light as well as the time, and the evening was dim. The gray and white clouds were the brightest things in the sky, oddly visible when compared to the surface. I had never seen this kind of darkness, it wasn’t pure like when the lights were switched off and it wasn’t non-existent like when the lights were switched on. I could still see and yet it still felt…dark. It was like the lower atrium during a service, but instead of warm candlelight it was the cold grey light of a sun setting far away, dispersed through clouds and dust.

As promised Charon was waiting at Acheron’s centre, just a block away from the supermarket. He looked a little more torn up than before and his usually consistently stony expression occasionally gave way to a wince. His armor was patched and bloody on one side, whatever had happened, he had tried to suppress the bleeding with torn material, to little success.

“Are you all right? What happened?” I asked examining the buck’s side from a distance.

“I’m fine, more raiders than I expected. Weren’t armed with anything worse than knives and sticks, I was careless for a moment, got surprised. They are always careless, got killed.”

“Let me help you, I can make it hurt less.” I tentatively approached. The buck stayed silent, no protests. If he wanted help he certainly wasn’t going to admit it. I knew a few basic medical spells but I couldn’t do much without any supplies. A potion or some surgical supplies would have been nice, the medical braces I had were useless for this kind of wound. I was able to cast a mild anesthetic spell that wouldn’t eliminate the pain entirely, but also wouldn’t sedate the target. I placed my glowing horn gently against the now exposed wound, it was jagged and red, the only difference between it and the rest of Charon’s hide was that it was wetter, so the fresh blood shone in the street lights. I could see the relief on his face for a brief moment, and then it was replaced with the usual stalwart indifference. I patched the torn material back on to his armor, hoping that the blood on it was all his own, and didn’t belong to some disease ridden raider.

“Thanks.” He muttered as he began to walk down the street out of town.

“I hope wherever you’re headed after this has a real doctor, I wouldn’t walk around with an unattended wound for too long if I were you.” What he really needed was something to prevent infection.

“The radiation is all I need.” He said as he took in a deep breath, savoring some unknowable intake, giving the unsettling implication that the cold winter air was not as fresh as I had assumed.

“Not sure if that’s how it works,” I wasn’t going to presume anything but from what I knew radiation was something to be avoided. It didn’t exactly have a reputation for an effective form of medication.
“Just don’t let it fester, alright?”

He nodded and prompted me to continue following him. We set off again towards the North, through Acheron. The town was small and soon enough we were no longer surrounded by sparse buildings or debris, up ahead I saw what looked like a highway, running perpendicular to the street we were on. The land seemed to flatten out to the east until it reached the curving mountain range, but to the west the road was bordered by gentle hills and rocks. Dead trees dotted the land sporadically in either direction, along the highway streetlights flickered and buffers lay broken or askew along its middle. The road itself was cracked and split; it looked more like a scar than a transport route. Charon slowed down as we crossed the highway, looking both ways before proceeding.

It was almost dark now and I couldn’t help but stare down the road to the east. My line of sight was cut off by darkness but there were a few blinking white lights that seemed to continue beyond it. The last mountain of the northern mountain range loomed blacker than black in the impossibly distant distance. It was like looking into infinity, there were no walls or boundaries, if I wanted to I could walk east and never stop. I could walk the length of the world and end up back where I started, on the intersection of the road from Acheron and the highway. Though it was entirely hypothetical, the possibility amazed me, Freedom.

I snapped back into reality and realized that Charon had stopped too, his gaze was to the west and it looked like he was straining to hear something. In the distance I heard a long deep whistle, it was unlike any I had heard before and much too loud to have come from a pony. As if in response to the sound he quickened his pace and began up the road on the other side of the highway, the intersection formed a cross. After a while we had put the highway behind us and again all I could see was the dim white light of the streetlamps that still functioned. Charon veered off to the left and climbed a steep, rocky ridge. When we reached the top he stopped and stared into the night, something had got his attention and he seemed thoroughly determined to investigate it. His eyes were intent; gleaming uncharacteristically.

I could now see that the highway rose up along its stretching path, lifted off the ground by support pillars as it curved upwards and onwards over the rocky terrain. Though my attention was then drawn to the north, where I could make out a small, bristling hub of light. It glimmered down the road that we had been on, and was what appeared to be another town. It was hard to make out any features at this distance through the dark, but the lights were indication enough that life existed there. Charon was more interested in what lay between the highway and the town, in the large expanse of black to the North-West.

I heard it then; a sort of rhythmic chugging that rapidly flowed over itself, beneath the screaming whistle that sounded out every few seconds. In the distance I saw a rapidly moving mist that was heading towards the town, it looked like a serpentine line of steam was encroaching on the small collection of lights. The steam was lit up here and there by gray and red lights, otherwise it would have been invisible.

As the trail approached I could make out the source of the lights, at the head of the steam was the brightest one, a sphere of white that seemed to be leading a series of smaller ones behind it. Red lights filled the gaps between the broken up sections of the rectangular machine implying that it was made up of a series of connected links, like a chain. The howl of the whistle and the metallic chugging grew louder as the machine drew closer; a shiver ran down my spine in the cold night air as a feeling of dread grew inside me. I didn’t know what the thing was, but to me it seemed monstrous.

“The Coltilde.” Charon said as we stared down at the moving shadow. If it weren’t for the lights and the steam then the monster would’ve been invisible in the darkness, only giving itself away with screams and stutters. Some of the lights implying the town in the beast’s path switched off. As the Coltilde approached, the settlement seemed to become a lot smaller, as more and more of its lights went out. As if it was trying to hide from the nocturnal monster that was rapidly bearing down on it.

Footnote: Level Up!
Perk Added: Wasteland Medic: You are capable at performing triage and with the right supplies you can tend to broken limbs or moderate wounds. Anesthetic magical ability allows you to dull pain. Also knowledge of pony anatomy means you are more deadly in combat, a bullet in the heart is worth two in the spleen.

Chapter 4: Night Train

Fallout Equestria: Sola Gratia
Chapter 4: Night Train
“If you aren’t getting your hands dirty, you aren’t making a difference. Welcome to the World.”

“What is it?” I asked the ghoulish pony beside me, as we both gazed into the black night, staring at the machinated monster charging, cutting, through the darkness.

“Old Slave Train, the Coltilde, we’d better wait it out.” Charon and I stood on a ridge, a fair amount of distance between us and the beast, as well as the small town that it was rapidly approaching.

“Wait, what do you mean Slave Train? Are there ponies being kept prisoner on that thing?”

“No, they would have been dropped off at the Pens, the previous stop. Train’s on a collection trip.” His tone was almost aloof; there was no panic or concern in his words. This was normal. Slavery was normal.

“Then we have to do something! We can’t just sit here with front row seats to watch ponies getting abducted.” I was determined to fix this, I didn’t know how but I couldn’t just let this happen. Whether Charon was coming or not, I was going down there to help those ponies. “We need to get the authorities!”

“The only authority left is invented.” He shook his head. “They are safe. Damascus worked out a deal a long time ago; they don’t take anyone from the town anymore.” This failed to subdue my concern.

“Then why are they stopping?” I was in emotional discord, my body was tense and yet adrenaline pumped through me, anger and confusion muddled my thinking. Slavery was an industry now, they were harvesting ponies from their homes and turning them into objects, and it was a lucrative enough business to have control over the railways. I wanted to go down there and get things explained to me, I needed to know exactly what was going on and not have to deal with Charon’s reluctance to answer me anymore.
For once, however, he began to explain.

“Part of the deal, our population is too low for regular extraction and too weak to make us good slaves, so we serve as a rest-stop. We maintain the train and feed the slavers; they’ve even been given the old motel for shelter when they stop by. We make sure their good and ready to hit the next settlement along the line, just so they won’t take us.” A subtle implication of begrudging regret laced his last words.

“I don’t understand…why doesn’t anypony stop them?” I was coming to realize just how cold the wasteland really was, how lawless and cruel a place Equestria had become.

“Ponies don’t care, they’d rather have somebody else suffer than themselves, it’s Instinct, and it keeps them alive.” I tried to read his expression; it was as blank as his stonewalled tone. I wanted to know what he thought, why he would kill raiders and save me, if he didn’t have some moral justification to do so. Surely it couldn’t all be about money, or his adherence to whatever power commanded him.

“What about you? You’re good with a gun, you saved me from three raiders and went on to hunt down Goddesses know how many more. Surely you see that this needs to be stopped.” I pleaded to him.

“I follow orders. Damascus holds my contract and therefore controls my actions, my existence. And as much as he’d like to stop the Slavers, ponies don’t care. Just one with a shotgun and suicidal orders isn’t even going to make a dent.” How could he be so obedient? He was more than the claim of a contract; he was an individual, a buck. The way he talked about himself almost made him sound like a slave.

“Who says you have to be controlled by a contract? Don’t you see that if you let it rule you then you might as well be on that damned train? Why can some piece of paper stop you from living as you choose to, why can it change who you are?” I asked him, sadly, as his face failed to fluctuate.

“That’s how it works.” Was all he said, staring down at the small station town that the train had docked in. I felt sorry for Charon, whatever had happened to him had warped his mind, he could no longer see beyond the black and white of paper and orders, no longer think for himself. He was brainwashed.

“I see, so I suppose you aren’t going to let me go down there and do something. Or are you willing to ignore your orders just this once, so we can stop that train from ever taking another slave aboard?” I pressed, ambitious, trying one last time to convince him, to appeal to whatever individuality he had left.

“The mercy deal doesn’t extend to Stable ponies, only residents of Hell. They would kill you or, more likely, put you in chains before you said a word or fired a round. I am obligated to escort you to Damascus; I cannot escort a slave, or a corpse.” It seemed he wouldn’t falter in fulfilling his orders.

“Fine, I appreciate the fact that you aren’t delivering me to the Slavers at least. I suppose that’s twice that you’ve spared me from ending up with them. I just hope this ‘Damascus’ has some answers for me.” Charon stood still and regarded me with an indiscernibly, different look in his misty eyes.

“I’m a ghoul.” I was taken aback by the sudden change in his voice, it had become personable. If this was the term for whatever he was then it seemed awfully derogatory, at least by how I understood the word.
“It’s something that happens after massive exposure to radiation, kind of exposure that would kill most ponies. For some it just changes them, they become eternal, while their ageing bodies still decay they stay functioning for decades, even centuries beyond a lifetime. Some go insane; some become warped through isolation or depression, but understand that despite our appearance most of us are no more dangerous or malicious than a normal pony.”

“I…Thank you for telling me that.” I was intrigued by the concept, but also wondered what had prompted Charon to open up.

“It’s something you need to understand before you meet Damascus. You’re too polite, if you have a question then ask it, manners will only keep you ignorant.” Back to the blunt monotone, Charon began to make his way down the ridge towards the dark town.

“I thought you said we would wait it out.”

“Raiders set us back, was supposed to get here before slavers. Won’t waste any more time… Stay quiet.” I nodded at his order and followed him towards Hell. The town was indistinguishable in the darkness, but judging from the outlines and implications of the buildings I could see that they were a lot more solid than those in Acheron. This was a functioning settlement, not just a ruin. The lights from the train shone through the cracks and gaps where the houses had been patched up, their solidity came from repair and replacement, planks of wood and steel seemed to cover most of the buildings I could see, filling holes made by the bombs. I assumed this town was pre-war, as despite the structure’s ramshackle appearance it was clear they had a frame and foundation from a different time, the railway station in particular.

Before we got close enough for me to get a better look at either the Slavers or the town itself, Charon swerved to the left, circling the outskirts of the settlement with me in close pursuit. We hopped over a broken wall that constituted the western border, it was ‘made’ of blasted brick and jagged fence but there was a gap low enough for us to clear. To the north I could make out the railway entrance into the town and the long black body of the Coltilde. Its lights slowly shutting off as the slavers exited made it seem to shrink from the back until, like the town, it appeared to be a fraction of its actual size.

Now that we were over the wall, Charon went from one building to another searching for an entrance. Some of the houses had back doors into little yards or patios but he seemed more interested in a lower alternative. Finding a cellar door, he beckoned me over and swung it open. The staircase below was dark and cold but Charon and I descended safely and quietly, despite our blindness. As we reached level ground I realized the ghoul was no longer beside me and was tempted to light up my horn to get my bearings, but resisted for the sake of stealth. A switch clicking and a light flickering made it clear that both my stealth and my spell casting were no longer necessary.

The room I was in was larger than I had expected, the ceiling was low, at about three times my height, but the walls were so far apart that I almost couldn’t see the one furthest from me in the dim light. The dull yellow bulb flickered for a time until settling into consistency, its glow was similar to my own horn’s, and I immediately preferred it to the fluorescents I was used to. Charon was standing at the base of another dark staircase on the other side of the room, where he had found the light-switch, and was waiting for me to stop analyzing my surroundings so that he could speak.

“Wait here, I’m going to tell Damascus you survived. Don’t leave and stay quiet, I don’t like the look of this place, not with all those shadows crawling around; there could even be hostiles in the building above.”

“Thanks Charon, for helping me with those raiders, I would have been introduced to the Slavers a lot more directly if you hadn’t…stopped them.” The buck grunted and ascended the stairs out of the cellar. I had a feeling that, now that his task was complete, he had no obligation to come back; he had escorted me where he needed to and hopefully Damascus would now let him find some radiation to heal his wound, however that worked. I barely even knew what radiation was, but the idea that it had created an entire new form of pony fascinated me, ponies that could live forever at the cost of their physical and possibly mental decay. I wondered what they did with ghouls who went insane, probably the same thing they did to Slavers: nothing. Whoever ‘they’ were certainly weren’t doing their job. ‘They’ probably didn’t even exist anymore, authority, law, justice, these were the forces that had once regulated Equestria, kept it safe, though ultimately failed. Now the only way to deal with Slavers was to make deals with Slavers, sacrifice the lives of others to preserve your own, instinct, as Charon had called it. More like cowardice.

I didn’t know enough to judge, maybe there was something I wasn’t seeing, some aspect that could excuse this deal, this pacification. I would talk to Damascus, he would explain, I would take Charon’s advice and make sure to ask every question I could, no matter how unpleasant. Ignorance was bliss in the same way that death was bliss; it was a form of avoidance, dealing with a problem by keeping yourself as far away from it as possible, not that you could blame the dead for doing so. Stay informed, stay alive, that was the plan I came up with for myself while waiting in the cellar. Oh, also stop the slavers and save Equestria, but that was a more long-term goal.

Eventually I heard the door creak open once again and my first instinct was to dart over to the staircase that led to the house. I hugged the side of it as I waited for whoever was coming down to reveal themselves. They stepped slowly down the stairs, the door creaking shut behind them, light steps making less noise against the wood than seemed possible. I had probably drawn more attention to myself by scurrying across the room over to where I was, having pattered against the wooden floor on my way.
The buck that descended the stairs was obscured by the shadows until he reached the end of his descent. He turned immediately to face me, confirming my suspicions that my attempt at stealth had been more hurtful than helpful, and I found myself looking into the blue eyes of the pony who could only be Damascus. He looked too important to be a Slaver, too regal to be anything but in control, his gait was as calm and focused as his eyes and I found myself feeling an irrationally spontaneous trust for the stranger.

He looked like a ghoul, not a fraction of undamaged hide was left on his body, his coat looked like it had been completely charred off and the skin remaining looked disturbingly cooked. He wasn’t as flayed as Charon, he seemed more solid, while his red skin was raw and scarred it wasn’t missing in patches and his insides mercifully remained obscured. In the places where he was missing skin it looked more like it had been torn off in strips to reveal the rawer red below rather than flaked off by time. His mane and tail were whitish-grey but full and complete, both short and wavy. His mane could even be described as voluminous; it didn’t lay flat or dead on his head and looked soft and alive, setting him even further apart from Charon, my only reference for ghouls.

What they most certainly had in common were their eyes, Damascus’s were light blue, atmospheric, but they had clouded over, his pupils no longer the solid black I expected, but merged into the pale of his iris. The skin on his lower forelegs had been peeled off to reveal bands of light-red flesh and left an absence on his left where one would expect to find a Pip-buck like mine. His cutie mark looked like a brand, it was black and burnt and had a texture that was disturbingly close to confirming that its artificial birth, implying that it had been cut or cooked onto him. It was a symbol, the same symbol that adorned the material on my back, the same symbol covering my own cutie-mark, painted in gold on the side of my fathers’ coat.

“We should have given you a better welcome on your first visit to Hell, but from what I hear you already came dangerously close to meeting our other guests first. I apologize for that, but they seem to be the only visitors we have these days, and they tend to take any others that are unfortunate enough to end up here. Hell is not a place I would force onto anyone, as it has become suitably appropriate as the punishment it was intended to be… but here we are.” He had a powerful voice; it was gentle but strong, rumbled like quiet thunder and sounded as weathered as his flesh. The way he spoke reminded me of the Confessor, as it could instill trust, but also of Saber, as it could easily generate fear.

“How is Charon?’ I recited nervously, wanting to confirm his well-being before getting to my questions.

“Interesting that you ask that first, it isn’t often that anybody has much visible regard for anyone but themselves anymore.” There was a glint in his eye as he appraised me. “Physically he is fine; I’ve seen him survive enough bullets to take down a buffalo and I doubt a rusty knife to the side is going to slow him down. But I suppose you want to know about his mind, given your naivety to his condition.”

“What happened to him? Why is he so,” I struggled to find a word that was suitable. “Obedient?”

“Charon has been in the wasteland longer than I have, his past remains his own, I can only speculate as to what made him the way he is, what brainwashed him, what made him adhere to a binding by scrap of paper. He is like most out here, not only a victim of the Wasteland, but a product of it.” He replied.

“But why do you have his contract? Why did you buy him?” I retorted, not letting the subject drop.

“As a kindness, believe it or not, he will do whatever he is told to do and the quality of his life greatly depends on who controls him. The mare he worked for before treated him as you assume I do, like a slave, a convenience, an object, to the point where she sold him to a stranger for a monetary gain that she didn’t even need. I have tried to free him, give him his own contract, make him his own master, but sadly he cannot function this way. He would not know how to exist; he has been living a life of obedience for your lifespan five times over. And without a master he would be alone, and ghouls who are alone are quick to stray from the path of sanity. Qui est sola ambulant brevi viam.” He concluded.

“He who is alone walks on a short path. You’re from the Stable?” The dead language was only survived by the followers of the Faith; I doubted that any other trace of it existed anywhere but the Stable. Although the Pip-buck missing from his leg only refuted my suspicion.

“Impressive that you recognized that, I was sent here many years ago by the same mock creed that presumably damned you.” He answered coolly. Wait…no…nononono…The symbol? He couldn’t be, this couldn’t be him, not after all these years…

“Who are you? Really.” I demanded with newfound passion. “You know what I want to know.”

“Our understanding of the term ‘many years ago’ varies greatly” He almost chuckled out his words. “How long has it been since the one you think me to be was damned, a decade? Two? I can reassure you, I have been out of that accursed Stable for over a century, so I cannot possibly be whoever you think I am.” He reassured me. “Unless they still remember me in there.”

An incredible relief washed over me. “I’m sorry, it’s just the symbol, I mean your cutie mark, it’s on my father’s coat. I thought for a moment you might be him.” I didn’t know what I would have done if he had confirmed the identity I had assumed for him.

“Looking to find him? If he came from that Stable then I may have met him under these same circumstances.” He implied an offer to help me track him down, unnecessary but appreciated.

“No, I have no desire to waste any time just to get hurt. We never knew each other, better to keep it that way. I suppose you know since he ended up out here but… he was a murderer.”

“So are we according to that logic.” Damascus pointed out, following a train of thought that I would rather have left unconsidered. I had never been willing to give my father the benefit of the doubt, not even now.

“Commissary framed me, but I’d rather just forget about it.” I dismissed, quickly averting further inquiry into the nature of my damnation. “But what happened to you? You’re not a murderer?”

“I am, now, and for that I try to repent with every action and every breath, but when I left the Stable I carried inside me, a soul as uncorrupted and pure as yours. But a soul is easily sullied, especially in dark times such as these, where looking to the Goddesses can be our only salvation.”

“So you’re a member of the Faith, I guess that’s where the symbol link comes from.” I said gesturing to the covered side of my flank. “My father was a follower, I’m not, but I understand what your point is, I almost killed a pony in my very first minutes outside of the Stable.”

“Don’t be afraid to kill, we will all be judged in the life after this one, but deploying a little judgment of our own is a justifiable method to speed up the process. If it will benefit this mortal plane to kill somebody then there isn’t anything wrong with helping them on their way to the next one. But if your judgment ever fails then make up for your sins through your actions, whether you believe or not. It is this belief that has kept me so busy; I have a lot to make up for.” He sounded like he was giving a confession.
“If you don’t mind me saying, you’re awfully devout for somepony who has been away from the Stable, the Faith, for so long.” My curiosity for the world I found myself in was giving way to questions about the past, about the world I had come out of.

“I would be,” he said knowingly “But that is a discussion for another time, there is a balance between work to do and questions to ask that must be upheld. For now, there are more important things you must know, if you are willing to walk this path, there is much you can do to spread the Good News, or create it.”

“Like the DJ.” I remarked. If anypony that I had encountered so far was a force for good, he was.

“How apt that you would bring him up, prophetic almost, but again our focus will come to that later. For now I must deal with the Coltilde, it is a shame that your arrival here coincided with theirs; we could have talked at length were it not for these dangerous circumstances.”

“I’m not going to leave without offering help. What can I do?” I hoped it involved putting those slavers out of commission, but when he said he had to ‘deal with’ them it didn’t seem to imply what I had in mind.

“I know you are concerned about the train but I must ask you not to act on that yet. I am responsible for the deal between them and this place, I have always been a leader to Hell and it was my sworn duty to protect it from the control of sinners, despite the town’s origin. I will reassure you, however, that what we can work towards together will not only benefit us, but the entire Wasteland.” He used the term wasteland as if that was what Equestria had come to be known as, just like DJ Pon3 had.

“Is that all it is? Equestria I mean, is this all that’s left? Violence and radiation, with ponies just barely surviving as the land rots their flesh and scars their bodies.” I asked.

“There is always Hope, faith, there are settlements dotted all over Equestria, and some could even be called thriving bastions of civilization based on their size and prosperity. Raiders, criminals and the ever-present shadow of Death may seem to be in control, as it is undeniable that power can come from a disregard for morals, and for good. And if the promise of eternal salvation is not enough reason to stay pure then nothing will be. But we can fight these evils, we can deny these temptations, and we can change this wasteland into Equestria. We just need to believe.”

“How bad is the Coltilde situation? I thought that the deal you’ve struck up was cowardly and selfish but hearing you talk makes it hard to imagine you agreeing to something like that. The situation must be pretty desperate if you resorted to opposing your beliefs.” I found myself trusting Damascus, his intentions seemed pure and it was clear that his faith drove him to regret his interactions with the Slavers so far.

“I pay for it every day, but my repentance means nothing if other ponies still suffer for my actions. I know the train would have ravaged those other towns regardless of our dealings, but to feed it, to house it, that is something I must atone for. What I needed was time, it has been only a few years since I made that deal, even since I came back here. Our initiative is small and weak but our drive is strong, we can be a rallying force, and we can make allies, become powerful enough to finally stop this railway, to take the ability they have to abduct ponies from across the wasteland away from them.” He said passionately.

“So how can I help?” I asked eagerly

“Based on your attitude so far, I think you will be of great benefit to this cleansing. I would ask you to do something small for us first, you cannot be in town while the Coltilde is here, and the longer I am away, the more suspicious they will get.”

“So you just want me to stay out of town until the train leaves? Not the noblest task, but I see the logic behind it. Couldn’t I do anything to help while I’m away?” I offered.

“Of course, we all go through periods of darkness. In such times we can always turn to the Goddesses, but it is good to have friends.” He smiled. “A mercenary is a pony who takes on assignments for money, but a good mercenary is one who is driven to successfully complete their tasks by their own motivation. Money can only go so far as an incentive, there has to be something more propelling them on their course.” Damascus threw around proverbs and sayings like nopony’s business, I thought to myself.

“Don’t worry, money seems like more of a deterrent to me, if something is truly worthy of being done then money shouldn’t be necessary to get somepony to do it.” I said because I can say deep, meaningful stuff too. “Just point me in the right direction.”

“I think you two will get along well together.” He mused, almost to himself. “I speak of mercenaries because to the East of here is one that I sent out to deal with a little raider problem, with which I would like you to help. As much as I admire your innocence, I’m afraid that, if you’re going to be a part of this, then you’ll need to know how to fight, how to survive…how to kill.” He gauged my reaction as he spoke the last word, though I didn’t balk, he was right, I had seen raiders, I had heard how dangerous they were from the DJ, how undeserving of mercy or naïve consideration.

“If they can’t be reasoned with and continuously threaten the safety of others then death is the best thing I could provide for them. The world seems to be struggling enough without that anarchic band of sadists spread across it.” I answered the question he had implied: could I kill somepony?
Though I wasn’t entirely sure of the answer.

“Glad to see you know what has to be done, I’ll get Charon to meet you on the ridge south of town with a weapon. I would prefer if he could go with you but I need to keep at least one other pony who knows how to use a gun around town, just in case.” He began to head back to the staircase that he had come down after he gestured to the one on the opposite side of the room. I would have to sneak out of town.

“I already have a gun.” I reassured him.

“Wars aren’t won by diplomacy; it all comes down to which side is better armed. Any preferences?”

I succumbed to his offer and asked with a small smile.
“Well… I wouldn’t complain if you happened to have a Tri-Beam laser rifle lying around.”

-----------------------------------------

I had exited the cellar by the same way I had entered it, and I clambered up the staircase out into the cold night. Oddly enough the sky seemed brighter than it had before as the clouds were illuminated by the light of the moon and stars behind it. I wondered if they would ever go away and let me see what I had only ever read about, the Princesses purpose. Usually it would rain, or more likely snow, before the clouds dispersed, but I doubted things worked as they were supposed to anymore. The only Pegasus I had seen had been much too busy trying to evaporate me to bother with regulating the weather.

After jumping the wall out of town, looking back to see the shadowy form of the Coltilde visible in the filtered moonlight, I headed south towards the ridge from which me and Charon had watched the train approach. Waiting on the overlook, I saw that the towns’ lights were still mostly off, it must have been midnight or early morning possibly, but I knew that the lights weren’t dimmed simply because it was bedtime in Hell. I imagined wide awake ponies shivering in the darkness just waiting for the Slavers to pull away in their black machine, so that they could sleep knowing that nothing was coming to steal them from their beds. Even though I had never met one, I was fairly sure I hated Slavers.

After a time, Charon showed up, creeping up the ridge as I had, trying not to draw any attention to us. When he reached the top he began loading up my saddlebags without a word.

“Charon, wait, I can’t just take all these things from you.” I argued. He dropped the small box of ammunition clenched in his mouth into my bag and gave me a look. He then proceeded to take the scrap and bottlecaps I had found in the supermarket out of my bag and place them into his.

“Now its trade.” He said. “Bottlecaps are currency.”

“That’s a cute game, but you can’t just give that random junk value and give me quality ammunition in exchange.” I was all for being prepared to fight raiders but from what Damascus had said it sounded like the town would need this ammunition more, if worse came to worse.

“Bottlecaps are currency.” He insisted as he dropped a bottle of water into my saddlebags. Even a small amount of water, food and ammunition was worth more than what few scraps and caps I had, but he wasn’t budging in his resolve. After he was done taking my payment he presented me with my new gun. An AEP7 laser pistol, a gun that was durable enough to fire over seven hundred shots before needing critical repair, and capable of firing three shots a second, ten seconds of continuous firing before reload. I wasn’t actually expecting a Tri-beam, and was pleased enough that I had gotten an energy weapon. At least now I had a gun that I knew how to efficiently reload and maintain.

“Thanks Charon, this is great! It’s even got modified focused optics!” I said as he strapped the gun, within a holster, to my upper hind leg. I practiced drawing it and holstering it with my telekinesis, resisting firing it to avoid putting on a light show for the Slavers.

“Stay away from the rails but follow the highway east until you see a toll booth; do not go near it until you find the mercenary posted nearby. You’ll get your orders from there.” Explained the buck, his voice trailing off, as he had already begun descending the ridge.

“I’ll assume that’s your way of saying goodbye and that you’ll miss me!” I exclaimed after him, whispering of course, but loud enough so he would hear. “Keep safe, Charon,” He looked back and me and gave a respectful nod acknowledging my mortal need to be acknowledged. I let out a little giggle of delight, this felt awfully close to professional, military even. I was getting orders, not requests; I was off to teach evil a thing or two instead of deliver papers to the…Overmare.

I was going to probably ending up having to kill somepony, put a beam or a bullet through their head…just to make a tiny dent in the mass of horrors and dangers that now swamped Equestria.

Bleh…Thinking about the Stable made me depressed, I’d try to avoid doing that anymore! Probably not healthy to block out the emotions of my past, but I was a soldier on the front lines of justice now! Emotions are for little fillies! I bounded towards the highway with a spring in my step, a spring that was undeniably a little artificial.

Once I reached the highway, I took some time to examine my Pip-Buck to see what else it had automatically recorded in its data banks. The Station was now labeled with a solid marker for ‘discovered’ as well as another for ‘Middle Passage Intersection’ which I was currently standing in. This valley must be one of three, I deduced, the one to the north was clearly there, it’s own northern mountain range made evident by the towering behemoth now visible in the moonlight, silhouetted by the starlight in the exposed sky that I could no longer see. There must therefore be another valley over the southern mountain range, making this the one in the middle of the triplicate. Or they could have called it ‘Middle Passage’ for another reason, I don’t know.

I also noticed that my inventory was being catalogued, divided into weapons, armor, aid, miscellaneous and ammo sub-categories. Miscellaneous was now empty after Charon’s ‘trading’ where he had taken most of my supermarket loot, apart from the medical braces, filed under ‘aid’, as well as the frag grenades and ammunition. I checked the time displayed on the device, it was way off, it had to be early morning at least. I reminded myself to correct it later. My own perception of time had been greatly skewed because of the near sleepless night before the trial. I hadn’t gotten any real sleep in over forty-eight hours, but my excitement would keep me going for a couple more, hopefully.

Dark was the night, Cold was the ground and I hummed to myself as I walked on the nearly icy gravel, my way made clear by only the streetlights in an otherwise black world. It was an eerie feeling, occasionally a rock outcropping or the skeleton of a tree on either side of the highway would be visible in the white light, like the earth was trying to encroach on this road, but couldn’t. Apart from those few exceptions everything aside from the highway was reduced to a void, all the way to the shadows of the mountains contrasting with the lighter sky. It was just me and my path, with the dim gray and white sky above us, a shifting pattern of clouds that made it look like the very heavens were tearing apart. Time seemed to move along quickly as I passed streetlight after streetlight and white line after white line on the road itself.

If my objective wasn’t lying on the asphalt directly ahead of me, I might have easily passed it, but that’s the nature of a toll booth, it’s unavoidable. It looked like a gate in the distance, with the colors of red and yellow as well as the usual white fluorescent shining dimly from it, blinking. I had no idea where to go. I knew that I was supposed to meet somepony near here, but whom and where I did not. The street was especially lit up for a short distance away from the toll; a tall metal fence bordered it on either side, forcing approaching travelers to head directly through it. I knew I didn’t want to end up in there, otherwise I would be lit up and trapped in the sights of several assumed raiders.

Instead, I headed off the road to find one of the possible pieces of escalated land around; I needed higher ground to scope out the area. I had gone far enough east to reach what, in the daylight, had appeared to be mostly flat land and my choices for a nearby increase in altitude were numbered. The brighter lights on this stretch of highway made it easier to find my way to a sloping ridge on my left, whose face was towards the toll, and whose slope was towards me, perfect.

I scampered over the rocks, which seemed to appear just in time for my hooves to inevitably collide with them mid-step, and was almost at the top of the slope when I heard the subtle, metallic click.

“Don’t shoot me.” I whispered, having recognized the sound for what it was.

“Don’t make me.” Came the reply, a mare’s voice whispering through the darkness.

“I’m Grace, and I really wish I had some kind of code word or something to set you at ease. But Damascus didn’t give me one. Will Damascus work?” I asked. “If so then: Damascus.”

What I thought I heard next almost sounded like a giggle, but it was quickly converted into the kind of sound somepony would only make if they were trying to make a giggle sound tough.
“Alright, Guns holstered Grace.” The voice reassured me, after it had recovered.

“Oh…mine wasn’t drawn, I probably should have had it drawn, thinking back.” I murmured.

“I don’t blame you, from what I hear you’re fresh out of the box.” I was trying to find my way towards the voice. Thankfully, as I got closer to the top of the slope, light from the toll made it easier to see.

“Yeah, I just left the Stable…” I paused as I side-stepped a loose rock “Yesterday afternoon.”

“Damn,” she almost sounded impressed. “That e-ffectively makes you just about a few hours old. Welcome to the world baby girl, I hope you aren’t too disappointed that your first great adventure in the Equestrian Wasteland is going to be a stake-out.” She sounded a little underwhelmed herself.

“Stake-out? I thought we were here to clear the raiders from that toll booth. Make the wasteland a safer place… and all that.” I wasn’t upset, just a little surprised

“Don’t worry, we’ll get to that. We just need to watch them for a few hours first. Get to know the neighbors before we encourage them to move out. Then we’ll get to work on… all that.” She explained, using my own vague terminology.

“The way Damascus had talked about raiders didn’t make it seem like he needed us to gather evidence against them.” I couldn’t focus on finding my way up the dark, unpredictable rocks while hearing anything interesting so I opted to stop and stand still for a while.

“We’re here because the Coltilde is in town, and that means its slavery season. It’s like one of those pre-war travelling circuses…except really, really awful.” Despite her odd analogy, her tone as she said ‘awful’ indicated that the Slavers upset her as much as they did me, disgusted her even.
“What’re you doing, standing all wonky on that rock? Come over to the edge and get comfortable, we’re going to be here for a while.” She added.

“You can see me?”

“Yep, while I have stra-te-gi-cally placed myself in the shadow of this here ridge by staying close to the ground, you are precariously perched on that rock for all to see.” She sounded out the longer words oddly, not as if she struggled to pronounce them but more like she enjoyed saying them.
“Just get low and slide yourself to the edge here, if the raiders can’t hear us talking they certainly aren’t going to hear a few rocks shifting around.”

I took her advice and slid uncomfortably close to the end of the ridge, the lights illuminated the toll booth below and I realized how effective a viewpoint this was. My face was still lit up in the white light as I sat down near the edge but I doubted the raiders would see anything at this distance. A slumped shadow next to me, that I realized looked a lot like a curled up pony, began to move. The mare quietly straightened herself out into a sitting position beside me. Her posture was a little slumped but I could tell that she would be a little taller than me if we were standing.

“I’m Caliber, glad to meet you.” She extended her hoof for an introductory shake.

Caliber was a slightly yellowy brown mare with a few white freckles just above her nose. Her mane was auburn with light red tips and was cut fairly short, but still appeared a little wavy, even poofy. At the front it curved upwards as it did around her ears. Her right ear was missing a small chunk at the tip and on the left side of her head, at her temple, was a faded bandage. Her eyes were a vivid brown.

“Grace.” I returned her vigorous hoof-shake. “How are you?”

“Um…” she seemed confused by the question, her eyebrow arched. “What do you mean? I’m not injured.”

“Don’t ponies ask that anymore? It’s just a question that’s exchanged to check in on somepony you start a conversation with. Or if you’re greeting somepony you know passing by.” I explained.

“I can’t imagine how much time that would waste, I mean, you ask this to everybody?” She almost seemed perplexed.

“Well you don’t actually answer; you’re supposed to just say something like: ‘Fine’ or ‘Good, and how about you?’ You don’t really say anything, not even if there’s something wrong. If you’re having a bad day you would still answer quickly and positively to be polite. It really doesn’t take up any time at all.”

“Then what’s the point?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why do it at all if it doesn’t accomplish anything?”

“It’s good manners.”

“Manners?”

“Never mind…”

“Okay, just remember that I’m not going to know what to do if you ask that again.” She said.

“Noted,” The brief exchange had completely distracted me from what I was supposed to be doing, which was finding out what I was supposed to be doing. “So… why the stake-out?”

“Well, like I was saying, we’re on the lookout for Slavers. See, Raiders are dangerous but they aren’t organized, we may call them all by the same name but if two separate groups of them ever met they’d probably just attack each other. Hell, I’ve been here just a couple of hours and I’ve already seen a Raider buck kill one of the others, tore him apart with just his teeth.” She paused and took in my look of disgust.
“Nasty, I know, but that’s my point. Raiders are like animals; there are a lot of them, but they aren’t ever going to take advantage of their numbers to get any kind of power. Not without organization.”

“So Damascus thinks that the Slavers are trying to rally the raiders? Why would they even try that if they’re as dangerous as they sound?” I asked the head, floating in the darkness beside my own.

“The Raiders aren’t complete degenerates; some of them still have enough sense to strategize. They’ve been turning in ponies to the Slavers. Who we know are expanding; that very railway line does a full circuit through Northern Equestria, and chances are their going to try to get these savages to help.”

“So if we want to beat the Slavers we need to know what we’re up against.” I summarized.

“Sorry Gracie, but we’re not beating anybody, the Slavers are just as spread out as the Raiders, we cut off the head of one snake and they’ll still be plenty left in the grass.”

“But we can take this railway out of commission, you said yourself that it allows the Slavers to abduct ponies from all over Equestria, we could put a stop to that.” I resolved.

“Don’t get me wrong, we’re working towards a worthy goal, and it certainly isn’t going to be easy. But slavery is not an opponent you can fight and defeat, it’s an idea. And you can’t kill and idea.”

A silence that felt neither uncomfortable nor unwarranted followed as Caliber gave me a final look of almost pitying sympathy before she turned her attention back to the toll. She knew I needed a minute to think, she understood that I had ideals that had yet to broken, an instilled hope for the world that I desperately, if naively, clung on to.

I didn’t like what she was saying, but it was true, I was setting my sights too high, to impossible levels. Nopony could truly cleanse the wasteland, just as nopony could truly save Equestria. There would always be something wrong with the world, things were never perfect, and they never had been. But the difference between the past and the present was that now, law was gone, regulation was gone, and the true nature of ponies came out, for better or worse. Anarchy let crimes like slavery, rape and murder go unpunished, and left the ponies of the Equestrian Wasteland alone, to sin and to suffer.

“Caliber?” I drew the attention of the pretty, but weathered, face beside me. “I’m not going to give up, and I can tell that you haven’t either. Whether you say you’re fighting for a dying Equestria, as I plan to do, or just for the ponies who live in its corpse, we’re both here for a reason, we are willing to try.” I waved my hoof around in the air, blindly searching for her shoulder, and then rested my hoof on it.

She pondered what I had said for a moment. “I’m sorry if I put a damper on your fresh perspective; it’s hard to look on the bright side when you’ve never really seen it, you just have to try and believe it’s there while all the bad whittles away at your resolve. It gets harder the longer you’re exposed to it all, but you’re right, I still believe there are things worth fighting for.” She reassured. “That’s why I’m here.”

“Maybe we should have waited before we got ourselves this psyched up.” I said, smiling at her. “A lot of good all this faith in ponykind and hope for a better world does us while we’re just sitting on a ridge.”

“Yeah,” she giggled “Strategy takes all the fun out of things.”

I rolled onto my back to look up at the dark clouds, hooves hovering above my body. The thick coat bore the brunt of the rocks that would otherwise be uncomfortably pressing against my spine “So what are ponies supposed to do on Stake-outs? Aside from the obvious of course.”

“I think we can assume by now that the Slavers are staying in town tonight, meaning the Coltilde won’t be leaving until morning. So if we want to be fresh when the action starts I think one of us should get some sleep, while the other keeps watch for a Slaver messenger, or any other sign of an alliance forming between those bastards.”

“So how do I know for sure if it’s him, I mean we’re just speculating that a messenger will show up. What if something else happens?” I asked, ready to take on the role of lone watchmare.

“You have the roles I had in mind reversed.” She corrected me.

“Caliber, you’ve been out here all night, you deserve a rest. I promise you, I can handle it.”

“I had seven solid hours of sleep just last night, and I’ve done nothing more exciting than hang around in Hell and sit on this ridge since then. I’m sure leaving your Stable and having more new experiences than you’ve probably had in the last ten years was a walk in the park for you, but I still think you need some sleep.” She insisted. I tried to convince myself that she was wrong but my understandably tired mind wasn’t invested in the internal argument.

“Alright, thanks. I suppose it’s better if we have the pony who is least likely to pass out on guard.”

“Exactly, I’ll wake you when I decide that it’s morning.” She held her left yellowy brown leg into the light and glanced at small device strapped on by a band. “Oh, and enjoy your dreams, I gua-ran-tee they aren’t going to be the same after tomorrow.” She added grimly.

She didn’t know that I had already seen a bucks head explode close enough to coat my face in gore. As well as one of my only friends sprawled in her own blood in the place that I thought was the safest in Equestria. Realizing that both those things had happened since the last time I had gotten any real rest, I convinced myself that I undoubtedly needed to sleep. I had gotten tired before for so much less…

-----------------------------------------------

Salvation waits in the realms of our forefathers, supplement your soul before you enter the Kingdom of the Skies. Regurgitate your sin, kill the part of you who propagates it, and make your Goddesses proud. Make yourselves worthy, worthy of redemption, of forgiveness, do so before you leave the mortal coil, or spend eternity in the cold darkness of another nether. You were baptized in blood and walked the road to Damascus, to me, your path has been changed but you must still follow it. Adapt to your new life or be undone by it, it doesn’t matter to the Goddesses; your eternal soul is all that is at stake. For every sin I have committed, for every life I have ended, I repent, by word or by bullet. Learn to do the same, or the wasteland will consume you on the deepest level, learn to judge, or die.

You were a necessary sacrifice. You saved the Stable, after you had doomed it. You and that naïve mare, two idealists in a world filled with unattainable ideals. She died by your actions, by her intentions and by my word. It doesn’t matter who pulled the trigger, the three of us were what brought about her death, your damnation and the Stable’s salvation. I am not a savior, I did what needed to be done, and the two of you were not murderers, you strove for what you believed in. But you would have killed us all, and I stopped that from happening. That is the unavoidable, irrefutable truth. We created a balance, you and I, with Shady Sands in the middle. We are both responsible for her death; we are both responsible for saving the Stable. We have both made sacrifices that weren’t ours to make.

My little Gracie, I like the sound of that, Grace Marie, my little girl. What do you think, darling? *giggles* I suppose it does sound a little fancy… Grace Mary doesn’t seem quite right though. Your distant grandmother, the one in the logs, her name was Marie, wasn’t it? Please say you like it… Oh, thank you darling… She’s got your eyes, look, brilliant gold… I know…I know… Let’s not think about that right now, okay? I just want this moment to be perfect, I want to remember it for the miracle that it is. The Goddesses have blessed us with her; they’ve given us a gift, another chance, New Life.

…Can I hold her?

They aren’t all worth saving. Some of them are beyond it. We are taught that all can repent and be redeemed in the eyes of the Goddesses, but I am not Celestia, I am not Luna. I am not above the need for vengeance, the desire to harm those who harm me, I am not above sin. Neither are you.

Equestria is dead; we cannot bring it back, at least not yet. The Faith holds on to their Goddesses and old-world lore but we know the truth. Celestia is dead, Luna is dead, and Equestria is dead. We are all that is left, and that War is not going to be the end of us too. We will survive, even if we must sacrifice.

Hush now, Quiet now, it’s time to lay sleepy head. Hush now, Quiet now it’s time to go to bed… Hush now quiet now may Luna guide you through the night. Hush now, Quiet now, until the morning light. Goodnight Gracie… Honey… Oh, come and see… I think she’s dreaming…Honey?

I confess my crimes… but I do not regret them. I repent for my sins, and hope that the Goddesses will not pass the same judgment that you have. If they do, then my true damnation awaits. Forgive me…

Let the light inside you burn brighter than the sun and you will not lose your way in the darkness.

Sacrifices need to be made, irrespective of who makes the decision, of who has the right to make them.

Your daddy can’t be with us anymore Darling. He loved us, I know he did, but he had to leave.

I love you Sweetheart…

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Darkness breached and black became white as I opened my eyes to another endless void. I was still on my back and I quickly realized I was staring up at the sky, but it had changed. The clouds were gone replaced with a white haze, lower in the atmosphere, blanketing the shorter mountains and occluding the tallest ones, cutting off the only borders that I knew. It was day, the sun was up somewhere and the air was pale, the haze seemed to spread vertically as well as horizontally, affecting parts of the surface. The farthest reaches of my vision were as undefined as the sky, the bases of both mountain ranges were visible but the stretches of land to the east and west faded into the pale.

I had been observing my surroundings by twisting my neck, arching my back to look behind me, and scrunching my upside-down body to look ahead of me. I was too fascinated by the blanket of thick air that I neglected to sit up and spare myself the exertion. I heard a soft laugh.

“Sit up before you pop a vertebra.” Caliber said as she helped me up. “Also: Good morning.”

“’Morning,” I yawned. “What time is it?”

“Six-Thirty, you were out for almost four hours.” Said the mare, whose light, toned body was now visible in the light. I was not used to fitness… it certainly looked nice.

She wore a navy-blue vest with a black collar, a white scarf wrapped around low on her neck, tied in a large round knot and tucked neatly into the vest. White bands around her upper front and hind legs and a black pistol holstered on her left front leg. Her tail was cut in a thick, medium wave of red and her cutie-mark sat exposed on her flank. At first it looked like a simple black crosshairs bordering a small white area within.

“Isn’t it winter? Why is the sun…around?” In the Stable there wasn’t much difference between winter and summer, apart from the holidays, but I had read that days used to be shorter in the year’s late months.

“I wouldn’t hold the sun and the moon to anything anymore, they can be…unpredictable.” I gave her a concerned look. “Don’t worry; day and night follow after each other every time, but on rare occasions, they say unusual things can happen.” She waved booth her hooves in the air as she said ‘unusual’.

“Like what?”

“I’ll let them surprise you,” she personified the sun and moon. “How did you sleep?” she glanced at the toll, the streetlights were still on and there was more visible activity from the raiders. “Don’t worry, nothing’s happened yet and the Coltilde is still in town.” She added as a forethought.

“I had an odd dream.” I answered dismissively.

“Well, you might as well tell me about it, I’m curious as to what took my job of waking you up. You get startled or something? Was it a nightmare?” She must have gotten bored staring at the same strip of highway for the last four hours, so I obliged.

“I can’t remember how it all fit together but it was kind of all over the place. Were you… were you singing at all? Like a lullaby?” I inquired; the song I had heard in my dream was unfamiliar to me.

“Singing lullabies isn’t the best way to keep yourself alert and awake.”

“I heard a song that I don’t think I’ve ever heard before. My mother was singing it to me...”

“Maybe it was a memory; everything you’ve ever experienced is stored somewhere in your sub-conscious, and your mind can’t just make stuff up out of nowhere as you dream.” She explained.

“I didn’t think anypony out here would care about that kind of stuff.” I was surprised at her seemingly random knowledge on the subject.

“I like dreams; I found a book on them, partly, when I was a little filly, kept it around until I could understand it. It helped me learn how to read.” She took a moment to think. “Sounds to me like your mind was digging up old memories to cope with what you have to deal with in the present. A dream with your mother singing you a lullaby is probably how you’re trying to comfort yourself.”

“That’s impressive. But I’d rather not analyze it…” The rest of the dream hadn’t exactly been comforting.

“If you say so, but we’ve got time to kill.” She poked her wrist-machine. “Though I’m sure you’ve got questions about plenty of the things you’ve seen so far.”

“I’d like to know about you…” The mercenary seemed surprised.

“Of all the cool shit you’ve seen out here…” I nodded. “Not Damascus or Charon or Hell or Guns or anything like that?” Another nod. “Why?”

“I like to learn about things myself, make a puzzle out of it, if I wanted to know about any of those things I would look into them. The best way to learn about you… is to talk to you. And as you said; that’s all I can really do until the train leaves.”

“Alright, but don’t come crying to me when you try and figure out the Raiders by talking to them.” She teased. “Ask away.”

“Are you Cold?” I asked, she wasn’t wearing anything but her vest and I was sitting there in three layers.

“That’s a little too personal.” She smiled. “I’m fine, thick coat.” she made reference to her natural coat that couldn’t possibly be as protective as my brown material one.

“Let me know if you change your mind.” I huddled my face into the collars of my coat and vest, advertising the warmth that she was denying. She really didn’t seem to be affected by the crisp morning air though, and shrugged off my offer. “Okay then, what got you into mercenary work?”

“I’ve had to take care of myself for most of my life, I got good at fighting, and I fell in love with a gun. I’ve had to do some work that I regret but ever since I started working for Damascus I’ve been feeling pretty useful. He always has me do stuff like this, raider sweeps or scouting missions, good work.”

“You fell in love with a gun?” I asked, neglecting my curiosity towards what work she regretted.

“It’s not as weird as it sounds, after a while you start to feel a connection with your tools of trade, especially when your only constant in life is said tool. That gun has saved my hide and brought me more prosperity than any living pony ever has.” She spoke about it like it was her partner.

“That pistol?” I referred to the black 9 millimeter holstered on her leg. It seemed ordinary.

“No! This two-bit piece of salvage could never compare to my baby!” I could almost hear the pistol whimper as it was depreciated. “My Apollo is a masterpiece of a weapon, a Marksman’s Carbine, sleek and deadly, it’s even got my cutie-mark spray painted onto the side. I’ve had that gun for ten years. I wasn’t even big enough to use it properly when I first got it.” I realized that she was an earth pony, seeing both her head and her body I could now confirm she had neither a horn nor wings. I wondered how she used a carbine effectively.

“So where is…she?” Caliber had called it her baby, I doubted that she still thought of the gun as an ‘it’.

“In the room I’ve been staying in back at Hell. I had a battle-saddle rig set up so I could fire it while it was attached to my side, but the damn thing fell apart in the middle of combat and I haven’t been able to find anyone who can fix it yet. I certainly can’t use it with my mouth, it’s too heavy. So… the pistol.”

“What’s wrong with the pistol?” She didn’t seem to like it very much.

“It’s just not the same.” She sighed. “It’s a generic thing from the hoof-full of weapons Damascus could spare.” I presumed she had not taken as much of a liking towards the laser pistol as I had. “If I didn’t need it to postpone death more effectively then I would just fight with my hooves.”

“Well I’ve got a spare pistol,” I levitated out the gun I got upon leaving the Stable. “My Pip-buck says it’s pretty effective, and I prefer energy weapons anyway.” I had no idea what I would prefer in combat but I certainly had a better idea in how to operate and maintain a laser pistol.

“Ooooooooh…” she stared at the weapon floating in my golden grasp, its hilt glinting and barrel shining. “I mean… Um,” She was entranced by it; I swung it back and forth in the air for additional effect. “That’s just not fair…” Her head bobbed from side to side as her eyes followed the gun. “I…couldn’t, I would feel bad taking one of your weapons.” Her eyes said different.

“Exchanging…” I copied Charon’s tactic and floated Caliber’s own pistol out of her holster and into mine, then placed the levitated gift at her hooves. I proceeded to float out all the ammunition I had for it.

“Oh wow… Thank you, Grace.” She really liked guns. “This is the nicest thing anypony’s ever given me.” Her tone implied that she wasn’t exaggerating. I felt a pang of pity as I assumed she had spent her life alone; and had probably gotten very few gifts aside from this one. She hugged me. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” I returned the brief embrace “You’ll probably hit more of your targets than I would.” She gave me another touchingly grateful look before examining the gun. She threw it up in the air and caught it in her mouth, I flinched as I feared it would hit her teeth, but she expertly maneuvered it to face directly towards her line of sight. She winked one eye closed and aimed at the Raiders, lining up shots that she wouldn’t take, and then smoothly holstered the gun. Earth ponies were incredible.

“I’m almost excited to use it,” she grinned “Here, you’ll need some ammo for the nine millimeter,” she fished in her discarded satchel and tossed me a couple of boxes, I felt a little clumsy even as I primly caught them with my magic. It almost felt like cheating.

We settled back down and turned our attention back to the toll, I didn’t like watching the raiders when they were all awake, the toll itself was bad enough in the light. Wire bags of red, bloody meat lay around the booths and incredibly mutilated corpses were nailed to several surfaces. Skulls and even decapitated heads stuck up out of the gaps in the highway on pikes. Blood coated the road. The distance numbed me to the un-godly decorations but I knew that up close, the smell and the detail may well overwhelm me.

“How much longer until the train leaves?” I was angry at the monsters that had been fighting and fornicating before us, and felt ill at ease watching them. I too was anticipating getting to use my new gun.

“Any time now, the Slavers usually get an early start, I just hope the mist doesn’t dissuade them from leaving.” She answered.

“Mist?”

“You’ve notice how it kind of feels like we’re inside a cloud?” I didn’t know if this was what it was like to be inside a cloud but I saw what she meant and nodded. “This is natural, sort of, happens in the morning sometimes. Something to do with the valley funneling in cold, moist night air or something.” She shrugged, not seeming to care about the cause.

“Why would this stop them from leaving?”

“A mix of Superstition and practical concern. This stuff limits your vision when you’re in it, so a certain distance down the tracks will seem invisible to them, and they like to scan the land around them for settlements or wanderers. It probably won’t stop them though, don’t worry.” I was more worried about the settlements and wanderers.

“So what do we do once they’re gone?” I was getting antsy and wanted to talk about what we were planning, to make it seem like it was going to happen sooner.

“That depends on whether or not the Slavers show up; if they don’t then we can tell Damascus that the Raiders aren’t aligned with them yet.”

“How do we know they didn’t go to some other group of raiders?” I queried

“Charon and I have been on scouting assignments ever since the train’s last cycle ran; this is the only spot the raiders have been present at with any sort of permanence. At least, the only spot in the Middle Passage. It’s the best we can do, but you’re right, if they don’t show up then we can’t really rule out the possibility. We would have just wasted a lot of time.” She clarified.

“You don’t mean we’re just going to leave if nopony comes?”

“They’re still raiders, and after everything I’ve been watching them do…to each other no less…” she shuddered. “Don’t worry, once the Coltilde leaves we have nothing to gain from these sick sons of bitches.” I understood.

“And if a slaver correspondent does show up?”

“We keep the raider he talks to alive; interrogate him, if we’re lucky he might even receive a dossier or written orders. Hard evidence would be preferable. Raiders are hard to interrogate; some of them even seem to enjoy torture,” I gave her a concerned look at the word, Caliber perceived my reluctance.
“I understand if you don’t want to be a part of that, if it comes down to It.”

“I don’t think I could bring myself to... I understand what they are, but… surely nopony deserves torture.” The thought was difficult for me to process. Who was I to say who was deserving of mercy? Surely ponies who raped and pillaged to their own contentment deserved no sympathy. However I couldn’t help but feel unable to come to terms with the concept. What they deserved wasn’t the issue, it was what methods I would resort to, how far I would go to do what was necessary.

“Like I said… I’ll understand.” She confirmed. ”Let’s hope we can avoid that. While the raiders benefit from a…unique attitude towards harsher interrogation, they don’t have a single shred of Loyalty.”

“So they’re selfish, they won’t endanger themselves for the Slavers benefit.” I concluded.

“Right, if we’re lucky the coward will tell us everything we need to know as soon as he realizes he’s in trouble. He might even try to run once we drop some of his friends, so be ready.” I nodded.

A train whistle sounded off in the distance. I made eye contact with Caliber as we both realized that the time to act was fast approaching. The slavers were getting ready to leave, if anypony was going to show up then it would have to be now. The tracks to the north were barely visible in the mist, but as soon as the monstrous black machine that was the Coltilde came charging through the pale, we would know the Slaver’s window had closed. It would finally be time to charge the toll, time for my first kill.

Footnote: Level Up!
Perk Added: Inspired Loyalty: Your good-nature and willingness to give and volunteer inspires loyalty in others. When you drop below 50% health your companions temporarily gain much greater resistance to damage. If you had been a jerk this whole time it’s likely they would’ve made you beg a little before helping.

Chapter 5: Ashes

Fallout Equestria: Sola Gratia
Chapter 5: Ashes
“Ha! Now that’s what this wasteland needs! More women with spunk, and explosives!”

We watched, the mercenary and I, as three figures appeared through the pool of mist. Guns strapped to their sides and ammunition ready, hanging out of their saddlebags. They were dressed in tanned leather and thick coats, but their clothing didn’t create the sense of danger that followed them, it was the chains. The raiders, more menacing in appearance, watched their approach silently. As the three stepped onto the highway, having to walk around the toll’s bordering fence to reach it, the raiders began to react. They looked like dogs, growling and pacing, knives and spears clenched in their mouths or strapped at their sides. The Slavers weren’t afraid, jeers and threats were thrown at them but they stood firm. They had stopped, at the neck of the toll; they weren’t going to let themselves be trapped within the fence.

Caliber lowered herself onto the ground, her head poking over the edge of the ridge where we had waited for this very moment to arrive. I followed suit and crouched beside her, watching the interaction between the two evils below. We hadn’t been able to see what had happened behind and within the actual toll booths all night and paid close attention as one swung open. A huge raider stepped out; I could feel the daunting effect of his presence despite how far away he was, just as I could almost taste the gore around him. The buck was built like a tank, and armored like one too, his size was doubled by the spikes and scrap strapped to his body, all stained in filth and blood.

My eyes were quickly drawn away from the chief raider however, to the small stream of ponies that followed him out of the booths. They were at odds with the monster they followed; their bodies were withered and naked, stained with the same blood that reddened the chief’s armor, most likely their own. From the booths adjacent emerged two frail bucks and a colt, but even they could not hold my attention. From behind the monstrous raider, crawling and struggling out of his booth, came a mare. As the mare emerged I begged for her to be the last, but it only got worse. A filly followed her mother, crying softly, silently, her small, weak body shook and retched.

The bucks looked relatively healthy; they were kept that way to maintain their quality, to keep their selling price high, spared as I had been. The mare and filly, however, had evidently been used, again and again, despite how it affected their value. That could have happened to me, and it was going to keep happening to them, that filly would lead a life of rape and suffering, she would grow up a slave, as would the colt who was now walking alongside her. All five of those innocent ponies would be sold, while we watched.
No way was that happening.

“Caliber, we can’t ignore this.” I looked at the mare. Her face was beautiful, if tarnished by aged wounds and steeled nerves, and showed no emotion. “Caliber!” I whispered sharply.

“We… we have to.” She didn’t meet my gaze. “We can’t help them.”

“Forget the plan! Who cares what you were ordered to do?!” I struggled to keep quiet, now that the toll was alive with activity I felt a sense of urgency and caution I hadn’t during the midnight hours. “We have to help them!”

“If we help them then we put everyone in danger. The Slavers at Hell will know that something’s wrong if those messengers don’t come back… With all those slaves.” Despair showed in her glimmering brown eyes. “I’m sorry.”

The raider chief had reached the slavers, he listened as they spoke, backs to us, they made whatever deal they had come to make. The ponies were trapped, fence on either side, raiders behind them and slavers ahead. All seemed to paying special attention to the little filly.

“We kill them all, nopony will know it was us, the Slavers on the train will think that something went wrong with the deal. They’ll blame the raiders” I said, desperately trying to convince the mare beside me.

“We couldn’t win that fight, we would only succeed in getting ourselves, the slaves, and Damascus killed.” She looked me straight in the eyes. “I truly hate this, I will regret this, but it’s what has to be done.”

My mind struggled to find a solution, to generate a semblance of a plan. Rational thought gave way to emotional impulse but I was still able to formulate an idea.
“No it’s not. I have a grenade,” The essential starting point of all plans. “If we use it without being seen, then we could start a fight.” I speculated desperately “Get the raiders to be the ones responsible for the Slavers deaths, then interrogate the survivors and get out of here, with the Slaves.” It was not a good plan, but in my mind it was the only option.

“The slaves would get caught in the crossfire. As soon as the raiders started firing...” Caliber retorted.

“No, they can’t. You’ve been watching the raiders, how many of them have anything more than a knife?”

“The big one and maybe one more back at the toll…” She answered slowly, as if she was thinking furiously too. It was possible, we could save them, if the raider chief distracted the Slavers for just long enough for the others to set upon them with their close quarters weaponry, the prisoners might survive. We just needed timing on our side.

“We have to try. Caliber that filly was raped, she watched her mother…” I fought my quivering voice. “We have to”

“Fuck… fuck fuck fuck, you’re right.” She held her face in her hooves. “This could screw everything up… I…”

“They all deserve to die,” I reminded her. “And nopony deserves whatever is waiting for those five prisoners. It’s simple.” I had to get her to help me; we were running out of time. I needed her.

“Dammit,” she gave in. “Get down behind those rocks over there,” She pointed to a small outcropping to the left of the highway. “I’ll throw the grenade as far as I can, if it falters, boost it with your telekinesis.” She waited for me to confirm that my arcane ability would be adequate.

“From down there I’ll be close enough to get it to the toll, my magic won’t be very strong at that kind of range but if the grenade has enough force, I can do it.” I was incredibly relieved that she had yielded to my pleading as well as her own morals. What we were planning was damn near suicidal, but it had to be done.

“Good, after it goes off wait for the raiders to charge out from the toll, forcing the Slavers to back up into cover, the raiders will follow, and then get those prisoners out around the fence. Take them North a ways then head back to those rocks.” She pointed to the same outcropping she had before. “At least one of the raiders will likely follow you…”

“I’ll handle it.” I interrupted confidently. “What about you?” I was more concerned for Caliber, the Slavers would most likely retreat west along the highway, with the raiders in close pursuit, if Caliber didn’t get down from this ridge fast enough she could get pinned down on it. Stuck on a piece of earth that was tilted as if to display and expose anything on it to the expansive west.

“I’ll meet up with you, if I can, then we’ll mop up the survivors. You’re going to have to convince those prisoners to wait for us, they’ll be in just as much danger as they are now if they’re stuck wandering the wastes, weak and unarmed. I would ask you to stay with them where it’s safe, but I already have a feeling of what your answer would be.”

“I’m not leaving you alone to fight them; I’ll be back as soon as I can get those ponies to safety.” I put my hoof on her shoulder. “Thank you for doing this.”

“I wouldn’t have, and that’s what scares me… if you hadn’t been here, I would have seen no alternative to following orders, I would have just waited and watched.” She paused and touched my hoof with her own. “Thank you.”
We stayed in place for a moment, grateful to each other. I took another look down at the toll, the bargaining for the Slaves had begun, the Chief raider kept motioning angrily back at them as the Slavers presumably depreciated the mare and filly for their worn, pathetic appearance. We had to do this now.

I turned tail and ran down the ridge, pouncing to and from areas of soft earth to avoid the rocks and grass, now visible in the morning cloud-light. The mist still hung in the air, but it was not obstructing my vision in the slightest, it seemed as if we were in a bubble of clear atmosphere, the toll, Caliber and I. I had no trouble on my way down the ridge, but had to come to sudden stop as I circled it, as soon as I exited from behind the cover of the jutting earth and rock, I would be exposed.

I didn’t look to my sides, I kept the pile of debris that Caliber had pointed out as my only focal point, I blocked out everything else, imagining blinders for myself. The highway was now to my right, as were the Slavers, only a few dozen feet away. My EFS was lighting up, bands of red filled the South-East while only five white non-hostiles shared the Southern face of the radar with the four pivotal hostiles. I was progressing quickly and silently, my goal was just ahead, my peril just beside me. I sheltered myself behind the low rocks, crouching, peeking at the precipice of the ridge I had just descended. The ridge had been an ideal lookout point; even now, I couldn’t see Caliber, she, on the other hoof, had watched my progress and prepared to throw the grenade, to light the fuse of this rescue.

Right as I settled into place the explosive took flight. The grenade glinted in the still flickering white of the streetlights as it sailed through the air. The pitch was good, and for a moment it looked as if Caliber’s trigger might even land without any magical intervention, but then the small bomb started to quiver. As it fought against the curving force of gravity I focused my telekinesis on it and swung my head violently towards the toll, releasing my hold; hopefully nopony had noticed the brief golden glow that had encompassed the delivery as it increased in velocity towards the raiders.

The grenade seemed to explode on impact, as if I had called down a fiery meteorite on the toll with my horn. I could see the explosion over the rocks and the slightly escalated highway, despite the wire fence. Shouts of anger drowned out the screams of agony as the persevering raiders charged out from behind the gates. I couldn’t see the events as they transpired but after only a moment’s pause I heard a bellowing roar that could only have come from the raider chieftain. Gunshots followed, but the roar didn’t falter, it rallied the raiders as the chief, fighting either to avenge his men or protect himself, refused to die.

The charge of red on my EFS passed the white bands and I jumped up onto the rocks to survey the situation. The Slavers were retreating, and only one was firing blindly behind them as they ran. Without cover the horde would tear them apart, so they had much bigger concerns than the unchained prisoners who were being left unguarded. I sprinted around the fence, following the slaver’s original path and approached the shivering ponies. They had just recovered from the shock of a charging mass of savages tearing by them and I shouted to get their attention.

“Hey!” they balked at my approach “Don’t worry I’m here to help you, follow me and I’ll get you to safety!” Unsurprisingly they didn’t listen and huddled closer together, the colt and filly sheltered behind the adults.

“You can either wait here for the raiders to come back,” I glanced behind me at the unsettlingly close warzone, if one raider decided to come back for the slaves, he would be upon them in seconds. “Or you can trust me! I am here to help you!” One of the bucks whispered to the children then addressed me.

“I believe you; there’s no reason to think you would risk your life to trick us. Lead and we’ll follow.” He swung the colt onto his back as the mare did the same with the filly. The second buck nodded to show he wouldn’t resist and I began to make my way north off the highway. Time was of the essence.

As we scampered off the road I heard a shot ring out behind me, I maintained my gait but turned my head to check on the convoy. Four followed, the buck unburdened by youthful cargo lay bleeding from a wound to the head, his corpse sliding off the highway and onto the dirt, briefly maintaining the momentum it had had in life. The mare tried to run to the dead pony, bouncing the filly on her back as she swung around, but the surviving buck grabbed her tail in his mouth and restrained her. After a moment of struggle and resistance the crying mare yielded and we continued our escape.

I heard her cries from behind me and wished she had been able to say goodbye to her friend, but thankfully the filly on her back and the danger on the highway had motivated her to keep running away from the copse she had once known, running to safety.

The shouts of the raiders were no longer audible after we had put some distance between us and the toll, but the slaver’s gunshots let me know that the fight was still going on, or they had already won, and found Caliber. The feeling of urgency intensified and I desperately searched for a place to hide the family that followed me. I settled for an alcove behind a hill that looked uncomfortable but secluded. I ushered the group in between the rocks and into the small gap, my heart racing.

“If you wait here for us, we can take you somewhere safe.” I promised the buck. The mare was in no reasonable state as she sobbed softly, filly clinging to her body as she trembled.

“I would wait for you if only to thank you, stranger.” He replied. “If you truly mean to let us go, the debt we owe you is immeasurable. You will find us here, hopefully before they do”

“There won’t be any of ‘them’ left soon enough. I’m sorry for your loss. If he meant anything to you then take solace in knowing that whoever killed him will soon be punished.” I gave the buck Caliber’s 9 millimeter pistol, just in case, then made my way back to the toll.

As I ran, the sound of battle became louder and louder, I was actually surprised that the slavers had survived for so long, I had assumed that grossly outnumbered and taken by surprise they would have quickly succumbed to the knives and jaws of the raiders, but more gunshots indicated that that was not the case.
Suddenly I felt myself being knocked off of my feet and was sent sprawling across the terrain.
I quickly got to my hooves and stood, face to face, with my attacker. A gray raider mare, bloody and seething, circled me, ready to pounce. Her knife lay in the dust between us, dropped after her failed attempt to stab me during our collision. My body ached from the impact with the spiky, metal-clad savage but I kept my eyes locked with hers, ignoring the dull pain.

“Forget the knife… I’m going to tear your heart out with or without it.” She gnashed her teeth at me. If I tried to draw my laser pistol, she would pounce. This was going to get close and gritty, and the best weapon for the situation was the knife between us. I had to get it.

She had noticed me eyeing the tool and lunged, not for it but directly at me, colliding once again and putting herself between me and the weapon. I drew my pistol but she was quick, smashing into me, breaking my concentration and forcing me to release my telekinetic hold.
“Girl on girl, hoof to hoof…” Her eyes were crazed, yellow and wide. “This is gonna be fun!” She shrieked. The knife was no longer in her interest; the crazy mare was intent on a brutal, bloody fight to the death.

I threw myself at her with all the force I could muster. She didn’t even try to dodge; she bore the brunt and retaliated with a hoof against my face. We were in close now, hooves flying and eyes locked. She snapped and spat at me like a wild animal, biting at my exposed face. She chewed into the collar of my coat and held strong, tilting her entire body to yank me off balance. I fell to the ground; a cloud of gray dirt was released into the air upon my impact.

She climbed on top of me, pinning my front legs to the ground with her own. She intended to tear the skin from my face, to chew it off, rip the flesh from my bones. I kicked out with my hind leg, guiding it into the mare’s stomach. She retched in my face, her breath smelt of rotted meat and curdled dairy. I kicked again, weakening her enough to roll out from under her. I regained my balance and ended up standing right next to the wheezing raider, body in the perpendicular direction, face to the side of her flank. Her cutie-mark was a heart, biological and vivid, with a rusty fork sticking out of it.

I reared up onto my hind legs and swung my front leg down, onto the raiders head, the metal casing of my Pip-buck collided with her skull making an unpleasant cracking sound. The leather cap she wore did little to stifle the blow and the mare collapsed beneath me. I rolled her onto her back, pinning her down the same way she had done to me.

Her black mane lay sprawled about her head, blood trickling through the strands. She was still wheezing and her warm, fetid breathe made me shudder, with every gasp she bathed me in a wave of the foul air.
It was time to put her down. I looked at my Pip-buck, the gray device was splattered in blood but the casing remained intact, the cracking noise had come from the mare’s skull. Despite how effective the method had proved, I wasn’t going to beat her to death. I was going to give her a little mercy.

Reaching out with my magic I found the laser pistol, it had skittered through the dirt a ways but I could still reach it. Floating it over I looked the raider straight into her yellow, horrible eyes. She began to giggle, then to cackle maniacally before the face of death, before my face. I pressed the angular barrel of the gun against her forehead but her gaze stayed on me, her eyes didn’t cross to look at the weapon between them, they maintained the intense stare that I would always remember. And she wouldn’t stop laughing.

I pulled the trigger.

It happened quickly, almost instantly, the beam left the gun directly into the raider’s head. There was no gap between firing and impact, between cause and effect. She died at the moment I pulled the trigger.
From the point where the beam touched her forehead, a ring of red energy spread across her face, disintegrating everything it crossed over. Her eyes boiled and her skin turned to ash as the artificial decay emanated outwards from within her head. For a moment I saw her skull, behind her melting face, but that was consumed just as rapidly. Her laugh seemed to continue long after she was dead; her bones were frozen in an insane smile before they were destroyed.

It happened in a second, a long, drawn out, horrible second. All that was left of her head was ash; even her mane had burned up into nothingness. The burning stopped short at her neck and the rest of her body remained intact. It looked almost as if she had been decapitated, the round wound on her neck was cauterized by the energy, there was no blood, no explosion of gore or brain matter, just ash.

I stepped off of the corpse, trying to shake the sight from my mind, and holstered my pistol. The raider’s knife still lay discarded on the ground; I picked it up and strapped it into my father’s coat. A weapon like this would have been useful in that fight.

I thought I might be in shock, but I continued south towards the highway. I had to finish this.

A bullet embedded itself into my vest, which was thankfully thick enough to absorb the impact, but nonetheless I felt incredible pressure in a concentrated area against my chest. The bullet pulled me out of my detached state and the sounds of the world flooded my ears once again. I was in another fight.

I dove behind a rock for cover, as another bullet dug into the ground that I had been standing on. This was the raider gunman who had killed the buck, it had to be. My laser pistol at the ready, hovering by my side, I swung around the rock and aimed down my sights. The red raider buck stared back at me, his own rifle clutched skillfully in his mouth. I fired at the weapon.

The gun glowed orange as the energy of my beam spread around it, the buck yelped and dropped the shining steel, desperately trying to cool down his scorched tongue. The metal of the rifle had conducted the heat and subsequently scalded the raider’s mouth. I replicated my first kill’s ‘strategy’ by throwing the rifle behind me telekinetically, putting myself in between the buck and his weapon.

After recovering from the pain he let out a muffled battle cry and charged at me. I leveled my gun again and fired two shots, the first glanced off the meal armor but by the time I had fired the second, the raider was upon me, Point blank range. His body went limp in the air, his muscles relaxed as the life left him, his momentum, however, was still going strong.

The corpse crashed into me, impossibly heavy and moving fast. I collapsed before the force of the dead body; it lay on top of me as I fell to the ground. I wiggled myself free from beneath the breathless mass and went to investigate the super-heated rifle. The metal that constituted it was soft, it had melted to a malleable state, and the gun was already cooling, welding itself to the rocky ground. I left it.

The rock pile beside the toll’s fence was bare, no sign of Caliber. The corpse of the slave buck still lay just off the asphalt; I wanted to ask the other prisoners for permission before burying it. I had assumed that the sound of the fighting had gotten softer as I had been farther away from it but as I stepped onto the highway I could tell that it was simply much quieter. The roar of the horde had died along with it; raider corpses littered the road, at least a dozen, including the chieftain who was still bleeding from an ungodly amount of bullet wounds. I counted two Slaver corpses amidst the medley, their quality armor gave them away, however their guns were missing. The highway was bloody and cluttered.
The Slavers had been well armed, enough casings lay on the ground to indicate some kind of assault rifle, which would have been necessary to dispatch this many raiders so quickly. After completing my inspection, which had taken me far down the highway as the fight had stretched out over a considerable distance, I headed back to the toll.

I followed the only sound I could hear, a soft whimpering, to the former raider encampment.
As the winces and moans grew louder I narrowed the source down to the right side of the series of gateways. I jogged up to the final toll booth and cautiously peeked around the side. A raider was in the process of hammering nails into the hooves of another pony, nailing them to the toll bar, both were scarred and bleeding but the victim was obviously in a worse state. It was the last Slaver, he was naked but his cutie-mark was a pair of manacles, and I doubted that a raider would resort to such extremes with one of their kin... I wasn’t actually sure about that.

Before I could take action against the sadist or the slaver I spotted a familiar pony straight ahead, approaching from the East along the highway. Caliber was running at full tilt and her hooves pounded against the cracked asphalt below her, her subtle musculature flexed and strained as she sprinted towards us. She clutched the 45 automatic in her mouth. The torturous mare turned to face the charging earth pony but was greeted by two rapidly fired bullets to the face, the first tore through her skin and exited out of the other side of her head while the other embedded itself in something solid and applied enough force to slam her against the toll bar, bending her spine unnaturally. The way her body slumped on the end of the bar applied enough pressure to enact the lever affect it was designed for, hoisting the pinned slaver into the air. He screamed in agony as gravity pulled against the metal through his hooves.

I acted quickly to stop the screaming, emerging from my cover, to push the mare’s corpse to the ground. I leaned where her body had been and applied decreasing pressure to lower the bar slowly, bringing the slaver to rest on the road. His screams subsided into soft yelps and whimpers. The battle was over, both sides had been whittled down to their last members, the raiders losing more than a dozen while the slavers only lost a pair, and even then the two survivors fought. The victor had celebrated by torturing her submissive opponent; she had taken more pleasure from all the death and pain than she had solace for her lost allies. These ponies were completely incorrigible. This fight had been disgusting.

“That bitch,” panted the slaver. “I had her… I won, and then she did something with her legs, knocked me off of her, I was stunned long enough for her to start hammering…”

“Now is not the time to try and save your pride. We don’t care who you think ‘won’.” Caliber berated.
She turned to me, examining me for any sign of injury. I did the same to her, she had a few scratches on her flank and bruises on her forelegs but she didn’t look like she was in pain. “You alright?”
She wasn’t even out of breath, after sprinting like that I would have been done, ready to retire.

“I’m fine, nothing but a few bruises, what happened to you?”

“I tallied the raiders last night, counted exactly seventeen, the slavers got twelve during their fight down the road but two just turned and ran, I went after them. With this mare dead,” she prodded the bloody corpse of the raider with her hoof. “There’s only two left, I think ones got a rifle though…”

“I got them.” I confessed, not proudly but out of necessity.

“I was worried they had gone after you once I saw that dead slave. I had to make sure no one escaped though, so I went after the runners. Glad to see you made it okay.”
“Don’t feel bad, neither of us thought anypony would abandon the fight to go after the prisoners. I guess you really can’t bank on what these psychopaths will do.” I said as I looked at the nails and hammer.

“You must be able to handle yourself,” she paused “Let me know if you want to talk about it later. For now we have to deal with Manacles over here.” Caliber stood aggressively over the blubbering pony.

“How do we get the nails out?” I couldn’t think of a method that wouldn’t be excruciatingly painful. “Maybe I could anaesthetize him a little bit, make the process a little less agonizing.”

“He’s staying right there.” She met the black eyes of the naked, tan buck. “He won’t tell us anything.”

“Wait, no…I can…” He was obviously suffering through the words. “If you let me go I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

“I thought raiders were disloyal.” She spat. The exchange between them seemed to be independent of me, the process of interrogation and the barter of mercy for information was something that both of them realized I was too naïve to be involved with. “But you’re still not going to tell us anything.”

“W-wh-what do you mean?”

“I can’t let you go. I could have led you along, I would have, but my friend here still has to learn how little your kind deserves. She wouldn’t have accepted it. So unless you’re still willing to tell us anything, knowing you are going to die here, we can’t help each other.” I felt like a burden, it seemed Caliber regretted what we had done and was now beginning to let it show. We would not get the information we had come for.

“I’m sorry.” I cut in.

“Don’t be… We had to do it,” she reassured “It’s just that sometimes I feel like I’ve done worse by going against orders than against morals.” She sighed. “I just want to get out of here.”

“Hey! Hey, listen to me; I don’t want to die here… I have a family, this is just a job!” pleaded the slaver.

“Where are your clothes?” asked Caliber coolly.

“What does it matter!?” He twisted his head to look at me. “You’re reasonable right? Tell her to let me go!”

“Three slavers against a thirteen raiders, two casualties for twelve. Then you lose against one.” She brought herself in close. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Like I said, I didn’t lose to that raider bitch! She took me by surprise!” He claimed.

“While you were fighting? I don’t think so.” She hissed, “You know what I think? I think you were upset about your friends over there.” She gestured down the road; west in the direction the slaver could not turn to see. “I think you wanted to make the raiders pay, by punishing the last one. Proving that you had won, letting yourself know that you still had the power.”

“What the hell are you talking about? You’re crazy!”

“You wanted to. Plant. Your. Stake.” She prodded his chest with each word. “And instead of finishing this fight, instead of killing her and getting away” she pointed to the dead mare. “You raped her, because you were the big winner, and she was the face of those who killed your friends.”

“So what if I did? She deserved it.” Justified the buck.

“I’m sure you love your family very much, I’m sure that mare and filly would have been completely safe in your professional care, but you don’t deserve our mercy.” She looked at me and I nodded. The slavers pleas had been getting to me, I had wanted to get him help for his injuries. But now I was ready to just get it over with, my pity for him was gone, replaced by cold understanding.

“Alright you little bitch, you got me. But you already know I’m not telling you Jack Shit!” He yelled. “So why don’t you just kill me and run, before my associated find out what happened here, because when they find you, they’re going to treat you like the whore you are.”

“I can’t kill you either. You need to die, just like this. No fight ends with the last two combatants simultaneously killing each other to end it in a perfectly even tie. That’s just not believable. So I need to wait for you to die from the injuries you’ve already sustained. Then you’ll look like just another corpse used for raider decoration.” Her words were harsh, but logical.

“Will they believe that?” I asked “What if they figure it out?”

“It looks like the raiders won here, and then celebrated by mutilating one of their enemies. This is pretty much what happened.” She looked at the buck. “You lost. And the other slavers are going to see it that way, an abandoned battle field where their men were killed by the raiders they had come to negotiate with. If they interpret it the way that anybody would, then we just killed two birds with one stone.” I felt better about guilting her into doing this. “Hopefully they’ll give up on working with the raiders, seeing them as a potential enemy rather that a possible recruiting pool.”

The slaver laughed a moist, bloody chuckle. “That’s what this is about? You were scared that we could get the raiders on our side?” His pre-mortem amusement was less insane than the raiders had been, but somehow equally disturbing. “You idiots. You shouldn’t be worried about who we can get to work for us… You should be more afraid of who we’re working for.”

“Grace, please go and get the ponies you rescued. I assume you don’t want to sit here with me and watch him die.” She requested levelly, gaze locked on the dying buck.

“Are you going to…” I began to ask.

“I can’t leave any more marks on him… But I might want to re-apply some of those nails; they’re starting to look a little loose.” I wasn’t going to argue, though I reluctantly pushed the thought from my mind.

“Alright, I’ll take them to the ridge.” I agreed as I hurried away from the impending interrogation.

“Grace…” she called after me. I turned.
“The slave’s corpse has to stay where it is. You can’t bury it. The Slavers who investigate need to see it.”

“I have to let that family say goodbye. But I understand. Meet us when he’s done.” I ran away from the toll, the horrible, violent, battle torn toll. Seeing the free family again would make me feel better, hopefully
it would have the same effect on Caliber later. It would remind us of why we had done this.
The mist still hadn’t cleared and the scarred landscape eventually seemed to drop off to the East, the flat land ending in a shifting pale wall, a dome. I couldn’t see the tips of the mountains to the North; they became level in how they were obscured, and looked like a plateau rather than a range. I used them as my reference nonetheless, Mountains North, Mountains South, Flat Eat, Rocky West. The huge mountain that differentiated between mountains north and mountains south was completely undetectable but I already knew the direction I was supposed to be heading, recognizing the path previously taken.

Follow the fence along the highway, corpses dotting it across its length; find the body of the prisoner, slumped between road and dirt. Pass the rock pile then walk until you find the red but dead buck quickly followed by a rifle welded to the ground. Further ahead, if you look to your right, you can see the corpse of your first kill, a raider mare decapitated by disintegration. Keep an eye out for a rock formation to your left, within it you will find the alcove where you stashed your vindication.

“Is everypony alright?” I called out, keeping my distance. “It’s me, the mare from the toll.”
The ashy brown head of the ‘father’ peeked out at me. I had no idea how these ponies were related but I hoped, for the children’s sake, that this buck was their father, and not the one lying dead off the highway. He coerced the rest of the group out, comforting them along the way; they all looked dirty enough that their coats and manes were a bastardization of their original colors, smeared in filth and blood. The mare’s eyes were still dead, the filly’s still downcast. I had never seen a rape victim before, but their visible trauma made me wish the raider chieftain had survived long enough for a personal vengeance.

“We’re surviving, thanks to you.” My assurance would have to wait; pity and concern were all that was on my mind now. I did feel good knowing that they were alright.

“Anypony would have done what we did after seeing how much trouble you were in.” I said dismissively.

“If you believe that then you must not have been paying attention your whole life. Heck, I don’t even know if I would have done it, to be honest. Unless you’ve got the guns or the luck to be a hero then you need to look out for your own first to survive. That’s just how it is.” He corrected sadly.

“I don’t want to believe that there aren’t ponies who are willing to help anymore. Caliber is enough proof for me. That’s my… partner who helped save you.” I added as a forethought.

“Nowadays anypony who can resist the temptation of an easy life, a life of raiding and stealing and killing, can consider themselves a good pony. Very few exceed that standard, so whether you did it for the thrill, out of naivety or blind kind-heatedness, Thank you again.” I felt oddly content with all the attention and positive emotions; I wasn’t used to these levels of gratitude. I supposed I had never done anything this important to anypony before. Under the unsettling schmaltz, it felt good.

“Daddy, will the monsters come back for us?” Asked the colt sweetly, while I was thinking to myself.

“No they’re gone, this nice lady killed them.” I was surprised at his blunt choice of verb.

“Did the pretty lady find Uncle?” whispered the child.

“Uncle is dead, baby. The monsters got him.” He held the colt close. The mare let out a sob, indicating that Uncle had been from the mother’s side, and then brought herself and the filly in close to share the remorseful embrace. She whispered to the colt but even her voice was weak and pained.

“Would you like to go say goodbye?” I asked after giving them some time.

“We already have.” Answered the mare, wiping the need to visit the body and regret not being able to bury it off my list of priorities.

“Alright, there are a lot of… casualties,” I used the word hoping to stop the children from understanding. “Along the road from the toll so if you’d like we can try and head further west and connect with it where it’s… more appropriate.”

“We’ll go wherever you want to go, but seeing some more dead bodies isn’t going to matter now. I think it might actually be a good thing for the children to see what happens to monsters that try and hurt them.” The father speculated, talking half to me and half to the foals. I had forgotten that they might not want to go with us back to Hell, their debt made them willing but I wanted to know what they actually wanted.

“I’m sorry, I forgot to ask, where are you from? I mean, where were you… taken from?”

“We were travelling from one of the northern settlements just outside of this valley,” he gestured East. “On our way to New Calvary, we had to cross the railway to continue south, we heard the Slavers didn’t head in that direction so we thought we would be clear once we crossed. Though you’re never clear in the wasteland, Raiders are everywhere, and they don’t have predictable patterns.” He explained.

“What’s a Calvary?”

“Calvary is a city,” He chuckled; even the mare smiled a little, though the children seemed just as confused as I was. “You still have faith in ponykind and you haven’t heard about the City of Rats, you must have been living under a rock your whole life.”

“A mountain actually…” I remembered having read a few logs from ponies who grew up in a New Calvary; it was never really talked about except in fleeting reference so I knew nothing about it.

“Well…” now they were confused. “That explains it.”

“We heard it was safe there, safer at least, so we packed up everything we had and left the shanty town we were living in.” The stained, cream mare said, she was evidently getting more comfortable with me due to my unthreatening obliviousness.

“So it’s to the South-East, huh? I’m not about to send you to the same fate that you just got out of, but if you come with us we might be able to help you get there safely somehow.” I offered, hoping they wouldn’t want to head out alone again.

“You’re too kind, but we can’t ask you to go out of your way and do that.” said the Father.

“At least let me talk to my partner and see if there’s any way that we can help. We have to head west first so if you insist on going alone the least we can do is organize some weapons for you. I’m sure there are some scattered around the toll that you can take.” I concluded decidedly, it was true it would be difficult to help them as much as I wanted to, but I was going to try.

“Are you a shepard?” Whispered the filly, she had stopped crying but had been very quiet all this time.

“Shepard?” I asked as we started walking.

“Somepony who watches over or guards a flock, we learnt about it from Uncle.” I knew what a shepherd was but I was happy to get the filly talking and feeling secure. Goddesses knew she deserved some peace.

“Doesn’t that make you a sheep?” I teased, making her giggle a little.

“Uncle said it meant more than that…”

“He read about it in some book about the Princesses,” interjected the colt, explaining for his sister. “Uncle was funny; he was always saying things about them that didn’t make any sense. He called them fancy names and thought they were always watching him and stuff.” That sounded familiar. “I think that the Princesses would have better things to do, or would want to watch somepony more interesting than Uncle.” I smiled at the colt’s interpretation. “Like you!”

“Now why would the Princesses want to watch somepony like me?”

“You save ponies.” Answered the filly, “Uncle…” both their faces dropped, eyes dimming, as they remembered that he was one pony that I hadn’t saved. I hoped they didn’t feel guilty about his death. The mother and father comforted their children and picked them back onto their respective backs to give them a break as we walked, I wondered if they were twins, the colt seemed older but they were about the same size, both just a little bigger than a saddlebag. Those raiders deserved worse than they got…

Despite the parents insistence that the children didn’t need my worldly censorship I took a slightly wider route to the ridge. Mostly to avoid the body of their religious uncle. I set them up at the base of the ridge, the corpses on the road were spread far enough back that they were visible from there but the children seemed even more at ease around death than I did.

“I want to see him…” said the mare.

“Honey, it’s better if you remember him for who he was in life. Seeing his body again isn’t going to make you feel better.” Pleaded her children’s father referring to who, I had gathered, was her lost sibling.

“No, I mean, I want to see… him.” She choked out. “I want to see that bastard dead.”

“I’m so sorry about all this.” He nuzzled against her tenderly. “If you’re sure, I’ll wait with the children.”

“It wasn’t your fault… It wasn’t.” they were embracing and crying together, I turned away to give them a moment of privacy. “We’ll get through this together… I just want to see him dead.”

“Who, Mommy?” asked the Colt. From the way the filly was bunched up under her father, I could tell that she already knew. The raider chieftain had done the same things to her. But she never wanted to see the face that she could never escape again. Her mother wanted closure; she just wanted it to go away. The mare whispered to her two children, the filly scrunched up closer to her father.

“Can you show me?” She asked, turning to me. “Please.” I nodded and led her away from her family.

“He can’t hurt you anymore, baby.” Whispered the father to his daughter as the cream mare and I stepped out onto the highway.

The chieftain wasn’t hard to find, the other bodies looked like mole-hills when compared to the metallic, bloody mountain of a corpse. As I walked through the surfaced graveyard I looked for weapons that might be useful to the family, however I couldn’t see anything that looked like it still functioned. After a ways we reached the opening to the toll fence, the giant raider hadn’t made it very far before he was taken down by the bullets of his three well armed opponents.

His body was riddled with wounds and stains; however his face remained mostly imperforated beneath a helmet. I slid the metal head casing off and stared at his diseased red eyes. The dark brown buck was almost the color of old blood and I imagined that his bleeding had been more severe than it appeared, camouflaged in his coat. His muscular face was stuck in a roar and his teeth were yellow and fetid. He had bitten off his own tongue in the agony he had endured, bleeding out after he had finally collapsed, and the front half of it lay adjacent to his mouth. It looked like he had suffered.

The mare just stared at him; her dark wavy mane obscured wet eyes as stood over the felled monster, her dead tormentor. We didn’t say anything to one another; she just stared as my hatred for the buck grew exponentially at her reaction. She was weeping heavily, gasping for air and struggling to stay up on her hooves. I held her close to me and supported her as she let go. I should have volunteered to stay with the kids allowing their parents to go together, she needed more than my simple physical support, she needed love.

I led her back to her medicine and helped her to lie on the ground with them, the family snuggled up together as they comforted the Mother and each other.

“I’m going to get Caliber.” I said, just to explain my absence. They needed some time alone anyway.

I ran down the road to the toll, callously pouncing over bodies and cracking dry gore, I was starting to feel a little nervous. It had been a long time since the Slavers had arrived. We couldn’t have much time until more came looking for them. I wanted to speak to Damascus, tell him what little we had learned, and find out how we could help fix what we may have ruined.

Caliber was packing her saddlebags when I arrived, I realized that she had picked up a few weapons that I could ask her to impart on the family. The Slaver lay limp, still attached to the toll bar, it looked like he had bled a lot more since the last time I had seen him. Caliber had been right, the scene looked exactly as she had described it, only a raider could have left somepony to die like that. Or two mares trying to pass a kill off as a raider’s doing. I didn’t feel remorse for the idiotic rapist though.

“Caliber!” I exclaimed happily, every time I saw her I was relieved that she was okay, this whole tense situation had put me in a state of constant worry. “You’re alright!”

“Yeah,” she replied calmly. “I’d have to be as stupid as he was to lose this kind of advantage.” She strapped her satchel onto her back, assault rifle dangling at its side. “How’d it go with the prisoners?”

“They’re a little torn up about their Uncle, and about what’s been happening to them all this time. But they’ll get through it together, their actually the closest family I’ve ever seen.” I admitted.

“A difficult situation can do that to people,” she dismissed, then sighed. “I’m sorry Grace, I’m just unsettled by all this, I’m glad we did what we did. It was undoubtedly the right thing to do, just not the best. I… I want to get back to Damascus; he’ll tell us how much damage we might have caused.”

“What do you know that I don’t?” The exchange was becoming tense.

“Nothing, I just understand things… differently.” She began walking back West along the road. “I understand how much shit we could have started, if the Slavers find out…”

“How would they? It makes perfect sense that the raiders did this, they're unpredictable psychopaths! I’ve gathered that in a day! The slavers knew this was a risk, they brought those guns,” As we walked I motioned to the strapped guns. “To defend themselves if this happened, and they almost succeeded. They were ready for this, Heck they might even have been expecting this. The raiders will get the blame!”

“They will probably blame the Raiders, probably! I do not like open-ended situations like this. The fact is we could’ve gotten a lot of people killed, just to save four.” She calculated.

“That isn’t how it works; don’t think of it that way! It doesn’t matter how many we saved! We aren’t exchanging ponies’ lives for other ponies’ freedom. We did what was right, not what was the best bargain!” We reached the ridge.

“I…” Caliber began to retort, she was interrupted by the sight of the family before us.

Caliber dealt in absolutes, doing a job for a reason, living a life with monitored cause and effect. The family huddled together at the base of the ridge, gave her the validation she needed. Hypothetically they had been four ponies; numerically they hadn’t been worth the risk. That’s not what would make Caliber proud of what she had helped accomplish. Seeing the medley of love, innocence and unity that survived because of her actions, is what made her proud, what vindicated her sacrifices.

Her vivid brown eyes softened and the mercenary was replaced with a mare. She looked back at me and finally smiled, she hadn’t seemed able to justify our spontaneous rescue until this moment, and now that she could, she felt the same certainty that I did.

“Hello Shepard, mommy told me that you killed the monster.” Said the filly, softly yet joyously. It really wasn’t fair to what was left of Caliber’s rationality argument. She looked like she wanted to hug the little girl and was smiling more genuinely than I had ever seen anypony smile.

“Who’re you, lady?” asked the colt with the friendly brashness that only a child could get away with.
Caliber was quiet, she stammered a little under the scrutiny of the filly and colt.

“This is my friend Caliber!” I stepped in to introduce her for her heroics. “Do you kids remember the big explosion than scared some of the monsters away and made the rest go all crazy so I could sneak you away from them?” They nodded together, their parents smiling down at their intrigue. “Well if I’m the Shepard then she must be the…” I hadn’t thought that one out. “She made the explosion!”

“Woooooooowwww.” They exclaimed in unison.
“Did you do that with your earth-pony magic?” asked the unicorn filly.

“What? Earth ponies can’t make explosions with their minds! If they could then I would’ve done one!” retorted the colt.
“Well I heard that some super-special earth ponies have magic of their own, they don’t even need a horn!”

“That’s the magic of being in-dus-trious and hard-working,” the way the colt sounded out his words reminded me of Caliber. “Not the magic of explosions!”

“Alright kids, that’s enough, I’m sure Ms. Caliber wants to keep her magic a secret so she can surprise the next bunch of monsters she fights!” the children’s father excused. Caliber stood awkwardly by and gave the buck a thankful look.

“Yes… erm… kids, me and the… Sheep herd? Over here need to figure out how we’re going to make sure you get home safely! So if your Mommy and Daddy could tell us where you’re headed we can get started.” She hinted.

“Excuse the children, were all just a little excited that we’re safe. Thank you both so much for what you’ve done.” The mare gave both myself and Caliber a ghostly embrace and stepped back to the buck’s side.“We were heading to New Calvary when that troupe of raiders got us…we’ve been with them for a couple of days…I… it was hard to keep track.”

“That’s alright, it doesn’t matter. Are you still intent on heading there?” Caliber seemed to enjoy asking questions, she might as well have whipped a pad and pen like the detectives in the True Police Stories. Thankfully her tone was vastly different from the one she used on the nailed Slaver.

“We could take them back to Hell with us.” I interrupted, trying to give the family options.

“Hell?” inquired the buck. “That’s an odd name.”

“There’s this blown apart sign that probably used to read ‘Hello and welcome to Such-and-such’ but it’s so torn up now that the only distinguishable thing is the ‘Hell-‘ part of ‘Hello’. Damascus has been around forever, he probably knows what it was actually called.” She explained.

“So how about it?” I asked her, pushing to bring the family there.

“Can’t do it, too dangerous. After the stunt we just pulled I don’t even think I’m going to be able to stay there anymore. The Slavers will lock it down as soon as they realize their messengers aren’t coming back, anyone who isn’t a registered citizen might as well be caught in a death-trap. Including you, Grace...”
Before I could even begin to apologize she pressed on.
“And don’t say you’re sorry because I’m alright, if Charon can just get my gun out and bring it to me then they’ll be no hard feelings. Damascus is probably going to send us somewhere obscure anyway.”

“Why don’t we ask Charon or one of the other mercenaries to escort them to the city?” I stifled my apology and inferred that if Damascus was planning something for us then we couldn’t escort them.

“Hell needs to be at full strength in case the Slavers catch on, besides I wouldn’t trust a mercenary as far as I could throw one.”
She continued before I could point out the hypocrisy.
“And don’t tell me that I am a mercenary because I know that already, just like I know that I must therefore be up to something devious.” She quipped.

“You’ve done enough!” interrupted the buck with a cheery exclamation. “You’ve given us a second chance at the life we were about to lose forever, we cannot possibly ask anything more of you.”

“It sounds like your town is in trouble; we can’t let you to stay with us and struggle over this anymore. We can handle the journey, we’ll be more careful this time, stay away from the roads and rails, stay safe.” Promised the mare.

“Looks like that’s our only option, Grace.” Caliber sighed.

“You aren’t too attached to those guns are you?”

----------------------------------------------.

“Bye Shepard! Bye Cali-Belle!” Yelled the children inaccurately, neatly perched on their mother’s back.

“Thanks again you two, I hope something out there rewards you for what we can’t. If my brother-in-law was around he’d promise you eternal salvation with the Princesses or some nonsense… though that’s still more than I can offer.” The father of the family spoke to us as his mare and children waited for him just up the road. We were standing in the toll, grisly as it was, and had already bade farewell to the fillies and their mother. “If you’re ever in Calvary, look for us, if we’ve managed to make something of ourselves then you can be sure that you’ll be welcome to take a part in our worth.”

“Just get there safely, and It’s a promise.” I shook his hoof merrily.

“Give that filly a good life,” added Caliber grimly “She deserves nothing but happiness after all this.”

“I would die for my family, the fact that you would’ve done the same… that’s something I won’t forget.” Finished the father and, giving us one last grateful look each, he turned to lead his family, guns and supplies strapped to his body on holsters and saddlebags. They bade shouts of farewells and thanks as they all began off the road to the South-East, angling for the obscured end of the mountain range.

“Feeling better?” I asked Caliber as we watched them go.

“Feeling damn good.” She replied with a relieved laugh.

Footnote: Level Up!
Perk Added: Child at Heart: Who says that growing up is a good thing? You can call yourself charismatic but the fact that you are most charming to children implies that you’re just immature. So either Grow up or enjoy unique dialogue with the other mentally under-developed children… Oh wow you just got burned...Third degree baby… Why wasn’t anyone around to hear that?

(Since this is getting a surprising amount of views (That’s Plural Baby!) especially considering this is the first thing I’ve posted- or even written - I figured that the least I could do is add this little footnote to thank everyone who has read this far and, above all, Kkat: the FRIENDS to my Joey.)

Chapter 6: Radio Nowhere

Fallout Equestria: Sola Gratia
Chapter 6: Radio Nowhere
“Sometimes the smallest roles in the Good Fight are the most important.”

Scavenging the toll and the area surrounding was… unpleasant. We worked quickly but thoroughly, though the chance that one of the seventeen dead raiders or three dead slavers had any useful information on them was slim. We had essentially failed our mission. I didn’t ask how she was so sure, but Caliber told me that the Slaver she had interrogated was not going to give her anything, especially not with the prospect of release and survival off the table. The family of would-be Slaves that we had liberated were willing to talk, but knew nothing about their prospective buyer’s intentions.

We had staked out all night to wait for the arrival of this information, and then initiated the violent deaths of its bearers. I couldn’t help but feel directly responsible for the failure, as I was directly responsible for the failure. Caliber was a good pony, better than most even by the Stable’s standards, but she would have done what was necessary to complete the mission. I had stopped her. She hadn’t let the Slavers leave, prisoners in tow, and information imparted because I had prompted her to do the moral thing. She hadn’t misled the Slaver she was interrogating and promised him a mercy we could not give, to get him to confess. She hadn’t lost another part of herself as she followed more orders instead of doing what she truly believed was right. And for that she was happier, perhaps better, for our failure we were proud.

“Okay, we had better get a move on. There’s nothing here but corpses and casings.” She announced.
We had fired less than a dozen shots between us and yet the area was completely stained with blood, and none of our kills were even in sight. Mine lay to the North in the dust while Caliber’s lay further east down the road. These bodies had died fighting each other.

“How are we going to get into contact with Damascus if we can’t go into town?” I asked, my muzzle buried in the last slaver’s saddlebags as I re-checked it on our way.

“With this,” she prodded a small radio strapped to her dark blue vest. “I’ll call him out, and then we’ll talk.”

“How far is the range on that thing?” I picked up my pace to catch up.

“This is probably one of the best personal radio transmitters and receivers in the E-questrian Wasteland… so obviously the range is tiny.” We walked side by side on the highway as we passed the final corpse in the series, leaving a stretch of open road between us and Hell.

“I see, I assume you’re going to get him to bring you your gun?”

“I might not have to; Damascus knows I love that sweet piece of dysfunctional steel. If he has plans for us, then he’ll bring it to me.” She replied confidently.

“What do you think he has in mind?” The ghoulish buck had acted like we’d have a lot of time to talk after the Slavers were gone, but thanks to us, they weren’t going to be leaving anytime soon.

“Once we tell him that the Slavers might not be the ones at the top of the food-chain, I assume he’s going to need us to get whatever plan he has in motion” The streetlights had flickered off and now stood, waiting for the distant night to come, so that whatever force triggered them could put them to work.

“The Slavers seem pretty formidable; they control a whole railway, for Celestia’s sake. Who could they possibly be working for?” I didn’t know anything about the forces at play in the wasteland, but I was curious to find out what we could be up against.

“All it would take to control them is somebody with something they want, something they could dangle over their heads to make them follow orders, or possibly somebody who’s a threat to them.” She paused to think for a moment. “The groups who are strong enough to oppose them are more likely to try and wipe them out rather than control them. I honestly don’t have a theory, what d’you think?”

“Don’t ask me, I could be working for the wrong side for all I know.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that, as long as you’re working against people like the Slavers then there’s gotta be some merit to what you’re doing.” She reassured me.

The landscape around us was getting rockier and more obstructive; the flat expanse of the east was gradually rising into the sharp-cut, unpredictable terrain of the West. Earlier I had noticed that the highway eventually picked up off the ground because the land was too angular. For now though I just knew that we were getting close to the intersection where we got off.

“How was your first?” Caliber asked after a moment of silent trudging. Her tone was serious and I immediately knew what she meant.

“Uncomfortably close, the whole fight I mean, we both got disarmed and had to wrestle it out.” The gray raider mare had seemed to enjoy this immensely.

“Tell me you didn’t have to beat him to death.” Concern sparked in her eyes. Concern for the sanctity of my sanity over that of my physical state.

“No, it got gritty but I pinned her eventually. Her head was severely injured, she was bleeding, and I heard a crack when I…” I just waved my Pip-buck in front of her to finish my sentence.
“Then I floated my gun back over and…” The scene played itself over intensely in my head causing me to stammer and pause. “Her entire face… just melted. Years of life, growth and development, just to have her face disintegrated over the course of a few seconds.”

“You don’t feel like you did something wrong, do you!?” she asked urgently.

“No… It’s just a lot to take in, the parallels, one moment was all it took to make every other moment of her life irrelevant.”

“I’m sure her existence didn’t seem irrelevant to the ponies she tortured and killed. Do not think for a second that you could’ve avoided killing her. Don’t even think that you should’ve!” she sounded angry.

“I get it, she deserved it, it was self-defense, she was a murderer, I can justify it all I want but I still…feel… different.” I didn’t really understand it myself.

“I think it’s because, in that moment, you realized what you were capable of.” She had calmed down and spoke soothingly. “What we’re all capable of. People don’t realize how easy killing is, how easy it would be for somebody to kill us, until they’ve experienced it. It doesn’t matter one way, but the other way alters your perspective, makes you think.” She explained.
“Do you think that’s what it was like with the bombs?” I drew a connection. “They didn’t realize what they were doing until it was done, they didn’t understand what they could cause even though it was right there in front of them, proven in paper and practice. They didn’t think we were powerful enough to cause this level of destruction, until it was done, and by then it was too late.”

“Except what you did was the right thing.” Caliber continued to reassure me.

“They probably thought they were right too.”

“Yeah, well you didn’t blow up the world by doing what you thought was right, so stop comparing yourself to them. Whatever screwed up sense of patriotism or glory motivating them… led to this.” She gestured around us.

“And whatever motivated me led to one less raider in all ‘this’.” I mimicked her gesture and smiled at her.

“I was worried you weren’t going to be able to handle being a killer.” She said, relieved. “My first was difficult, and I was used to death, I’m glad to see you’re handling all these changes.” She patted me on the shoulder. “Let me know if you ever feel like you aren’t.”

“Thanks, what was your first kill?” I was curious as to what could have shaken her cold reasoning.

“My first kill was, and still is, a story for another time.” She skipped into the middle of the intersection. “We’re here.” She seemed happy to have avoided the question.

“So what now?” I asked as I planted myself down in the middle of the four colliding roads.

“I’m going to go up over that hill to where I can see the town, I’ll get the signal as clear as I can then try and get in contact with Charon or Damascus. I’ll ask them to meet us here so we can tell them what happened.” She explained, already heading up the road North. “Just wait there, I’ll be right back.”

I couldn’t tell if she was more excited or afraid to talk to Damascus about what we had done. She had had a longer relationship with him than I, so she would know how he was going to take it.
We had information for him, nothing concrete, but the slavers HAD shown up and they HAD strongly implied that they were there to buy slaves rather than recruit raiders to whatever cause Damascus thought they were working towards. We had also learned that they weren’t the ponies running the whole thing, from an admittedly unreliable source, but still.

The problem wasn’t that we had failed to collect the information as we were instructed; it was that we had put the town and Damascus himself in danger. We had essential attacked the Slavers who were currently taking up residence in his home, fully armed and held back only by a flimsy deal he had struck years ago. If they learned that the raiders hadn’t been the ones responsible, they would kill us all. Damascus seemed like a fighter, maybe not a bleeding heart, but somepony who wasn’t afraid to use direct methods. What worried me was that a pony like that was being so careful.

Caliber came trotting back down the road, she looked relieved. I felt guilty for the worry I had put her through, but felt comforted by her subtle gratitude. She was glad to have proven her morals still intact, that she could still be good and think for herself. At some point in her past she must have learned that disobeying orders was a dangerous game, because she respected them on high. I could imagine that some pretty bad ponies could have need for a mercenary’s services.

“We’re all set, town looks alright and they’ll be here in just a minute.” Her improved mood was evident.

“You look relieved; did you really think it was going to be that bad?” I asked

“The Slavers sent out a search party for the ones we killed. I half expected them to just start tearing into the town as soon as they realized there was a problem. If Damascus is at good at lying as I think he is then later, when they start asking questions, he’ll point their blame in the wrong direction.” She almost laughed. “I just can’t believe we got away with that!”

“You thought we’d get into trouble with Damascus?”

“What? No! He sounds kind of pleased about the whole thing.” She corrected. “No one has stood up to the Slavers and survived in a long time. And No one in Hell has ever, ever, done so by getting seventeen raiders killed and four slaves freed in just one day!” She bumped my hoof. “We’re bona fide heroes!”

“What we did just makes sense to me, I mean, I wasn’t trying to be a hero. Are you saying that kind of thing is really that rare? I don’t want to think that common decency deserves the label of ‘heroism’.”

“Chucking a live grenade into a pacified area of potential hostiles is not just common decency!” she exclaimed. “No one does that!”

“You remember we did it for a reason, right?” she hadn’t mentioned the rescuing intentions of that grenade.

“That’s what makes heroism different from bloodlust or suicidal tendencies. We had a reason!” she seemed incredibly happy that nothing had gone wrong yet. I realized that I was playing the same role she had when we had first regrouped at the toll. I was dissuading her enthusiasm and sense of accomplishment just as she had done mine.

“Of course we did!” I initiated another hoof-bump and cheered up. It upset me that an act of bravery or kindness was considered such a rarity, but I ignored that disappointment and focused on our win.

As we were laughing and celebrating together, the first and only two ghouls I had ever met came into view over the curve of the road north. Charon halted at the hill’s precipice and Damascus continued down alone, Charon turned his gaze back onto the town and stood guard. The approaching buck wore a small, decorated box, strapped to his side. Its gold trimming glinted as he walked.

“And he that stealeth a man and selleth him, or if he be found in his hand, he shall surely be put to death.” Spoke the approaching buck, his voice still sent shivers down my spine. “In a world filled with misery and uncertainty, it is a great comfort to know that, in the end, there is still light in the darkness.”

“You sound… well, you don’t sound upset.” The scarred pony didn’t smile or frown as I spoke.

“I am glad to see you alive, glad to see things went the way they were meant to, and glad to see hope.” He replied. Caliber stood by, trying to disengage herself as Damascus stared intently at me.

“What do you mean? Do you know what happened?” I wondered how much Caliber had told him already.

“Oh yes, I realized as soon as they sent out their recovery party. I realized they would bring back nothing but bad news and tragic tidings. And I am always happy to see the Goddesses’ will done.”

“What do your Goddesses have to do with this?” I asked, tentatively.

“They are the ones that people of the Faith strive to impress for their entire lives. It is by their word that we live and their rules are what we adhere to. What we aspire to succeed in is their perpetration, to continue their good work through our living.” He paused and regarded me. “And whether you realize it or not, you have done so.” He looked at Caliber, “Both of you.”

“How much do you know?” I wondered if he wanted a full recount of our rescue.

“Enough to speculate as to what you two did, once our visitors became concerned for their friends, they began to talk. They were harvesting Slaves from raider groups that had offered to collect for them in the past, I assume you saw that.” Replied the potentially ancient Stable-pony.

“We stopped that.” Interjected Caliber, adding after a pause: “It was Grace’s idea.”

“How?” he seemed genuinely intrigued.

“We triggered a fight between the Slavers and the Raiders, threw a grenade at the toll from a concealed location. Grace herded the prisoners to safety while I mopped up the runaways, twenty enemies dead, and only a single casualty.” Caliber reported proudly. “Unfortunately one of the Slaves didn’t make it.”

“All the… Slavers… are dead?” asked Damascus.

“All the raiders too, she meant it when she said she mopped up the runaways.” I gave Caliber a nod. “She wanted to make sure it looked like a two-way fight, no outside involvement. The last pony left alive was a Slaver, he was nailed up to the toll, we… we let him bleed to death.” I admitted.

“Did he say anything?” he addressed Caliber knowingly, it was clear that I wasn’t the interrogator.

“Nothing useful, Ominous… but not useful. He said that we should forget the raiders and be more afraid of who the Slavers themselves are working for. Mean anything to you?”

“People will say anything when their dying, they’ll pray to Gods they’ve never believed in, they’ll turn to people who they’ve always hated for help and they’ll do anything to make their last moments important.” Damascus dismissed, presumably drawing from experience. “I wouldn’t invest any concern the last words of some dying coward. I wouldn’t ignore them either…”

“I didn’t think so either.” Caliber offered.

“We’re taking action whether or not there was any merit to the sinner’s words, I assure you. If he was telling the truth and there is another player in this game then they will undoubtedly make their intentions more obvious in time, and we need to be ready. If he was lying and we already know what were up against then we will be free to make our own intentions known, and we will need to be ready.”

“So all the truth changes is who will be surprising who?” I asked.

“So we need to be prepared, regardless of whether we are going to be on the giving or on the receiving end.” Concurred the mare beside me.

“Exactly, and I would ask assistance of you in this trying time.” Damascus gave us a moment to reject his request. We stood listening, intrigued together. “Thank you, I have a daunting task to ask of you, though any task is daunting when compared with complacency. But from what I know, you value doing good work over the appeal of concession, and I doubt you will balk at the responsibility I wish to bestow.”

I started to think that the raider mission had been some kind of test. How else could he be so sure that he could trust me, he now practically acted like he knew me.

“If being ready matters more than any information we could possibly find, why send us to the toll in the first place?” I investigated. “Was it a test?”

“I didn’t intend it to be, and yet it worked out that way, as things of relevance tend to do. I need to know I can rely on you to make a decision when faced with such a choice,” he spoke directly to me. “Caliber is the most capable mercenary I have met, the one I trust the most, but to succeed in this she needs somebody like you travelling with her.” The mare didn’t look offended, just interested. “Because not everything is black and white, and sadly, in the world we live in, it takes someone who is a little naïve to see things differently. I was the same way when I was damned, the reason I seem to know you is that, decades ago, I was faced with the same tests challenging you now.” He backed up. “But I failed.”

“And now you’re making up for it.” I deduced.

“Every day.” Confirmed the mutilated buck. “Over the last few decades I have taken a new challenge upon myself, protecting from those who seek to destroy. I thought that if I couldn’t save the wasteland I could at least make it my mission to defend a part of it. I could found a place where the word of the Goddesses was taught to those who would receive their teachings. It was to be a place where travelers from the West and outcast from the Stable could take shelter, but again I failed.” He professed.

“You couldn’t have predicted the Slavers.” I said, attempting to comfort the constantly remorseful buck.

“A group taking control of the largest functioning mode of transportation to expand their growing choke-hold on the wasteland?” he chuckled. “A child could have predicted that. But legends of the Steel Rangers, the buffalo tribes of the Great Plains and the wilds of the North gave me hope. And my faith made me blind. Selfishness, cowardice and honor were rife and every light I thought I saw, proved to be nothing more than an illusion of old-world glory or false promises.”

“There’s nothing deplorable about having hope.” I argued.

“I believe that, and that is why I now want to reach out to those illusions, turn them into the lights they could be. The survivors of this wasteland may not have taken action on their own, but they could be rallied, coerced into a unified force that could cleanse the land.” he held. “It would be so easy for all those power-armored traditionalists to wipe the slate, come down from the skies or march across the earth and purify the land, but they don’t. My hope persists that there are still some that would be willing to help within the ranks of the dormant powers dotted across Equestria. We just need to call them out.”

“Is that what you need us to do?” asked Caliber

“Yes, we need to find allies, build a resistance. Otherwise we might as well run for the wilds and leave the stragglers to be picked over by the Evils that inherit the land as we abandon it.”

“How can they just ignore the threat of destruction? Why wouldn’t they fight?” I inquired.

“They aren’t under threat of destruction, we are. Some of the groups you may find will be strong, strong enough to have survived the war itself, but the longer they have survived the more secluded they have become. The wasteland itself is a threat to them, something they wish to detach themselves from. They will not die out, but they will let everything around them. Convincing them to care is the challenge.” Damascus explained.

“Sounds like you’re talking about the Steel Rangers.” Caliber piped in.

“They are the primary example of this mentality, others share similar beliefs but none do so in such extremes. Despite this, I have learned that they are also vastly different from themselves in some examples. Their group is based on an ancient order; they follow a common set of laws that, like religion, is interpreted in many different ways. This makes them both vitally important and incredibly dangerous.”

“How do we deal with that kind of uncertainty?” I continued to question.

“Information will give us course. I have heard rumors that some members of the Rangers would kill dozens of innocents to claim a single technological prize, approaching a sect like that asking for help, could be suicidal. But there is a chapter located somewhere in Calvary, essentially our only option as I have heard of no others that are anywhere near this area. The North is not a place that they spread to, but during the war they came to that city, and there they have stayed, for generations.”

“You’ve been alive for decades,” Caliber pointed out, “Why don’t you know anything about them?”

“The distant reaches of the South have taken most of my years, and besides, I know just as well as Charon does… they don’t take kindly to ghouls or the like. They’re nothing if not patriotic puritans. Others made that very obvious.” I imagined there was a story behind that.

“If we don’t even know where their base is and, even if we find it, will most likely be turned away, how are we supposed to get any information, or decide if we should even try to convince them?” I felt a little out of the loop after the mention of these ‘Steel Rangers’ but it seemed nopony here knew much more than I did about them, which was comforting.

“Because you two aren’t going to be the ones getting the information. You will simply find a means for the pony who can. If we have a reliable source of information, this whole process will become a lot more manageable. We need somebody who can have eyes everywhere, but first we need to give them sight.”

“I see where this is going!” exclaimed Caliber excited to have figured it out. I stared on in ignorance.

“You need to talk to the DJ.” Damascus revealed.

“DJ Pon3? But his signal cuts out just East of here,” I had tried to tune into his frequency again, earlier this morning, to no avail. “And Calvary must be in that dead zone. Surely he can’t know about a place that his broadcast doesn’t even reach.”

“I don’t think we’re going east, Grace.” Again the worldly mare was a step ahead of me.

“The only way that DJ could possibly be spread as wide as he is, is through the MASEBS system. A buck whose logs I read while in the Stable, worked on the construction of one of the towers.” I suppressed my desire to question Damascus as he spoke. “It’s supposedly to the west; I know it must remain intact because it’s still broadcasting the Galaxy News Radio frequencies this far. If you can contact the DJ through it then you can find out why he is blind and mute in the North East, and if there is a way to fix the problem… then we’ll have our eyes.”

“That tower must be very far away,” Caliber expressed “If the signal cuts out just nearby then we’d need to travel the range of a powerful broadcast of radio waves to get to it.”

“That’s why I needed ponies that I could trust, commitment to this kind of journey takes more motivation than money could possibly provide. More likely anybody I sent would head south to Canterlot or even Manehattan as soon as they got out of this valley.”

“If you couldn’t trust them to go alone.” I pressed him. “Why not go along with… why don’t you?”

“The safety of Hell is, as ever, unsure; even if the Coltilde had left I would have to decline. I have some fires to start.” He answered vaguely. “You won’t be able to come into town until the Slavers leave Grace, but if you would like to pick up anything I assume Caliber will be heading down to collect her… baby.”

“Wait you mean I can go into town?” Caliber had assumed she wouldn’t have been able to.

“Until the search team comes back, the town is open and you can get whatever you need, once they return it will most certainly be on lock-down until the Slavers leave or… take action.”

“Alright, then I’d better hurry.”

“Charon will take you.” Damascus dismissed. The mare understood that he wanted to talk to me, gave me a nod, and then ran up the road to meet her fellow gun for hire. I watched her go, glad to have made a sort-of-friend before I was given this task, a sort-of-friend who I was tasked to work with no less.
“I need you to trust me, Grace.” Damascus said, after his two employees had gone.

“I have no reason not to; we share the same intentions after all. I wouldn’t be taking this job if I didn’t trust you.” I reminded him.

“I think you would have.” He countered “I think you are.”
He unstrapped the ornate box from his side and stared at it, emotively, with a forlorn look of nostalgia.
“Do you value memories?” he asked.

“Of course, they make up everything I know of my past, and everything I do will be recorded as one, there the fabric making up what I know of my life.” I recited.

“What if you could see somebody else’s memories, pieces of the fabric that make up another’s past?” His sharp blue eyes almost seemed to glint, spiting the face around them and its decayed appearance.

“That would be amazing!” the hypothetical excited me. “I’ve always been interested in logs and memoirs from the past, and from another’s perspective. Viewing a memory, would be like… reliving a moment in time, sharing it with the pony who first felt the experience.”

“It’s possible. There were technologies produced that allowed one to walk in the steps of another, to take a glance at the paths that they had followed, through their eyes, while still retaining the presence of consciousness to feel it for yourself.” He placed the case on the ground between us.
“There were also technologies available that could alter your own mind, achieve the opposite effect, and record a moment from your own life for others to see. Make you able to give your most intimate moments so that another could understand who you truly are.” He left the case and looked back at me.

“Do you have access to these devices? Have you ever had that experience?” I wondered if the contents of the box were the marvels he spoke of. If they could actually be real.

“I didn’t, but a long time ago I met someone who was learned in the field. Not as we understood it, but who held another branch of understanding and knowledge. I had never recorded a memory on any other medium than my own mind, but to share was not my intention, to receive was not my request. I asked her to tear parts of my life away, to sever the link I held to certain moments and place them in a medium that I could not access.” He clicked open the box. “To store them in a way that kept them separate, but safe.”

I stared down at the row of small spheres cushioned in the soft material of the compartment. They were pure, undaunted and smooth, and they reflected the white misty sky in their perfect faces. Each was tinted a different shade, they were predominantly a deep silver but their cores shone a deeper, symbolic color. I counted and registered all six before Damascus snapped the case shut under his hoof.

“Those are…memories?” I guessed, tantalizing the implausible possibility that he was implying.

“Yes, they used to be mine. Now they belong to whoever I impart them to.” He met my eyes.

“Did you wipe away things you regret?” I wondered why he would choose to give these to me. “What right do I have to see the things you no longer want to remember? Why should I know what you have done?”

“They aren’t regrets, at least not meaningful ones. Every mistake I’ve made, every sin I’ve committed: I’ve kept. You cannot simply erase your actions, as you must repent for them.” He winced in the cutting breeze. “These are things I no longer needed, sentimentalities and history that was holding me back, clouding my judgment, keeping me in the past.”

“Parts of your old life, the Stable?” The buck had not said much about the circumstances that had resulted in his damnation, he had claimed that he was falsely extradited, but maybe he simply could no longer remember.

“Partly, yes, though I retain enough memory of that place to know that I do not miss it.” He thought he did not miss it, maybe this was the reason he wanted these memories removed, to forget what he had lost. “My curiosity got the better of me when I was younger, I tried to have one relayed back to me, recited by somebody with the capabilities to view the shards of my life that I could not.” His expression was grim. “The fact that I gave up after just one should tell you that I did not like what I heard.”

“You kept them though.” I pointed out “They have to mean something to you.”

“They are extensions of myself, sometimes I wonder if there are truths stored in there that I need to know, pieces of my past that could possibly affect how I am seen in the eyes of the Goddesses. But I’ve always believe my actions have consequences; it would have taken a great moment of weakness on my part to erase something that I deserved to remember as punishment for my sins.”

“Why give them to me?” I was perplexed. “I don’t even know how to use them. Surely they are safer here with you.”

“Their safety is part of the reason you need to keep them. With you safeguarding them, they will not share the same fate that I am threatened with here.” I could tell this wasn’t enough reason for him to give them to me. “But I give these gifts… these burdens, to you as an offering of trust. I wanted to talk to you, explore my theory that we have more in common than is apparent, but we no longer have that option.”

“I’m not as important as you make me out to be.” I admitted, insisting my own incompetence. “I achieved nothing in the Stable; I would never need to erase my memories of that place because there isn’t anything there that’s relevant enough to miss.” Mother exerted. “My life is barely worth remembering.”

“So you’ve achieved more in one day outside of that cowards den than you have in your entire life.” He pointed out. “There’s so much good that can be done out here, so much that needs to be corrected. Your willingness to try makes you important.”

“Trying doesn’t make anypony important, we still have to see if all your faith in me pays off.” I rejected his assessment. “Besides, these are as unusable to me as they are to you.” I prodded the box.

“That horn on your head, says different.” He smiled “New Calvary was always beautiful, but during the war it became industrious, factories and working towns dot the ancient landscape, the fires of manufacturing and war still burn in some places in the city. It has always been a place for the earth, a place where magical revolution only occurred during the war, the home of traditionalists. A unicorn is a rare thing amongst the descendants of that great city.” I had met just as many unicorns as I had Pegasus out in the wasteland. Perhaps one or two of the dead raiders or slavers had been unicorns, but the only one I had actually spoken to had been the little filly at the toll.

“They’re magical devices?” I couldn’t imagine being able to unlock such complex pieces of archano-technology with my modest abilities. “Don’t they require a specific spell to access?”

“They create an intimate magical link with the user, this can be created by any focal spell on the orbs, a telekinetic hold would presumably be the simplest method.” He explained. “Once bonded you stay within the memory for as long as it runs. I warn you that unnatural attempts at escaping the link can cause massive magical and mental damage, similar to the effects of a broken or corrupt orb.”

“You know an awful lot about the usage of these for an earth pony.” I commented.

“The mare who extracted and stored these shards was a great friend to me, I demanded an in depth explanation of the magic behind these devices before I let her expose my mind to them. Few know the value of these orbs; you may even find them in abandoned, scavenged ruins or other remnants of the old world. I even met a roving trader who offered me one for an ashamedly low price.” He reminisced. “They are ornaments to the every-man, trinkets to someone out of the know, but to those who understand them, they have potentially infinite worth.”

“Sounds like even more reason you shouldn’t give these to me.” I didn’t think I wanted the responsibility of protecting and invading pieces of his life. “I trust you, you don’t need to justify your motivations...”

“It’s about more than trust. You could learn from my losses.” He picked up the box and forced it into my saddlebags. “There are moments in there that could give you insight on the Stable, on the wasteland, on anything. And I have held onto them for too long.” I didn’t remove the case from my bags, as my curiosity outweighed my insecurities. “I removed those memories to forget the past, and yet I never let them go. Taking them, even losing them, would be a kindness to me.”

“I won’t lose them, but I understand your reasons.” I assured him “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me until you know what I have given you, be careful not to attach yourself to pieces of the past like those, I have seen sane ponies become lost in them.” He referred to memory orbs in general, not just his own. “My soul is as scarred as my body, if I did resort to cowardice; there could be fragments of wrongdoings I no longer remember held in those orbs. Remember who you are when you enter one; never forget you are a watcher, not the sinner himself.” He warned.

Before I could even struggle to think of something to say, Caliber came bounding over the hill and down the road. She was skipping and bouncing, I laughed as I watched Charon come trudging along behind her, grim as ever, like a frustrated parent forced to follow an exited child. Damascus turned to regard his two loyalists as they approached. The reason for Caliber’s happiness became clear, ridiculously enough, as I noticed the long black gun strapped to her side. It was an admittedly beautiful marksman carbine, ordained with symbols like tattoos on its magazine port and back. Most distinguishable was Caliber’s own cutie-mark, the black and white crosshairs, blazoned just above the ammunition magazine. It didn’t look like here ‘battle-saddle’ was operable as the gun was strapped onto her body rather than equipped.

“The team is back together!” she exclaimed as she landed from her last bounce. I felt a pang of jealousy towards the gun and gave it an intimidating look, remembering it was inanimate, I stopped myself short.

“Are we ready to go, Caliber?” I asked, as Charon began to talk quietly to Damascus.

“Picked up some of my ammunition,” she chucked some boxes into my bag, though they didn’t look like energy cells.” And my satchel,” se wiggled her side showing off the tan bag slung over her. “And all my relatively edible food, along with non-lethally radiated water to wash it down.” She passed me a few bottles of dirty liquid. “Don’t worry, I got enough Rad-away to negate the serious effects. “

“Sounds…good” I would worry about radiation later. “I have to ask though: why bother bringing your gun considering that you can’t even use it?”

“Well, I figured since you gave me your pistol from the Stable” she extended her leg to display the holstered weapon. “I owe you.” I smiled back at her, picking up on the incomprehensible severity she held to the act of sharing her prized ordinance. “Besides we might find somebody who can repair it.”

“If you’re both ready to depart, then I will leave you. Charon has expressed his concerns for what may happen if I am not in town when the search party returns.” Injected Damascus “I need to be there, put their suspicions to rest, if not…”

“Understood, boss.” Replied Caliber “Good luck.”

“The West is barren, danger, raiders and unknowable atrocities abide, few allies will you find. However you should not overlook any potential friends you encounter. The more help we can get, the better.” He concluded. The four of us exchanged formal nods before the two bucks made their way back to Hell.

“That went well.” I said, disguising the question as a statement.

“Damascus will let you know if you’ve failed him, but he won’t gripe about risks or danger if he thinks the motivation or outcome ahead of them is sound.” She pessimistically countered. “Just because he isn’t upset doesn’t mean there aren’t going to be repercussions. He may even suffer under them.”

“Does he think that the ends justify the means? No matter how abstract?” we began walking along the highway, heading west towards the end of the valley.

“Probably, it’s hard to tell what he thinks.” I thought about the pieces of his mind that I now carried along with me in the ornate box. “Though I haven’t known him long, I got here pretty recently.”

“So which direction did you come from? Where were you before Hell?” I kicked a small pebble along the path with me, making a game out of it as we walked down the highway.

“West, I lived on one of the farms in what open land there is under the forests.” She began to kick her own pebble. “Haven’t been back that way since the Slavers arrived in force.”

“You grew up on a farm?” The idea of Caliber as a farm-filly was an odd thing to imagine. Heck, a functioning farm in the wasteland was an odd thing to imagine.

“Barely, and it only used to be a farm. As you can imagine there isn’t much of a food industry anymore.” She validated my doubts. “I was born there but left soon after; it was a shelter for us.”

“You and your parents?” I asked. Caliber kept walking but stopped kicking her pebble. The small rock was left behind, another piece of ruin on the highway.

“Me and my mother mostly. She didn’t really have a choice but to be there when I was born, and she was kind enough to try and raise me for a few years. I appreciate her for that.” She sighed. “My father was a trader apparently, moved around a lot, so I didn’t see him much. He just didn’t come back once.”

“I’m sorry. My father was the same; he was damned from the Stable before I could even speak.” I confessed, feeling that the loss of the relationship between father and daughter weighed heavily on Caliber; though I had always felt unaffected by the missing buck who I had never known.

“Trust me, it’s better that you never met.” She pined. “What did he do to get the boot?”

“I never asked, my mother passed away before I was old enough to know about stuff like that.” I had lost my pebble down the road a ways and focused on the conversation. “It would have had to have been murder, or something almost as severe to warrant… ‘The boot’” I used her jovial term for damnation.

“Doesn’t sound like life in the Stable was as ideal as it was meant to be, huh?” she chuckled.

“Just look where I ended up. The problem with a system of authority is that it can be abused.” I thought for a moment. “Although I suppose that also applies out here, in a simpler way.”

“Power may not be held in the form of any kind of government, but the pony with the most guns can create his own authority. And he would probably use it for nothing but abuse.” She confirmed.

It upset me to see the patterns we drew between the Stable’s corruption and the wasteland’s cruelty. Seeing what the ‘civilized’ ponies in the Stable were capable of made me hope that the old world hadn’t descended into war for the same reasons as that I was damned: Because of a few traditionalistic bigots who deceived the public and assumed control to get their way.

I could see the end of the Middle Passage’s northern mountain range through the mist. The implied black form of the largest mountain on the horizon suggested that the mountains beyond the closer range stretched further than it. As did the mountains of the Middle Passage’s southern range. Looking at it another way, the two valleys could be considered a single one, with a smaller line of mountains running down its middle. I would ask Caliber what the other valley was called when we started heading north.

For now we walked along the cracked and charred highway, it served as a guide through the thinning mist. This area must have been used exclusively for transport before the war, a transit valley judging by the highway and train tracks. No ruins dotted the landscape around us, the rails lay to the north, like a long spine stretching across Equestria, but apart from it the land was undeveloped and empty. I assumed that since we had seen a railway station for maintaining and fuelling the trains passing through the passage then there must be a similar station for the cars on this highway.

“Is there a gas station coming up?” I inquired out of curiosity.

“You running low?”

“No,” I giggled. “I’m just curious.”

“Yep, just ahead in fact. I was only planning to get off the road as soon as we reached the uplifted stretch of highway, so we’ll pass it.” She seemed confused as to why I cared.

“Okay.” We settled back into the comfortable silence caused by the world’s distracting effect on me. While Caliber marched quietly next to me, my eyes and mind were desperately taking in everything around us. It was all so new to my perception, and the most mundane, simplistic things attracted my interest. The mist was slowly peeling back, revealing more and more of the landscape for me to see.

“You seem to like it.” Caliber noted on my fascination.

“It’s so different from what I’m used to.” I justified. “I know it sounds weird but there seems to be more life out here than there ever was in the Stable, at least in terms of personality, or beauty.”

“Would you trade it? Willingly I mean.”

“I don’t think I could live in that kind of security ever again. Knowing about what ponies out here have to survive. I would feel guilty to sit idly by in safety while they suffered.” The road cut through the uneven landscape, I stopped looking around as we passed through a ridge that blocked my view on either side.

“That’s honorable, but you can’t blame somebody for wanting to feel safe.” She mused. “What I meant was, forget what you know now, and think to what your life was like before. Would you trade it back?”

“No.” I didn’t need to think hard. “I had no sense of purpose in there, I was unemployed and alone, even now the prospect of having a job, a task even, feels foreign and exiting because of that.” I took pause to consider how others might have felt. “But I suppose if you were happy, content with your contribution to the Stable, then leaving would feel like losing your destiny.” I struggled to imagine how ponies like Mint Julep, whose cutie-mark was a triplicate of flowers symbolizing teaching, could find purpose in a world where other ponies had cutie marks of mutilated organs or instruments of imprisonment.

“I’ve never felt safe, that’s why I ask, I can’t remember a single moment when I felt absolutely, unarguably secure. There’s always something to be afraid of, no matter how tough you are.” Caliber looked forlorn. “So I wonder sometimes what it would be like.”

“I would be in the wrong to act like it wasn’t better in there.” I confessed. “Life was simpler, ponies were happier, if I ignore what happened to me and Shady Sands, it was almost a utopia. I wouldn’t go back now, realistically, but I do wish everypony could live like that, without the obvious flaws of course.”

“Even the world before the bombs had flaws, evil, it’s still what we compare ourselves to. The closest ideal for a good life we can imagine is to live in old Equestria.” She looked up into the now visible black and gray clouds. “And the surviving Stables are the closest things to that ideal. That’s why I wonder about them sometimes.” I stopped in my tracks.

“What do you mean, surviving Stables?” She had made a mistake, there was only one.

“From what I hear most of them failed some way or the other, and now there are only a few dozen left operational.” She answered calmly.

“A few…dozen.” I was aghast “There were dozens of Stables!?”

“How many did you think they made?” she asked dryly.

“One.” I was paralyzed; my eyes fleeted to the gravel as I processed this new information. Dozens of Stables, hundreds of ponies, we weren’t the only ones. We weren’t the last light of Equestria.

“Grace, there’s a company called Stable-Tec, STABLE-tec! How could you think there was only one?” she admonished me.

“This is impossible… my whole life… the responsibility we had… The basis for Ascension was that the purest inhabitants would eventually come to rebuild Equestria. We were supposed to be all that was left! We had lived our entire lives under that obligation, the Commissary had killed to protect the last safe place in the world, not just one of dozens! Why would we lie to ourselves like that?!” My internal monologue had burst out and I muttered and stammered the thoughts that raced through my head.

“You lost me at ‘Ascension’” I wasn’t listening to Caliber. She was too calm, too relaxed. My world was spinning too fast for me to keep track of her.

“Where are they!?” I demanded.

“Grace, what’s the big deal?” she asked slowly, recognizing my impending volatility.

“Ponies have died because we didn’t have this information! They’ve committed themselves to living a lie! Damnation puts you out in the barren wasteland that is Equestria, no civilization, no security. Ascension keeps you alive until the Stable rises up to take back the land, to revive Equestria! It was supposed to be simple! It was supposed to be our job to save the world!” what little merit I saw behind the Stable’s system came crashing down, we weren’t the only ones, some had even opened their doors and yet Equestria was still the same mess that Stable’s were supposed to be able to fix.
“Are there Stables open? What happened to the ones that failed?” I frantically asked.

“I’ve never been inside one, but apparently most of them didn’t even make it a few decades after the war. That’s what Damascus says anyway.” She tried to keep calm, grounding me in my panic.

“We would have failed…” I realized. “We couldn’t have changed a thing.” If Stables had opened simply to be destroyed by what awaited them in the wasteland then Shady Sand’s plan had truly been destined to fail. The world had become a place beyond damnation, it had become worse than any of our ancestors could have predicted. I was starting to think Equestria could no longer be saved. “Saber was right.”

Caliber sat by as I curled up onto the road. I needed to think, to try and convince myself that we would have done better, that our Stable could still fulfill its destiny. How was I supposed to make a difference when entire technological marvels had failed? When bands of educated, healthy, uncorrupted ponies had succumbed to the Wastes. Shady would have opened the doors… the Slavers and the Raiders would have come for us… we weren’t fighters. I had seen more guns out here than I had ever seen in the Stable. We weren’t going to fix Equestria by being educated and generous; we would have been snuffed out before we had the chance. All our technological gifts would have been stolen. All the ascended would have extracted from their pods and turned into slaves. Saber had saved the Stable. I deserved to be out here. The Commissary had done its job and Shady Sands had died for her wrongful ambition, justly.

“I don’t understand what you’re going through.” Caliber placed a hoof comfortingly on me. “But I’m sorry that you’re upset.” She was speaking slowly, carefully, as if I was insane.

“My Stable was taught that we were all that was left…” I explained, hoping to justify my reaction, stroking my tail for some semblance of comfort all the while. “We built our lives around this belief, our justice system, our aspirations…” I sat up. “I was kicked out because I believed we could save Equestria… on our own. My friend was killed because she wanted to open the doors and try to heal the world. I’m realizing now that we would have failed.” I looked into her eyes. “I’m realizing that the ponies who killed my friend and framed me for her murder… lied to the whole Stable and ruined two lives… did the right thing.” It was bitter, the truth, it cut deeply into my body, making me feel cold and sick all at once.

She didn’t say anything, I knew she couldn’t understand. The world being dangerous and seemingly untamable was nothing new to her. She never thought that it could be saved; no one I had met had referred to this land as Equestria, just as the wasteland. They all knew how much it had changed, how many of the old-world values and privileges had died. I should have realized after I heard that Slavers controlled the Railways, that raiders terrorized the roads, that small towns cowered in the darkness as ponies evacuated to the few remaining places where they might survive, I should have realized that a few hundred ponies from a hole in the ground would not have been able to save the world.
Caliber hugged me, she knew I was upset; I was shaking but couldn’t move from where I sat. It was too much to take in, too much to think about.

“Just because you can’t bring Equestria back to what it was, doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t try. Most will die before anybody can rescue them, and no one can kill every evil. Even if we liberate the railway and kill hundreds of Slavers and Raiders, there will be slavery and cruelty surviving in the wasteland, and you will never do as much good as you wish you were able to. But that doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t try.” Caliber spoke softly and passionately. “I’ve lost a lot of hope, a lot of my innocence and faith, but I still go on, for better or worse. You’re the purest embodiment of those traits that I have ever seen Grace, so you can’t let this change you. Remember what you believe and why you believe it. Don’t let the truth of the wasteland ruin you. Please… tell me you won’t let it change you.” It seemed as if I had become her paragon, a harbinger of the Stables, an ideal for the ponies that a better world was supposed to create… If I couldn’t beat the wasteland, if the old-world couldn’t win, how could she think to even try?

“Thank you Caliber…” I couldn’t promise that, but I could act. “It’s a lot… too much to take in at once.”

“If you could see some of the things out here,” she promised “You could realize that there is good that still needs to be protected.” She was right; I would be strong for her, she was the evidence to her own reassurances. I forcefully corralled the biting doubts to the back of my mind, they weren’t important now; they didn’t have to cripple me if I could just ignore them.

“I don’t need proof.” I returned her hug, shakily standing up. “Maybe the Stable couldn’t have succeeded in its mission but we surely could have done something. Anything is better than sitting and waiting in an excess of benefits without even acknowledging those suffering just outside a door. Shady Sands wasn’t right to believe we could have changed the world alone, but she was right to think we had to do something, and I agreed with her for that very reason.” I smiled at Caliber grateful for her encouragement.

“Keep up that attitude and you’ll be able to convince that DJ to do anything.” She was glad to see me feeling better, I was glad to have a more-than-sort-of-friend.

“Do you think the signal is any clearer here?” I asked, desperately taking the opportunity to change the subject from my near loss of faith. The wasteland seemed more daunting every minute; hopefully Galaxy News Radio would have something positive to report.

“That Pip-buck is a technological marvel compared to my radio; I’d give it a try with that if I were you.”

“A technological marvel with no broadcasting abilities.” I noted as I slid through the menus on the white screen. ‘Galaxy News Radio’ stood out, labeled, in the radio section. I picked up the frequency.

I cut into the middle of a song. I turned a dial and the sound radiated from my Pip-buck, loud enough so that Caliber could easily hear it too. Violins were playing, softly and sweetly with the deeper sound of a bass instrument in the background. The sound was much clearer than it had been in Acheron, but a little static still came through. Despite it, I noticed a distinct difference in the signature of the instruments from- what I was used to. The Stable music had always been produced magically, I had never heard an actual instrument before, but something about the natural flaw of the radio broadcast made me think it was the real thing. Were it not for the Static it would have felt immersive, as if somepony was playing the music live somewhere nearby, just for us.

Sadly, the song was coming to an end, the violins and bass were signing off a singing voice that I had not heard, ending a song that I did not know. They slowed and swayed together as, one by one, they seemed to stop, degenerating perfectly into a brief moment of silence.

“That was Sweetie Belle, the voice of another time, with ‘Wish upon a Star’, a song that’s been topping the charts for nearly two hundred years.” The usually, previously explosive buck spoke with a soft respectful tone, as if he wished to honor the age old music.

“You’re listening to Galaxy News Radio, we’re Radio Free Wasteland and we’re here, for you.” For a moment I thought a different buck was speaking. Then the DJ picked up his energetic mannerisms once again, breaking the air of calm as he let loose into his usual hyper-charged persona.

“Boy, do I have some news for you! It’s going to be a little bit of both sides of the coin today, children. We’re living in a bipolar time so get ready for some ups and downs in today’s report…” Caliber and I walked along in our personal silence, listening intently.

“First things first, the dark and gritty, I know this isn’t what you always want to hear but unless you’ve got your head in the clouds you’ve got to expect some bad news once in a while. So you kids know all about what’s been going down across the railways of the North recently, don’t you?” he paused “Of course you don’t! That’s why I have a job! Now we all know raiders are trouble, but they’re unorganized, stupid, savages... No offense mother.” I hoped he was joking.

“Slavers on the other hand, have both the brains and the weapons to outwit and outgun most any raider. But unfortunately, that’s not who they’ve been appointing their attention to. One group of Slavers has spread themselves wide, and I mean wide folks, further than yours truly can even broadcast in fact. And they’ve been snatching up ponies all across the North. They got themselves comfortably situated far above dearest Canterlot, and from there they send out collectors to any settlement their railway passes by.” Looks like the DJ shared our concerns.

“Now this is one line, children, with one set of tracks, and they’ve taken ponies from east to west. But you’d think it’d be easy to stop them right? You’re feeling like a hero thinking you’ll go set some explosives on that ‘one line’ and stop those Slavers short, right? Not happening children. These tracks are nearly indestructible; war-time defense regulations demanded it. You want to know how I know. DJ Pon3 will tell you. A settlement far to the north-east of Manehattan… has gone quite. And this wasn’t some shanty town that got blown away in a radiation storm, this was Fairmount. I don’t know what happened there but from what I’m hearing, the place no longer exists.” I wondered if the Coltilde had been responsible for this, though it depended on how fresh the DJ’s information was.

“What did they do to deserve this? They resisted. All I know is that a train was bearing down on that town, and now all that’s left of it is silence, apart from the rumors of blast marks around the tracks.” Concluded the DJ, ominously.

“Turn it off, Grace.” Caliber whispered.

“He’s about to get to the good news.” I protested.

“Look ahead.” She insisted. The mist had dispersed almost completely, so the road ahead was clear. A gas station lay a few hundred feet away from us, a safe location at a safe distance. At first I did not see what was causing Caliber’s alarm. The roof over the exposed gas pumps was large, it extruded above the station itself, a garage door opened out at one side. Fluorescent lights still flickered despite the midday light and a tall sign stood, narrow and appealingly curved to announce the station to oncoming travelers. Then I saw them. In the shadows, hung underneath the roof, swaying slowly in the wind, were corpses.

Footnote: Level Up!
Perk Added: Bloody Mess: Death is just gorier around you. It should also happen more often now that you have +5% damage. Make some Friends!

Chapter 7: Gravedigger

Fallout Equestria: Sola Gratia
Chapter 7: Gravedigger
“So be it. You’ve dug your own grave. Grave! Grave!”

“Now, like I promised, it’s time for some Good News!” I tuned out of the Galaxy News Radio frequency and cut the DJ off before he could fulfill his promise. Caliber had drawn my attention away, to the grisly scene just ahead.

We stepped slowly and lightly, making our way down the final stretch of road to the gas station. What scenery was visible, now that the mist had cleared, no longer held the interest of my fresh perspective. The gray light of the sun was dim, but covered most of the hanging figures in shadow. Only hooves were visible at this distance, the rest of the corpses above were dark and non-descript. They could pass as mannequin or rag dolls, I told myself, trying to deny the harsh truth. I had experienced enough of the new Equestria to know better however: those were dead bodies.

“Keep your eyes on your E.F.S; and let me know if you see anything.” Whispered the red-headed mare crouched beside me. I had gathered that the small device on her leg served no higher purpose than to tell the time, meaning she had no radar of her own.

“There’s no blood,” I realized as we drew closer. “They died from the hangings.” Disturbingly enough, that seemed unusual to me. I was expecting a mutilation of corpses hung up for display, not a gallows.

“Still, keep alert. Though I think we can assume that this wasn’t the raiders’ doing. It almost looks like…”

“Suicide.” I filled in the blank she had left open. We were now at the edge of the gas station, the bodies hung just above us, five in total: Two mares and three bucks. They didn’t look like a family; they were all around the same age. They wore no armor, and carried no bags, they had either stripped down or been robbed. Their Cutie Marks were exposed, of them; none were graphic or especially distinctive. They were pleasant; I could even imagine seeing them in the Stable: Candles, a Book, the Sun, a Key and a Crescent Moon.

“Decay hasn’t set in.” Caliber appraised the corpses with a different perspective than I did. Though I had some medical experience, I had never performed an autopsy. “They haven’t been here long, all the more reason to stay cautious.” Her voice was low and unnaturally calm.

“The whole area is clear from what I can tell. I think they did this to themselves.” I lit up my horn in golden magic to get a better look at how they were fastened to the roof. Each was attached by the neck to a rope tied to one of the angular metal beams that held up the cover. They hung side by side, at equal distance from the ground. “The question is why.” I stopped my illumination, seeing their faces, limp and suffocated, was unpleasant.

“And how,” Caliber added. “Look at how they’re suspended, it’s almost like they’re arranged.”

“They may have used that,” I pointed to an adjustable step ladder behind the open garage door at the far end of the station. It didn’t look culpable; it rested seemingly undisturbed as an inadvertent witness.

“That means they went one by one. Then somebody put the ladder back.” She didn’t seem convinced.
“Let’s check out the shop.” The building just outside of the roof’s cover was vividly branded ‘Quick-Stop’; fluorescent lights still flickered inside, revealing how empty it was.
“Why do you think they did it here?” I asked as we walked over to the store.

“When’s the last time you had a roof over your head?” her question answered mine. As we entered the jammed open doors of the store it was made apparent why they hadn’t used this area. The ceiling tiles were cracked, gaping holes revealed the swirling clouds, as half the roof had collapsed in on the building. There wasn’t much to see, the building was a barren ruin, the bare shelves reminded me of the Supermarket in Acheron, but I didn’t relish the fresh nostalgia.

The side of the store that wasn’t crushed under rubble was where the cashier was located, a booth that opened up to the station outside, so that travelers could pay for gas. Posters remained on the walls, torn and faded; they advertised products from drinks to detergents, the most recognizable being Sparkle-Cola. There was a soda machine outside, decorated in the same style. Another pang for Acheron.

The sky was lighter than I had ever seen it, and instead of a medley of black and gray clouds it was constituted of grays and whites. The holes in the roof allowed us to see without magical intervention and we proceeded to look for any clues as to what had happened.

We found nothing in the store, no packs, clothing or weapons. It was starting to look less like suicide and more like an intricate robbery.

“Do you think they had help?” I asked. It looked like somepony had cleaned up the scene, replacing the ladder and inheriting whatever the five ponies had left behind.

“I wouldn’t call it help.” she stared at the collapsed ceiling, slanted at an angle to the floor. “Let’s try and get a better look at the bodies from up there,” she motioned to the top of the rubble. “Maybe they were dead before they got strung up.”

“I doubt it.” I muttered, it looked like we were both going to stick to our own theories for now. Though I followed her up the slanted concrete anyway, mostly so she wouldn’t worry about me, as she seemed sure that there was a murderer somewhere lingering.

We got our clue at the precipice of the ruin; a plank ran from the store’s roof to the station’s. On the pale blue metal sat the ponies’ belongings, arranged in a circle. We hopped over the gap and clopped our way across the thick metal. Caliber winced at the resulting cacophony. The sound of clanging metal was familiar to me; I almost enjoyed pounding my hooves against the structure’s scratched surface.

From the roof I could see the world, at least that’s what it seemed like. Mountains shot up from the earth to the North and East, the largest marking the end of the range. To the west the highway picked up off the ground and continued smoothly above the sloping land beneath it, a fair distance away it served to the left and curved around the mountain range behind me. To the North West was open, cluttered land, rocks, hills and dead trees kept the landscape interesting and unknown as it stretched into the bleak north. The railway was in that mess somewhere, we would have to cross it to get to the MASEBS tower.

Caliber was staring at me expectantly, now that the mist had cleared I was getting my first look at open land, land that existed beyond distances I could never have imagined possible, needless to say it had distracted me. We were at the circle of disowned belongings and yet I still stared at the world around me. Realizing that I was keeping my companion waiting, I pulled my attention back to the arrangement solemnly constructed before us.

It was almost like a shrine, or an offering, the bags and clothes were arranged in a broken circle around five pieces of technology. This was the brightest spot it the gas station, the light shone through the clouds, gray and pale, down onto the roof. The square metal things were obviously meant to be the focus of the display; their sleek faces almost glinted in the light.

“What are they?” I asked tentatively, hoping not to give too much importance to what could easily just be scrap metal.

“Audio Logs, I think you were right about it being suicide. This looks like a final gesture.” She poked through the packs, checking for signs of pillage or theft.

“Do you think they… do you think they swung off?” thinking back to how the corpses just below us were hung it would make sense that they jumped, necks noosed, from up here.

“Looks like it, that unicorn must have tied up the ropes with magic. They fastened them around their necks and just stepped off the edge over there.” She hypothesized.

“They must have known that the fall wouldn’t have been enough to kill them.” Besides, snapped necks seemed more peaceful than shattered bones and bent bodies laying in the oil stains and dirt below.
“Can we play the logs? Maybe they’re confessions or some explanation to why they resorted to this.”

“I can’t say I’m not a little curious.” She slid the metal squares out of the circle to me. “I haven’t ever seen a group suicide in the middle of nowhere like this.”

“What do I press?” I fiddled with the first one.

“They’re called Holo-disks, you can play them through your Pip-buck’s radio, I think.” She instructed. I checked the menus of my wrist-held device, data, one was labeled. Under it a new name popped up for every disk I put into my saddlebag. They were simply labeled “Final Words #1-5’. I played the first one.

“…”

Through the speakers a slightly tinny scratching and fumbling could be heard, as well as faint murmurs.

“I am Cyrus, and I leave this recording behind to explain why we are going to do this. Why we have to.”
It was a buck’s voice, soft but confident, though I could hear wet sobbing in the background.

“We were subjected to… proof. We saw something that refuted everything we’ve every believed in. A monstrosity against our minds. During our pilgrimage we came across beings that could not exist. Unless the truth we have lived our lives in accordance to has been a lie. We are believers in this truth, no longer.”

My hair stood on end; while we listened we kept our gazes to the horizon, watching for the abominations the resolved buck spoke of. In the far north a satellite tower was almost visible through what mist remained, barely distinguishable as anything but a silhouette amidst the rocks.

“I will spare you the details… I can only say that the faith that kept us living is gone, so we must depart too. I led this pilgrimage, now I will continue to do so; we came to validate our Goddesses, but only succeeded in discovering the irrelevance of our journey, the irrelevance of ourselves. I will lead these ponies into the darkness, where once we believed light awaited, I will lead them to safety, to peace.
I wanted to speak up, to stop him, almost forgetting that what was done was done. We had arrived too late to save the religious band from following each other into death.

“You will follow me?”

“Yes” three voices spoke together.

“Yes.” Wept the last, the voice of the crying mare.

“Don’t do this.” Begged another soft voice, a meek, strangely accented protestor.

“You can stay behind if you want to, but the cold, darkness here is no better than the emptiness of death.” He assured the soft-spoken girl. “Are the ropes secured?”
Whoever had tied them must have given some sign of confirmation as Cyrus continued.
“Leave your testimonies behind if you wish to, my friends, I have nothing more to say.”

The sound of a rope drawing taught, a snap, and another cry followed the last words of Cyrus.
The log stopped, the soft tinny static that announced it cut out, leaving us in each other’s silence.
Without saying a word I played the next one, Caliber didn’t protest.

“Harvest, please…” another buck, less calm than the former, more emotional.

“Please don’t cry. We’ll go one after the other. You and me. Just promise that you will find peace before you jump. You can’t leave the world like this.”

“Al-alright.” Sputtered the mare. “Let’s go at once, as one, we can hold each other.”

“The sun and moon together. Can we do it Lockbox? Will it hold?”

“The beam is rusted, structure is weak.” The third of the three bucks paused; his voice had been deep but gentle. “It’s worth the risk. These are our final moments. As hard as that is to believe.”

“We all saw them… what other explanation could there be? We are lost already.”

“No matter what you believe, we can survive together!” protested the other mare. “This is pointless!”

“You’re too young to understand, you’ll realize one day… You’ll follow us.” Said Harvest’s buck.

“I’m ready…” the crying had stopped; I could hear Harvest and the buck kiss. “Do you want to say anything for the recording?”

“I love you.” The buck kicked off the roof, the mare following in his embrace. I could almost hear her whisper the words back to him as they fell.

Two ropes drawing tight, two snaps, no cry. The log stopped.
This time I didn’t move on to the next one.

Again we didn’t speak; we both absorbed what we had just heard, interpreting it and justifying it as much as we could. We stared at the horizon, visible sky in the distance. The tower sat atop another range of mountains, separated from the large black one I had seen when I came out of the Stable by a gap of relatively flat land that continued out of Equestria, out from under the clouds. The Tower Mountains ran far away from the ones around us, they were perpendicular to them but did not connect. They curved, forming a longitudinal border along the West, containing all the land within. Typed on a terminal, the landscape as I knew it would look like an open bracket, a space, then three hyphens stacked on top of each other, the middle one shorter than the other two. We sat at the base of the lowest line. Caliber wondering what possible benefits a belief that could drive one to suicide could have, and me berating myself for comparing the vast landscape of Equestria to symbols on a keyboard.

I played the third log.

“So Ah’m next then?” asked a mare who had been quite up to this point. We knew now that there was a survivor, six voices, and five corpses. Her accent was also strange like the surviving mare’s, but in a very different way, like an extreme version of Caliber’s.

“Unless you want to go with me?” suggested Lockbox.

“Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this.”

“It’s too late for them, but if you have any doubt in your mind… please don’t.” Came the voice of the presumably alive mare. She sounded rejuvenated at the speaker’s reluctance.
“I tried to convince them for hours, their minds were made up, but if you can still see reason…”

“How can you still believe, Ash?” asked Lockbox. “You saw them, Hell you killed one.”

“We ahll killed it…

“What if you’re wrong? What if the Goddesses do exist? Suicide is a mortal sin!”

“They were alicorns Ash!” shouted the buck. “Like the Godde- Princesses! There is no one watching over us! If those epitomes of sin can even exist you have to know that this isn’t the world we thought it was!”
His fear fueled his anger. “We were lied to! We were fools! We are alone!”

Another snap interrupted their argument. The mare had jumped.

“Goddesses…”

The log stopped. There were two logs left, but only one corpse that we hadn’t listened to the death of.

“Should we look for her?” I asked Caliber, snapping her out of her daze.

“Let’s finish the logs first. She doesn’t sound like a threat.” She paused. “More likely she’s vulnerable right now. It sounds like she just watched five of her friends commit suicide,” I nodded.

I knew how this was going to end, the conflict between Ash and Lockbox, I knew he would not be convinced; the dangling body below us was evidence of that. We were going to listen to Ash fail to save her friend. I played the log.

“I’m going to pray for you.”

“Ash, they aren’t up there. No one will hear you.”

“I won’t believe that. Those alicorns were abominations, fabrications, they didn’t mean anything.”

“Cyrus didn’t think so. He was the most devout of all of us, he preached this religion to us only to see it proved false before his very own eyes.”

“He was scared. They all were.” She pleaded, her soft, boreal voice breaking to a borderline of tears. “Think about what you’re doing. You can’t come back from this.”

“That’s the point.” I heard him kick off the metal roof.

“No!” the pounding of hoof steps followed, a body sliding across steel then the familiar pull and snap, followed by a soft thump, stifled by distance.

The log played on, no sound apart from the soft wind and faint static. Eventually I could hear the mare again, she grunted softly, the sound of rubble shifting and wood creaking marked her approach. She must have jumped after Lockbox, reflexively trying to grab onto him before he could fall the length of the short rope. Her tears and pants got louder and louder as she slowly walked towards the holo-disk. It almost sounded as if she was right next to us, then there was a click and the log ended.

“Caliber?”

“Hmm?” She stared intently at my Pip-buck, eyes blank in internal thought.

“What did they mean by alicorn?”

She didn’t answer.

“Caliber?” I prodded her gently.

“You aren’t… religious are you?” She was afraid that I would react similarly to the impossible abominations mentioned on the holo-disks.

“No.”

“Good, that makes them easier to understand… still disturbing to imagine though.” She warned.

“I don’t mind.”

“Well… they aren’t associated with the real Princesses from what I know… this Ash was right to think that they’re a fabrication.” She explained awkwardly. “They must have come from the South; we don’t know much about them here, they’re mysteries everywhere actually.”

“So nopony knows who’s birthing them? Or how?”

“Nope, the DJ talked about them once, but all he’s heard are rumors, that there hard to kill and you should avoid them at all costs.” she amended “They’re very…new, I… can’t really tell you much.”

“Why were they so disturbed by them?”

“They must have been from out East. No Galaxy News, few travelers, and certainly no Alicorns.” Caliber had grown up west of here, I remembered, in the farmlands within the bracket.

“What makes it different here? Why aren’t there any to the East?”

“It could be the cloud. It pretty much fills up Littlehorn valley, though it could also be the cold for all anybody knows. The way the DJ talks about them… it scares me. We’re lucky for whatever makes them stay down in Manehattan or at least anywhere south of Canterlot.”

“Sorry, I don’t really know what you mean.” I leveled with her. “Clouds in Canterlot?”

“Fair enough, if you’re that curious we could try and find some kind of overlook on the mountains there.” She gestured to the South. “Littlehorn is the last valley below this one; if you look at it you can see the cloud for yourself, maybe even Canterlot, or the leaking caves below it.” So it was a bracket then four hyphens stacked on each other, I corrected my simplistic mental rendition of the area.

“Maybe later, for now we should find this Ash pony, see if she’s alright.” I was very curious about the creatures that had driven five ponies to suicide, but more concerned for the mare who had been obligated to watch them do it.

“Alright, she might be able to explain it better than I can anyway.” Her attempts to sate my curiosity were appreciated, but ineffective. Caliber was very awkward about the issue; it was like she was dancing around it trying to avoid actually saying anything. I supposed she was scared of what my reaction might be, when one possibility dangled just below us.

“There’s still one more log.” I pointed out. I had laid the other four back into the circle, not wanting to disturb the memorial Ash had set up for her friends, or the offering of repentance to her Goddesses. The last was still with me, marked Final Words #5 in my Pip-buck. “I want to leave this as it was.” Caliber nodded for me to play the holo-disk before I put it back.

“I am Ash Ascella of Caeli’Velum, the last survivor of the Canterlot pilgrimage. I leave this recording in an attempt to save my friends, though to you it probably looks like I’ve already failed.” Her soft voice was strained, she had been crying.

“We came from the East, the Great Plains beyond these valleys, a place we knew as our home. I was raised in this group, in this religion, and I will stand by my Faith until I die. This is why I didn’t follow Cyrus when he led us into the dark; this is why I am now alone on my pilgrimage. We were heading to Canterlot, to see the final resting place of our Goddesses, we didn’t know what lay ahead of us, and we didn’t know what waited in the West.” Caliber sat close, we huddled in the cold breeze.

“All we knew was that Littlehorn was nearly impassable and that Zion is not as safe as its clean air and green silhouettes suggest.” Caliber gestured south at the Mention of Littlehorn and North for Zion. I now had names for the three valleys formed by the varying mountain ranges.
“We went along the Middle Passage, avoiding the rails, highway and towns along the way. Canterlot sits on the Southern mountains of Littlehorn, at the western most point of the range, meaning we would head South at the end of this valley. We did not make it that far. I saw Canterlot though, a silhouette on a far off horizon. I won’t continue there, not alone, not after this.” She spoke in a kind of Bohemian stumble coo.

“We found a ruin, from before the war, long before it. Ruins of stone and sand rather than metal and wood lay nestled in the mountains just behind this damned station. This is where I will go. To purge the world of the monsters that broke my companion’s faith in our Goddesses. But first I must bury my friends.” She paused for a moment, gathering herself, preparing to pray.
“I am of Caeli’Velum but I pray to thee Goddesses as a member of this pilgrimage. I pray for forgiveness, not for myself, but for the dead below me. My pilgrimage took their lives in a loss of faith, the abominations we saw in that ruin, the one we killed, tore from them their sanity, their will. They were reduced to fear and cowardice at the loss of your love, but I knew them for who they were before the trauma. They were faithful, moral ponies, and I beg you to take their actions in life towards your judgment rather than the reason for their death. Celestia let them walk in your kingdom, Luna light my empty sky with the stars of their souls and forgive them of their failures. Let them be judged at your will.” While she prayed her voice was stronger, I could imagine her, head down, eyes closed like so many had done in the Stable sermons. Bristling, gray wind replacing candle-lit warmth.
“I go to bury them, knowing there may be no one to bury me.”
With a final click the log ended. I placed it gently back into the center of the circle.

Caliber looked more confused than empathetic. I gestured for her to follow me off the roof so we could search for the last pilgrim. Ever since the logs started playing she had been acting strange, and I had to break her out of her blank-eyed trance to get her to acknowledge me. She must have truly believed that these deaths had been a result of murder, which was what was normal to her; this religious self destruction had thrown her off. She must not have experienced how committed some became to their faith, or how much losing it could hurt them.

“How does religion exist in the South?” I wondered aloud. “With the alicorns I mean?”

“The Alicorns are barely even a myth, but it still doesn’t, it was always reserved to the North, even before the war according to Damascus. The earth ponies here were far enough away from the princesses to live by myths and speculation about them alone. Only during the war did New Calvary become such a developed, magically imbued place. Before that there were no rails or highways to it, the mountains and valleys kept it secluded.” She explained. No wonder the religious confused her so much, to me they were common-place but in the grand scheme of Equestria, they were a vast minority.

“It sounds like there are a lot of cities south of Canterlot. Hoofington, Manehattan, Fillydelphia, why did Calvary get bombed if the real threat was down there?” I recited what names I knew.

“Everywhere got bombed. And by the time that happened the city was a heaving cornucopia of industry and war production.” She thought for a moment. “In fact Damascus once told me that a few years into the war religion became obsolete in Equestria.”

“It must have been hard to see the Princesses as Gods when they were knocking at your door asking for war bonds and enlistments.” I didn’t know what to think of the princesses, I knew they weren’t gods though, as that belief had never resonated with me.

“Nowadays there are only a few religious settlements and it’s still more than there were during the war. Desperate times call for desperate measures I guess.” She shrugged.

“Let’s be careful what we call desperate when we find this mare.” I warned. I had always been tolerant of the Faith, and I doubted Caliber had the same sympathies. “Her faith is the only thing that kept her alive.”

“I understand, I’ll reign in the criticism if we find her.” The ‘if’ bothered me.
We clambered into the collapsed ‘Quick-Stop’ and made our way back to the gas pumps. I felt worse seeing the corpses now that I had heard there final moments on holo-disk. Cyrus, the leader of the pilgrimage had to be the muddy green buck with the book cutie mark. Harvest, the moon, and her buck, the sun, still held each other limply, entwined together. The rural mare who I still couldn’t name had the candles on her flank and Lockbox, the last buck, must have been the one with the key.

“Do you think we could have stopped them?” I asked, they had to have died fairly recently, a few hours ago at the most.

“Sounded like only a bullet would’ve been enough to stop them.” She replied grimly. “The way their friend was begging, I doubt we could have done anything.”

“If Ash is still planning to go after the alicorns, we could help her.” I realized, feeling better knowing that there was still something that I could do.

“Let’s hope we’re not too late for that.” Caliber stated in agreement, emerging from the cover of the station roof and making her way towards the nearby mountains. The land on the other side of the highway looked much too rocky to have drawn anypony looking for a burial site. We scanned the landscape ahead of us, Caliber examined the dust while I fruitlessly hopped and strained to try and look everywhere as quickly as possible. Caliber’s interest in the ground peaked and she began to follow a trail that I couldn’t see. Her eyes down she had more intuition on where to go than I did with my radar and heightened perception. I would ask her to teach me how to track, hoof steps were a new concept for me, as was dust.
“This way.” She instructed, heading back the way we had come along the highway.

Eventually, I heard the unfamiliar sound of metal repeatedly scratching and scooping at earth. We hurried towards the source of the noise, reaching the very base of the mountains. A shovel swung above a hole in the ground, repeatedly digging it into the earth to shift the hard packed gray material. Caliber slowed, surprising somepony in the wasteland was not a wise idea.

“Excuse me,” I called out. A green beige mare poked her head out of the fresh grave; she dropped the shovel from her mouth and onto the edge of the hole as she climbed out. Her body had swatches of a slightly darker Ecru color that could either be from the dirt or from long sustained wounds. Her hair was varying shades of pale violet, to old lavender. Her palette made her look faded compared to the solid black of her vest and the relatively clean cotton white of her rolled up sleeves and shirt. She wore more white material wrapped around her middle, presumably to shelter her from the winter cold. Her mane was shoulder-length, thick and wavy; her tail sustained the same texture but was cut shorter. She shook the cascade out of her face and revealed her black eyes, they were almost uni-colored, like a ghoul’s, but rather than cloudy mist they were solid, shining coals.
She didn’t say anything.

“Are you Ash?” inquired Caliber.

“Ash Ascella of Caeli’Velum?” I added to indicate that we cared enough to remember it in full; the name was in the same language that the faith had used, and while I only knew a few words and phrases of it, my experience had made it easier for me to remember the title.

“We listened to your Pilgrimage’s logs.” Explained Caliber. I noticed the small rigged shotgun at the earth pony’s side, and hoped that she wouldn’t feel the need to use it.
“We want to help you.” She almost seemed scared, but stood firm.

“You listened to them all?” her gentle voice was pained. “You heard them die?”

“Yes, and we would like to help you avenge them.” Caliber eased.

“Can you… can you help me get the bodies down?” Her eyes were on my horn.

“I can try to slow their fall,” I knew I could do little in the way of telekinetic cushioning but I could levitate something up to cut the ropes at least. She was half-way done with the fifth and final grave.

“Thank you for your kindness.” She turned to place the shovel more delicately against a rock. Her cutie-mark was a black diamond tear drop, a pale lavender star falls at the bottom of it, it is engulfed in deep purple flame that licks up to the top of the diamond. It almost seemed to move. “This was the closest ground I could find that would yield to the shovel. We will have to drag them here.”

“We could put them on the ladder, then carry it between us.” Caliber suggested.

“Like a rack of meat… Though it is better than dragging them.” She admitted grimly. “I’m sorry; it is hard to look at the transport of their corpses objectively.” She walked over to us. “It’s still settling in.”

“You’ll feel better after giving them a proper burial. The best way to deal with this kind of thing is to get some closure.” Caliber advised as she led us on our way back to the station. Somewhere in the meeting the introductions had gotten lost; we had known her name already and hadn’t offered our own. I felt the instinctual need to tell her who I was, but it felt like it was too late now.

“Why are you helping me?” Ash asked softly as we walked.

“You shouldn’t have to deal with this alone.” I answered.

“And you won’t be able to deal with an alicorn alone, either.” That answer made her shudder.

“They called themselves Goddesses. That’s what set us off the most. The used the name we had given to our creators and entitled themselves to It.” Anger seeped into her tone. “My closure will come when the ruins are clear of those abominations.”

We walked in silence the rest of the way, what little heat the midday sun had provided through the clouds was fading into the cold afternoon. I realized Ash’s emotional disarray came from anger, not remorse. Ponies of the Faith had a uniquely positive outlook on death, they missed those who had passed away, but felt that they had ascended to a better place. As those in the Stable missed those in the Stasis pods but knew they would one day emerge to a better world.

“Do you believe that the Goddesses forgave them?” I asked the wet-eyed mare as we looked up at the bodies.

“We are taught to forgive as they do. Those ponies lived their lives following what they were taught, if that means anything at all then they are ascended.” She smiled as she said that. Though I hardly knew her, I liked to see her smile.

“Well, while you get their bodies de-scended, I’ll bring the ladder over.” Caliber was undoubtedly the strongest of us; though Ash was slightly smaller than me, I suspected my soft Stable body was still the weakest of our three. That’s what magic was there to compensate for.

I levitated my knife out from within the scripture-embroidered vest under my coat and held it up against Cyrus’s noose. I wouldn’t be able to slow his fall, I didn’t have the ability, and I wasn’t about to try while simultaneously floating a knife above our heads. I did, however, light up my horn, illuminating the dead faces once again. I dimmed it to soft candlelight and began cutting the rope. Ash stepped back as his body fell and, with a thud, hit the ground.

“Sorry, I was over-confident when I said I could slow them.”

“That’s alright; I would have had to climb up in between them to cut them down if you weren’t helping me.” I had to admit that sounded very unpleasant. “They’re just corpses.” Her shining eyes said different.

“Caliber wasn’t making false promises about the alicorns, though.” I said to comfort her. “It sounded like she had some…” another thud as Lockbox fell, “experience with them.”

“No experience unfortunately, I’ve only heard rumors.” She set the ladder down against one of the gas pumps, sliding her neck out from in between the rungs. It wasn’t fully extended but still reached high above the machine it leaned against. “From what I’ve heard, I’m not looking forward to this fight.”

“We killed one.” Ash told us again, before it had been over holo-disk. “We were scared and didn’t know what they were. Yet we managed to kill one and get away down the mountain path.”

“What could they do?” Caliber inquired, thankfully distracting the candle-mare’s friend from seeing her crash to the ground. “The DJ didn’t mention much. They’re a new threat down South too, but from the way he talked about the stories, they sounded like a force to be reckoned with.”

“No, they almost seemed afraid.” She looked at me. “Before you feel bad, the insides of the ruins were strewn with body parts and blood.” She had read the almost sympathetic look towards the alicorns that was appearing on my face. “You’ll feel just as I do when you see them.”

I didn’t respond, instead beginning to saw on Harvest’s noose.

“How hard was it to kill?” Caliber was trying desperately to get an idea of what we would be up against. She seemed very interested in alicorns and I imagined that curiosity was also fueling her questioning.

“It took some time… again we were panicked, some were crying rather than fighting and they all cowered at the sight of it. I don’t blame them.” I paused my assault on Harvest’s suspending rope.

“Why didn’t they affect you as much?” I deferred from Caliber’s line of questioning.

“I don’t hold the Goddesses accountable for the horrors of the wasteland. These are the challenges we face in faith, I hold mine to be self-evident, irrespective of what I see. I took this pilgrimage out of respect, not out of a desire for proof.”

“So the others wanted to see Canterlot to validate that the Princesses bones aren’t there?” I guessed.

“Yes, they couldn’t justify that the Goddesses would subject us to this, which is the belief that leads to most crises of faith” she explained. Caliber stayed quiet, in guarded respect to the zealot.

“Why do you think that this happened?” I gestured around at the dead land.

“Even Gods make mistakes…” Harvest’s rope snapped on its own and the mare was let loose. She stalled for a moment, still locked with her buck in a dead embrace, and then she slid down his limp body and slumped softly onto the ground. I felt irrational guilt for separating the couple.

“Ash, do you think you can help me put them on this?” Caliber asked as she set the ladder on the ground.
The young mare nodded and joined Caliber in pushing her dead friends in over the rungs.
I sawed gently at the last buck’s rope; he looked lonely without Harvest in his arms. He fell with a much greater impact than his lover had as his body landed on the hard tarmac.
We took a moment to secure the five onto the ladder, leaving a gap in the middle for one of us to provide support from. I volunteered to lead the meat wagon and let Caliber and Ash lift the ladder up over my neck, as it set on my shoulders the weight almost buckled my knees and I struggled to maintain my composure. Caliber took the last rungs and Ash ducked under the now suspended ladder into the middle.

“We all set?” I couldn’t turn my head and called for an all clear before I began walking.
I heard two calls of confirmation and so started us on our way. We walked in silence, the dead held between us stifling any desire we had to talk, and motivating us to keep a fast pace. Carrying all of them at the same time hadn’t been the most strategic course of action, but we pushed through the physical exertion over the hills and rocks.

Eventually we reached the graves. Caliber instructed me to position us so that the ladder hovered perpendicular to the graves. For a moment I worried that she was planning on tipping the rack, sending the bodies falling roughly into the earth. Instead we lowered it to the ground and each steeped into the grave closest to us, leaving the loaded ladder lying across them all. As we climbed out of the ground I noticed that the sky was becoming darker, an occurrence that was no longer an implication of nightfall but rather the clouds become more moist and full. The grays and blacks above were off-set by the clear white on the distant Northern horizon, later we would see the sun in that strip of clear sky.

All three of us entered each grave at a time, slowly sliding the respective body off the ladder and into the dirt; we set Harvest next to her buck in the same grave on the left. The fifth grave would remain empty.

“Why dig this fifth grave?” Caliber asked as we lowered Cyrus.

“I was stalling, certainly was not looking forward to going back to the station.” She explained. “Harvest and Daybreak would have wanted to be buried together. They died together, so it’s only appropriate.”

Cyrus, Lockbox, Daybreak and Harvest. The second mare alone remained unnamed to me.

“Who was she?” I peered down at the still, pretty corpse. Her pale coat and stiff body made her look like a statue in the earth.

“Dixie, she was the second youngest in our pilgrimage. Second to me, so we were close. Harvest and Daybreak only needed each other and Cyrus was our leader. Lockbox was always playing the role of second in command, he liked to prove himself.” She joined me to stare down at her friend. “I wish I could have convinced her… she was the only one who would have listened.”

“You tried.” Caliber said matter-of-factly. “That’s more than most would do.”

“Thanks…” she searched for a name she didn’t know.

“Caliber,” they shook hooves over the grave’s corner.

“I’m Grace,” I took my opportunity before it slipped away again. “Grace Marie.”

“That is an optimistic name.” Ash observed as we regarded each other in introduction. “Almost sounds like something from before the war.”

“It kind of is.” Compared to the real world, the whole Stable seemed like somewhere from before the war. “It’s nice to meet you Ms. Ascella.” Caliber snorted and rolled her eyes. I had forgotten that proper manners were supposedly obsolete.

“I feel as if I am stalling again.” Ash said as she looked back to the body in the ground. “I think it’s time I bury them. Time to say goodbye.” I bristled at her words. Unpleasant nostalgia shooting through me once again. Visuals of the bloody halos around the bleeding heads of the Overmare and the Raider flashed before my mind’s eye. I had never had memories as accurate or detailed as these, my consciousness held onto the bad and the horrific while the good became occluded in their looming shadows.
“I will bury them. There is only one shovel, please do not offer to help.” She set to work.

Caliber and I stood back, not watching as this near stranger had her last moments with complete ones. White flecks fell from the shifting dark clouds, the great masses of black and gray did not seem to shrink or lighten as they released the wispy precipitation. Was this snow? It looked light and feathery, the white disappeared into the gray earth, they weren’t thick enough to set and so quickly melted away.

“Snow?” I asked dumbly, holding out my empty hooves to try and catch the round slivers. They dotted the sky sporadically, barely obstructing my view of the clouds.
Caliber just nodded, her own head was turned up to the sky and her brown eyes reflected the gray. To my shock she stuck her tongue out, and little pieces of the solid moisture quickly disappeared on the hot surface. She giggled as she shook the slight damp off her face and blinked the moisture away.

She gave me a prompting look, nudging her head up to the open air. She smiled, waiting for me to follow suit. I lifted my tongue to the sky. Each piece of snow tickled for a brief moment before dissimilating into cold water that trickled down my throat, it was pure and refreshing. We laughed quietly together as we lapped up the snow from the air. Taking the most inappropriate time to find enjoyment.

The brief scratch between metal and rock reminded us of what we were a part of. Ash was heaving and trembled as she brought the shovel down over and over again, turning dust and earth over onto her pilgrimage. I could have helped with my magic, but I could tell that the act meant more to Ash than manual labor. This was a ritual she wanted to perform alone, a burial, a funeral. We didn’t know the ponies lying in those graves; this was for them, between them and her, a final goodbye.

“I’m going to ask her to come with us.” I decided. “After we hunt down the alicorns.”

“Grace…” the levity of our snow catching had been broken in the brief moment we had watched the mare toiling just ahead of us. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“She’s alone; her purpose has been taken from her. She needs something to set her mind on, somepony to be with her.”

“Everybody has trauma in the wasteland. But when it’s this fresh…” she winced. “It’s the only thing you can think about. It eats you up inside. And until she recovers she’s not in a state to help us. And that’s honestly what we should be more concerned about.” I could tell from her pained expression that even she didn’t like what she was saying.

“What are you really worried about?” I pried.

She looked forlornly at the graves. “I don’t want anybody else to be in danger. And I don’t think she’ll be able to handle herself. Emotion should stay segregated from your work.”

“If she had nowhere else to go…”

“Then I admit that she would be better off with us than alone.” Caliber yielded. “I may be underestimating her. Her friends seemed to have.”

“Sounds like she handled herself well when faced with the alicorn. I’m willing to bet that its body is filled with more buckshot than anything else.” I made reference to Ash’s shotgun. “She might even be of more use in combat than Me.”

“Hey, you’re already two for zero, not bad for your first day.”

“Oh yeah? What’s your kill count?” Ash had finished covering the graves; she went along them one by one bowing her head in prayer. I knew from experience this was not a moment you should interrupt.

“I’ll put it this way: If I had tried to keep track with notches on my gun then I’d have nothing left but a splinter to fight with.” She unstrapped her marksman Carbine.”Speaking of which, I’d like it very much if you used her against the alicorns… seeing as I can’t.”

“Sure,” I let her strap the weapon to my side. “Any tips?”

“Unless alicorns are drastically different anatomically: aim for the head. Even the biggest opponents can only take a couple bullets to the brain before it shuts them down.” Not the biggest revelation in the world. “Oh, and less obviously, if they can actually fly, then swap to incendiary rounds when you’re trying to bring them down.” I really hoped Ash was right to think that the alicorns deserved this.

“Let’s see if she’s ready to go.” The longer I thought about the alicorns, the dimmer my drive to hunt them down burned. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to stop Ash once we found them, and if she was wrong about what she saw in the ruins then I would be enabling murder.

We walked slowly over to the four full graves. The fifth remained an empty hole, half as deep compared to how the others had been. I could tell Ash had been crying, her eyes were lined with red and her body looked wracked from heaving. I felt like holding the smaller mare, but her body language dissuaded me.

“It’s hard to think they might not have made it.” She revealed why she was so sad despite her beliefs.

“They’ll make it.” I reassured her. “You wouldn’t follow the Goddesses if you thought they wouldn’t do what was right.” Ash began walking to the West, we followed her guarded pace along the mountains.

“They would not want horrific imitations of themselves walking Equestria. Calling themselves by Celstia and Luna’s rightful title. Kidnapping and mutilating… in the name of their sick sense of purpose.”

“You lead us to them and we’ll help you send them straight to…” Caliber tried to adhere to her religion as she comforted her. “The moon?” Ash laughed a soft, sweet laugh; though it was still wet from her mourning. But the serious expression slowly returned across her face.

“If you decide to run when you see them.” She seemed to be talking directly to me. “I will not blame you.”

“I’m not…” she glanced at the symbol on my coat. “I’m not a member of the Faith.”

“Oh…” she seemed surprised. “Then why would you help me?”

“Same reason she did.” I nodded to Caliber, who seemed pleased at the reference.

“Just because!”

“That’s… interesting.” She stared at both of us with a newfound confusion. “We don’t usually receive kindnesses from anypony who isn’t kin to us. Cyrus would have found this… eye opening.” Ash said, sparing a look to the old pilgrim’s grave behind us.

“We’re the kind of godless heathens you don’t need to be afraid of.” Caliber assured, she seemed familiar with the Faith’s negative perception of non-believers.

As we walked Ash seemed to be deep in thought. Whether she was still mourning, readying herself for the alicorns, or simply pondering the motivations of the two ponies following her was unclear.
The mountains seemed impossibly tall when I looked up at them. They were more imposing even, than the giant black behemoth of Zion valley, which I had only seen at a distance. The snow still fell, gently and slowly, so softly that sometimes I forgot it was even happening. The ground consumed the white precipitation before it could even leave a mark. I wondered if the heavy snow that coated the landscape in pictures of old world Hearth’s warming Eve celebrations still occurred. And why the clouds never seemed to fade, despite the fact that they were dispensing their moisture, the fabric of their existence. Coupled with the way the curtain of grays and blacks simply cut off at the Equestrian border to the north made them seem suspiciously artificial. A lie, solid like the sky painted onto a casino ceiling to deny the passage of time.

We began to make our way into the mountains, along a winding path reminiscent of the one leading down from the Stable. It twisted through the rocks making what lay at the end of it a mystery. The path was narrow and rough, so we walked in a line, Ash first, then Caliber, then myself.

I was excited. Adrenaline already ebbed through me, the thought of fighting something that required no moral forethought to kill appealed to me. Assuming they were the abominations, Ash promised they were.
What else could have prompted five ponies to suicide? What else would blindly smear the ruins they occupied with the remains of the ponies they killed? What else could be known as the newborn terrors of the South? I wished that I had heard the DJ’s report on them, he had guided my hand before, to kill raiders, and I desired his guidance again. All I had to justify this extermination was the fearful awe of a bound mercenary and the vengeful rage of a brooding zealot.

Soon we were surrounded by rock; we were walking down a short craggy pass through the mountains. They rose up around us, closing us in, and these towers of earth and rock made me feel more claustrophobic than the Stable ever had. I could no longer see the band of sky that had been my anchor against the clouds that made up the constantly shifting roof of the world.

The path picked up again, the rocks around us dropped away to gentler slopes of land and mountain. We had reached the other side of the escarpment. The train that I was following stopped; the pony leading us had frozen in her tracks. Caliber and I stepped up to join her.

“What the celestial fuck…” Caliber whispered.

“Regnum Caeli…” Ash crossed herself as she gave her own version of the other mare’s crass sentiment.

A giant pony lay dead on the path ahead of us. Three times my height at least, legs long and neck curved. It was tinged purple, but dark as the night. It lay in a pool of blood that for once seemed lighter than the body it was bleeding out of, it only served to set off the darkness of its owner’s coat. I saw the wings first; thick but limp, laying spread and flayed exaggerating the creature’s huge span. Then I noticed the horn, long and gnarled, tip pointed like a lance. Alicorn! My mind screamed, Celestia! Luna! Alicorn! I looked to its flank for a crescent moon, and saw blank darkness instead.

This thing had no cutie-mark.

Ash looked back to me, and we met eyes. I nodded, whatever this was, it wasn’t a pony, it wasn’t natural, it was a fabrication. A raping of the Princesses’ image. I levitated Caliber’s gun out of the strap, readying myself for this fallen horror’s brothers and sisters. We all felt the tension, we all felt the fear. None of us spoke. This monster was terrifying as a corpse, what had it been like alive?

We stepped around the body, through the blood, trailing it as we went. We couldn’t step over it; we couldn’t bring ourselves to touch it. Even Caliber, who held no stake with Goddesses or Princesses, stood silent and afraid before the nightmare. Black sky set off by white snow covered, a black corpse set off by deep red blood.

The ruins were apparent now. Around me were stones of brown and faded hues, cracked and displaced by time and the reverberations of war. Short pillars lined the path as we approached the center of the ancient construction. An altar sat atop a spherical stage that poked out of the dead earth, torches sat cold around it. Into the mountain face stood a doorway, gaping and black, calling to us. The ruin looked bare, where I expected vegetation to have grown up around the age-old stone stood blank grays and rotted browns. Stories told of vines and overgrowth but this place from before the old-world stood as barren as the rest of the wasteland. We walked side by side now, but quickly stopped, simultaneously, once again.

A living nightmare. It stared into the sky as it stood on a outcropping of rectangular ruin, jutting out over what was presumably the Littlehorn valley. Its eyes blinked slowly, but were so dark that it was hard to tell. Its wings stretched out at its sides, as if it were readying itself to take flight. It was almost graceful, an aberration of the virtues it mimicked. It was frozen in place like an obsidian statue, dark green.

It felt like I was at the edge of the world, everything cut off just ahead of the alicorn as the land opened out into the expanse of air above the valley. As I surveyed the area I saw two more of the creatures, standing just as still and silent as their sister’s corpse: One near the entrance into the mountain and another amidst some collapsed stone near the cliff.
“They’re all mares.” I whispered, though the others didn’t seem to care.

“We should attack them now, while they’re unaware.” Ash growled.

“We can’t take all of them.” Warned Caliber worriedly.

“They are stupid and lost. They cannot work together as we can. One dies and the others will panic.”

“Then I’ll sneak up to that one looking over the valley.” I planned. “Once I kill it, the others will come for me, you two attack them then and we’ll drop them together.”

“You think you can handle her?” Caliber asked earnestly.

“If this gun is all it’s cracked up to be.” I floated her beloved rifle besides me. “Then I’m the best armed here, your shotgun, knives and pistol will work better for a dirty, combat attack then an initiating one.”

“Good luck.” Ash said bluntly, closing the issue. Caliber nodded at me, and then she knocked her hoof softly against the bottom of her jaw. I got the message.

I circled the altar, hugging the mountain face for as long as I could. The alicorn wasn’t facing me, to my advantage. The cliff limited my options for a covered path, to my disadvantage. I darted to a pile of rubble nearer to the altar, suppressing my steps as best I could against the alternating rocks and earth. As soon as I fired a shot, we would be in the heat; I would have to make it count.

I got as close as I dared to, the last pillar before the expanse of brown stone making up the overlook. Levitating the large rifle at my side I prepared to take a shot. The back of its head, the bullet would tear through its skull and rip apart its brain. I lined up the weapon to its target… and fired.

The kickback nearly knocked me off my precarious balance against the pillar, but the shot hit its mark. The round went straight through the alicorn’s head; I heard the rapidly echoing sound of bone being penetrated twice within the same second, then saw the bullet emerge in a spurt of dark blood from the other side of the alicorn’s skull. But I did not see the creature fall.

To my despair it did not die, as somehow the nightmare had survived a bullet through its mind.

“WHO DARES TO FIRE UPON US?!” the voice screamed loud and booming, the voice of something horribly far from a mare. Not the voice of something with a hole in both sides of its head.

I ran out from behind the pillar, ran towards the alicorn.

“YOU INSULT US!” its horn glowed green and I saw broken rock rise into the air in my peripheral vision. It was lifting hundreds of pounds at once; its telekinesis was astronomically powerful.

Stone crashed into the ground around me; shrapnel from the shattering rock scratched my hide as I ran towards the monster, weapon ready. I ducked and dived to avoid being crushed under the screeching meteorites; I narrowly avoided bone-crushing death by a hair. The alicorn stood still, head crooked down to stare into my eyes and wings stretched in physical exertion. It trembled under its own magical prowess; as its black eyes stared into my gold.

I couldn’t fire while dodging the wild debris, so I leapt right in front of the alicorn, firing three successive rounds into its chest as it thrashed its neck wildly and reared up onto its hind legs.

“INSOLENCE!” Its giant hooves waved wildly in the air. They began to descend with unrelenting force, to crush my very body under their mass. I slipped into SATS for the second time.

The world froze within a tinted hue. The alicorn’s screams stopped, its fury seemed to disappear save for the unchanging expression of surprise, disgust and anger on its face. The clouds were no longer tearing against each other behind the beast as the entire world paused. Everything was quite, the word insolence echoed in my mind as I stared into the mouth that had somehow spoken it as it screamed.

Calculated percentages expressed my chances to hit every part of the body before me. I had to think of a way to save myself from the hooves hovering just above me. Shooting its head was too risky, as there was apparently no guarantee that it would die, and the same went for the chest and legs. My only option was to disarm it, to destroy the weapons bearing down on me. I ordered a shot to each hoof.

Time began again as the rifle in my golden magic let loose two impossibly rapid shots into the alicorn’s hooves. The bullets broke into the thick, black, keratin and the beast cried out in pure agony. All the force behind its impending strike was lost as it succumbed to absolute pain. Every nerve in its lower legs burned intensely as their bases shattered into dozens of shards, yielding to the weapon’s powerful 556 millimeter rounds.

I avoided the slower, broken onslaught easily, stepping even closer to the giant, eternal thing in front of me. I could smell its pain; I could hear its cries just above me as it tried to settle down on its shattered hooves. It was struggling to stand, much less fight, now was the time to finish it.

I pressed the end of Caliber’s rifle deep into the base of the alicorn’s jaw. Right at the end of its neck, in the soft underside of its muzzle, below its brain, allowing me to feel it swallow by the movement of the gun. I fired the killing shot, brain matter and blood exploded from the crest of its head, the cries stopped and its hooves gave up their fight for hold against the floor that had brought them unbearable anguish.
I had learned from the second raider I killed, so I quickly stepped aside from where the corpse collapsed, bleeding from four holes in its head and three in its chest. Hooves in pieces before it.

Spinning around I saw my two allies fighting the dead alicorn’s kin. They danced around each other, the monsters occasionally lifting off into the air to avoid a barrage of buckshot and .45 rounds. The blue alicorn stabbed desperately with its sharp horn, attempting to skewer Ash like a piece of meat, the other, a green one, opted for telekinesis and floated sharp shards around it, jabbing them in all directions.

I quickly swapped the rifle for my laser pistol, running to join the close quarters skirmish. I worried that at this range I would hit Ash or Caliber with the rifle rounds that would no doubt prove much more deadly to a regular pony. As I ran I watched the mares duck and dive, eventually performing an act of improvised violence and teamwork that almost made me stop to admire its unfolding.

Communicating in the way that only two ponies in the heat of battle could, Caliber initiated a co-ordinate attack on the alicorn that was desperately swinging shards of rock through the air. She tossed the Auto pistol to Ash, who caught it in her mouth, an exchange that only earth ponies had the aloofness to find sanitary. Leaping towards the green telepath Caliber snatched one of the deadly sharp shards out of the air with her teeth. She landed and used her momentum to slip beneath the towering monstrosity, plunging the makeshift weapon into its chest.

She cut an almost surgical line down the underside of the creature, running along its body with her head tilted up. She emerged from between its back legs leaving room to take her place. Ash dived onto her back under the rearing alicorn and fired off with both her rigged shotgun and the pistol in her mouth. Some of the pistol shots went wide but the combined buckshot and 45 rounds that hit home tore the internal organs of the alicorn apart leaving its entire chest and gut cavity shredded and laden with bullets.

The mockery collapsed to its side, completely destroyed from within. The thick alicorn coat had been torn asunder and every piece of unloaded shrapnel had cut into something vital, leaving it incredibly dead.
As Ash had predicted the last alicorn was panicking at the sight of its fallen comrades.

“STOP! YOUR GODDESS COMMANDS IT!” it screamed as it swooped evasively from all three of our shots. My red laser beams were now a part of the desperate onslaught of buckshot and bullets.

“GODDESS, WHERE ARE YOU?! HELP ME!” it contradicted itself. “WE ARE THE GODDESS!”

The alicorn was panicked, but it gathered itself enough to remember its telekinetic abilities. Lifting itself into the air it pulled up at least a dozen stones of varying sizes along the way. It began to swoop over us, no longer circling our rapidly firing guns but wisely keeping a dancing distance. Passing above us, it forced its payload into the ground. Chunks of earth flew up around us and I found myself ducking and diving once again. The attacks were wild but disorientating, the alicorn flew fast and high when it wasn’t gathering ballast in its magic, making it difficult to hit… impossible.

Then I had a stupid idea.

I holstered my laser pistol, gauging the alicorns flight patterns along a vaguely repeating circuit. It swung low after unloading its assault of stone to collect more artillery. Now it was above us, debris and rock rained down, focusing on Caliber and Ash who were still firing fruitlessly at it. It came back around, flying close to the surface, working its wide-spread telekinetic magic. I leapt through the air, kicking hard off of a pillar, and tackling the alicorn as it flew by. It hadn’t been moving fast, but I almost lost my hold as it curved back up in altitude. I straddled the fallen angel’s back, locking my legs against its wings and neck.

“REMOVE YOURSELF FROM OUR BACK!” it yelled, promptly hailing down another attack on the two mares, who were still grounded in their sanity.

“Stop shooting! Grace is on it!” Caliber exclaimed, though I could barely hear her under the flap of the alicorns wings and its booming commands.

“INSOLENCE!” it screamed the same word its sister had. My father’s coat whipped behind me as the alicorn circled the ruin violently, the wind rushed around us making it impossible for me to hold anything securely with my telekinesis. The alicorn was bleeding profusely from bullet wounds, burn marks on its body and wings marked where I had hit it and perforated swatches indicated where Ash had.

I strained my neck and pulled the knife from my vest, realizing that I would have to do this with my mouth alone. I gripped the handle of the short combat knife tightly in my teeth, biting down hard so as not to lose it to the lurches and bucks of the struggling alicorn. Its neck lay bare before me, if I could only get enough of a grip to get some power behind my strike… Beyond my own control one of the alicorn’s wild swoops wrenched my neck and drove the knife deep into its own.

It dug in to the hilt, warm blood sprayed into my face as the beast’s jugular was pierced.
“Goddess…” it gargled, its powerful voice reduced to a strained murmur through a felled throat.
The alicorn lost control, breaking off from its circuit around the ruin and beginning a final dive straight for Caliber and Ash in a last ditch attempt to avenge its gutted sister.

We were going down; it barely flapped its wings as we quickly fell towards the earth. I let go of the knife, leaving it embedded in the creature’s neck. The wounds it had sustained were too numerous, it had lost more blood than I had in the entirety of my body. I doubted it would be conscious enough to stop our impending crash landing. Caliber and Ash dove out of the way as we came barreling down, the alicorns eyes were closed but mine were wide open in instinctive fear. Flying was tarrying, falling was terrifying.

We hit the earth, the alicorn below me, landing angled and speeding. The initial impact was enough to break my hold on the creature it killed. The sick caricature’s corpse dug into the ground as it slid, crushed and broken. I couldn’t watch it for long as I spun wildly off upon my own volatile path, flying independently with retained velocity. My saddlebag opened, releasing half of my worldly belongings, letting them scatter around me, and sending Damascus’s ornate box towards its own rough landing somewhere below.

I finally touched down; my head snapping back and hitting hard dirt, better than solid stone. Luckily my body bore the brunt of the crash. I was alive, but I couldn’t move. I felt paralyzed, lying on my back and staring up into the void that seemed to be growing darker by the second. Soft snow still fell.

“Grace?! Grace!” Caliber appeared above me, her polished chestnut eyes fleeting worriedly across my aching body. I was losing consciousness, I could feel it happening. The sky became darker as I struggled to keep my own eyes open. I used the frantic auburn blur of her mane as an anchor; but Caliber’s words nearly became unintelligible, as every sound was reduced to a dull echo of itself.

The pain was almost unbearable; as parts of me were bent unnaturally, to the point where they almost didn’t feel like they were attached to my body anymore. I wanted to close my eyes and rest, but hard hooves clutched my face and shook me into focus.

“We’re going to help you Grace!” Caliber assured, depriving me of sweet unconsciousness.

“She might have broken bones; we need to set her legs and keep her still until we can confirm that she’s Stable.” Ash’s voice spoke from beyond my visible world. Stable. Stable. Take me to see Cross. I couldn’t tell if I was saying the words as I ordered myself to speak them. I was losing grip on reality. Concussion, it felt like. Blood? Was I going to die like I had seen others die twice before, face up in a pool of my own blood? The raider and the Overmare. Stable. Take me to see Cross.

“Focus on this!” Caliber precariously held a seemingly eternal orb between her hooves, trying desperately to draw my attention to it. “You don’t want to be able to feel us move you.” She pressed the cold artifact against my horn. “Hold it.”

I felt her let go of the orb and I reflexively grabbed at it with my telekinesis. As I latched onto it, my focus split in parallels, and I drove it at the sphere in a final burst before losing it all completely.
The world went dark.

Footnote: Level Up!
Perk added: Wasteland Doctor: (pre-requisite Wasteland Medic) You can fully restore crippled limbs with the right supplies at hoof. Also you gain a +5% critical chance against opponents with familiar anatomy. This is all useless while you’re unconscious though.

Chapter 8: Where is my Mind?

Fallout Equestria: Sola Gratia
Chapter 8: Where is my Mind?
“Life in the vault is about to change.”

I woke up in the cold. I was naked, I could feel it as the chilling wind burned against my body, and it felt like it was cutting me, though it passed by so slowly. I was waking up and the pain hadn’t gone. My limbs felt fine, functional and unbroken, my head felt fine, unbruised and no longer bleeding. My skin burned.

The pain was less intense, but more lasting. My body didn’t flinch at it; reflexes that would have once reacted had long since grown tired of trying. I wanted to move, to find out what was happening to me, what worked to bring on this sharp, soft pain. I still couldn’t move.

My gaze was fixed over a valley. This couldn’t be Littlehorn, the air was clear and the clouds were white, thin even. I could almost see sky behind them, not like the wall of gray and black that I was used to. Pine trees dusted with snow swayed in the corners of my eyes; if I could only look down; then I could see the living land, unburned, green and white instead of ashy pale. But my body wouldn’t comply.

This wasn’t my body.

I was detached from it, a part of the mind rather than the physical being. But I could still feel everything that made this existence a lie, the strength, the pain… As I got my bearings I realized that things were very wrong indeed. I was no longer a unicorn mare, I was an earth buck. This was a dream.

Or a memory, I realized, putting the shattered pieces making up the recent sequence of events together. I was unconscious, but at the same time I was here. I was inside a memory orb, watching a part of Damascus’ life play out before my eyes. A part of his life that he claimed to no longer know existed.

“So it starts now?” I said, in this unnaturally deep voice, unnatural moving. I felt myself speak, though I didn’t command it, and the voice was not mine. It was his, defined and powerful, but younger somehow. The mature, worldly tone I had come to obey was joined by a curiosity and innocence, softened by it.

“The recollector has begun recording, yes…” A heavily accented, attractive voice said.

“Now what?” I asked, in my new testosterone-laced pattern of speech, which was still laced with that Stable eloquence. “How will this serve to remove past memories if all it’s doing is saving the present?”

“That is not a normal recollector, it is an extractor.” Explained the exotic sounding mare. I continued to stare infuriatingly over the distant mountains, not shifting my gaze from the apparently cleansed land.

“I don’t need this memory extracted.” I… Damascus was starting to sound impatient.

“We can either do this… or I can explain it to you.” I could feel her standing at my side, her personable warmth acting against the searing cold. “You seemed excited to get this over with earlier.”

“I don’t want anything done to me that I don’t understand.”

“Always so curious.” She nuzzled against my side; her warmth brought me respite, a small smile danced to my host’s face. “I will try to simplify it… no offense.”

“Your people always intrigued ours. I don’t feel bad knowing that I can never understand things the way you do.” I finally turned away from the cliff face.

The mare was a zebra. Her lithe, light gray body was stripped with beautiful curving bands of black. Her hair was thick and rich, it was held in three zebra-tails by golden rings at the back of her head and in front of her ears. The rest of her mane rested against her soft, wise face. Her eyes were an intense blue. She wore a small brown jacket lined with white fur that covered little of her body, impractically but appealingly.

We stood on a long triangular outcropping of gray rock, clean rock. And the mouth of a cave lay at the end of it, entering the snowy mountain face. I wanted to take a moment to appreciate all the new things before me: The clean air, the thick snow, the green life and the pretty zebra. But Damascus was used to it all, he looked at the things I didn’t want to and continued to speak as I stared at what little I could in wonder.“A short explanation would be nice.”

“Short?” she scoffed playfully. “Zebras worked for years to adapt the Equestrian memory technology, to improve it with our own alchemistic magic, to expand the borders of mental manipulation to the point where we could experience two lives, ours at day and another’s while we slept.”

“So is that what I’m going to do? Sleep?” Damascus picked up, his mind working faster than its passenger’s. ‘Memory Technology’ was an entirely new concept to my own virgin consciousness.

“You want specific memories removed, yes?”

“You know what I want removed.” Sadness entered his tone; as a similar emotion flickered in her eyes. “First, I want to forget her. I cannot live with the guilt…” we met eyes, all three of us. “It is not my own...”

We embraced, bringing warmth to the cold between us. No… They embraced… and I, through some sick invasion, became a part of it as it replayed through the orb. I could feel the hesitance in his body when he kissed her; he reacted as one would when they thought that they were doing something ethically wrong.

“Why does that life still haunt you? What is stopping you?” she asked as he pulled away.

“My faith…” It was odd seeing Damascus emotional from such a close perspective. I hoped this extraction hadn’t brittled him into the guarded pony I had met in Hell, and that this warm emotion still existed within. “There are things that happened in that Stable that I haven’t spoken a passing word about to anybody.”

“You don’t want your entire life there erased!?” she was suddenly very apprehensive. “You accomplished so much! You are who you are because of those experiences! You changed so many lives!”

“Don’t worry; it’s just a few specific moments… like I promised. Most probably won’t even be from the Stable.” We reassured her. “Now will you tell me what I need to do?”

“Everything you want to erase.” She said as she collected herself. “Has an anchor. If we extract that anchor, all the memories attached to it come too.” We sat together in the snow. “My people discovered methods of controlling consciousness… so that that anchor could be accessed through thought.”

“A memory could be accessed by remembering it while wearing a recollector.” Damascus was picking up on this stuff a lot better than I was. I was still trying to process the situation that I was in which, according to the Zebra, was the simple form of memory recording and review.
“Exactly,” she smiled, enjoying their compatible understanding of each other. “I will use the extractor to remove these very moments, and in these moments you will intensely recall your anchors. One by one.”

“Doesn’t that mean I’ll also lose this explanation.”

“Yes,” she laughed. “I suppose I’ll have to go through it again in one of the gaps between filling each orb.”

“But surely no imaginings on my part could compare to recording the actual moment as it happened.” I felt satisfied as he continued to dig for the very information I wanted. “And what constitutes an anchor?”

“The intensity of the memory has to be incredible for it to be harvested through another memory, for extraction to happen over two streams of time is a difficult thing. But that’s where the alchemy comes in.” she pulled a bottle from her satchel and placed it in front of her. The liquid inside was clear but sparkled silver and gold. “We developed this… what your kind would call technology… to enable lucid dreaming. And I have adapted it for you to essentially relive a memory, through exploration of your sub-conscious. Everything you’ve ever seen or experienced is stored perfectly somewhere in there.” It sounded like she could have written Caliber’s dream book.

“How do I know what to remember? What qualifies as a suitable anchor?” I pried.

“What do you want to erase first?”

“My family.” He answered bluntly.

“Then think of the most important moment you had with them… preferably one that encompasses as many aspects and variables as possible. A first meeting or a special moment.” She hinted. “Make sure it was vivid, the best way to choose is by thinking of the memory that stands out the most to you now. Before you are under the influence of this.”

“What if it doesn’t work?”

“Then we try another anchor.” She handed him the bottle. “Now please, all this explaining is futile. I will tell you everything you want to know… preferably when you aren’t wearing a device that will remove the information from your head directly afterwards.”

Damascus grasped the bottle of glinting fluid in his mouth then followed the zebra into the cave. The rocky insides of the crevice were lit up in the dim golden light of a fir fire. Herbs, talismans, masks and ornaments decorated the walls and surfaces. The horrific masks were what I had been taught to expect from a zebra, not the loving warmth and generosity that the mare with me was displaying. I felt bad for applying the stereotypes of her race onto her while we had yet to technically meet.

“After you drink it, you’ll pass out.” She ushered Damascus onto a warm, fur rug. The way these two were living implied that they were avid hunters. The thought was unsettling, but who was I to judge considering that I had already killed ponies that were frighteningly comparable to wild animals? “As your consciousness fades, I want you to think intently about the start of that memory; though it will be straining to your mind.” I felt relieved, thinking that I might not take a part of the painstaking mental effort. “And the memory will end as soon as you stop thinking about it, so stay focused.”

“I won’t be able to impact anything, will I? Like in a real lucid dream?”
“No, this is just a memory. It will be like entering a memory orb, actually.” She compared… ironically.

“And what happens to a unicorn that watches the orb we make from this extraction?” That was me!

“You said that wouldn’t happen.” Not a comforting response. “I thought you ‘just couldn’t stand the thought of deleting them forever and wanted to keep the black opals out of sentiment’.” She quoted.

“Hypothetically,” he humored her concern.

“I’m honestly not sure. It was hard enough for us to study this field considering we usually can’t watch the orbs ourselves, not without a recollector.” That seemed to make him think.

“Can we destroy the recollector after we’re done? And would watching these removed anchors bring back all my memories?” Don’t change the subject! Find out more about the very real, personal, hypothetical!

“Yes it would, but that device is too rare, I could not bring myself to destroy it.” She said apologetically. Damascus had spoken about allowing a unicorn to enter one of his orbs when he had given into the temptation of curiosity before. It didn’t sound like anything bad had happened to them, I consoled myself. It also didn’t sound like he had had access to the recollector anymore.

“Then you must hide it from me,” he reaffirmed. “You cannot let me access these orbs… Please.”

“We wouldn’t be doing this if I couldn’t promise that.” She reassured him. “Now, are you ready to begin?”

“Yes.” He picked up the bottle and tilted his head back, letting the contents flow down our throat. The feeling of detachment was unbearable. I got the nervous impulses that I was accustomed to but my mind couldn’t rationalize the source. It pondered why I felt liquid pouring down my throat and yet I had made no order to do so. And why my actual body was probably still thirsty.

“Don’t lose the Faith.” She lay us onto the rug as our body grew limp and loose. “It’s too important to you.”

“I would never… betray my Goddesses.” I could tell it was getting harder for him to talk. “I just want the guilt for sins that I am not guilty of, to leave me.” I couldn’t feel his apparent loss of consciousness. Ironically, in the real world it was Damascus who was conscious and I who was not. But in this plane of memories and dreams I was riding the mind of a sleeping pony, watching everything he saw, which at this moment was simply eternal darkness.

---------------------------------------------

I could no longer feel his body as mine. I imagined that this was because he didn’t feel it either. I shared his senses, sights, smell, hearing, taste and touch but now the receptors drew empty. Apart from the blackness. This is what it was to be asleep, in the dreamless, speeding time of the resting mind. Except I was awake, and slowly but surely, my host began to join me.

I began to see what he was dreaming, what he was remembering. But not directly through my eyes. In the dark distance it was all happening, the memories of his life were flashing before him as he searched for his anchor. As he looked for the linking moment that could drag his family out of his mind. The images seemed to appear on a screen, far away, but they became bigger as he focused. The screen loomed closer as he narrowed into the time period that he wanted.

Steel flashed, familiar colors of gray with bands of yellow. We were going to the Stable. Intermittently, after what would translate to years of his life if played out in full, flashes of another color came through. Dim red and magical candle-light, as the Faith became a part of Damascus’ life the show slowed down. The screen almost filled my vision, our vision, and like a gradually slowing dial his recall approached real time. He had found the anchor.

We were in the memory.

Once again I felt like I was seeing the world through his eyes. The senses came back online as the memory grew incredibly vivid thanks to the Zebra concoction. I could feel the Stable, I could feel my home. We stood, Damascus stood, as his older self, and I watched.

The searing pain was gone, this buck was young, healthy and the cleanliness and comfort was stricking, even to me. He was easily my age, old enough to work, old enough to have a cutie-mark. But in front of us stood somepony with eyes of the same altitude sky blue, a buck that I could feel Damascus respecting. His body language towards the figure implied reverence mixed with ease, familiarity mixed with distance. A buck he had cared for his whole life, but wouldn’t embrace in public. His father.

“You’re old enough to know better.” We cut had cut into the middle of a conversation. “I don’t want you to end up like your mother.”

“She’s in the hospital, you know that I won’t get hurt doing this.” Our voice was young; its accent was slightly different to the one the Damascus I knew spoke with. The power behind it was milder, but present.

“You know what I mean Damascus. They keep her locked to that bed, handcuffed; she might as well be in the holding cells.” Remorse filled the old buck’s voice. His graying mane was unkempt and his brown coat was almost mangy. He looked like a bachelor, the state of the room indicated that he lived like one too. “If they didn’t think there was something wrong with her, some excuse, then she’d be locked up just like anypony else. Just like you will be.”

“You have to let her go.” We placed our hoof on his shoulder. “Remember the last time we talked with her? She barely even knew who we were. She couldn’t even figure out where she was.”

“The last time WE talked with her… was a long time ago.” He countered.

“Like I said… you need to let her go.”

“I don’t want to lose you too… I don’t like to admit it, but I’m getting old Damascus. I might go the way she did soon.”

“She isn’t senile… she’s damaged.”

The older buck sighed. “I’m just worried you’re going to get locked up again. The commissary promised they would be cracking down on the insurgence in the coming weeks.”

“They’re calling us the insurgence now?” Could there be discord in the Stable? I wondered.

“You’re acting like a rebellion, how do you expect them to react?”
“I want them to let us live our lives as we want to. Not monitored by these damned devices.” He waved our Pip-buck in the air.

“You’ve always wanted that… but before it was juvenile. They threw you in the cells for being a delinquent, for petty crimes and stupid, childish behavior. Now they’re treating you like a political enemy. The fallout will be much worse for what you’re doing now, than for any of the crimes you committed before.”

“Can’t you just be happy that I’m out of that life!?” we demanded. “I haven’t been in the Security wing for years! I used to go down to Maintenance and inject chemicals with those delinquents that I called friends! You can’t possibly want me to go back to that!” He was breathing deeper, emotional toil coursed through his body. “I would have died… they would have thrown me out!”

“But why couldn’t you come to us for help? Why him?”

“He taught me everything that I believe. Mother was going insane, whether you like to admit it or not, and you had your hooves full dealing with her. Besides… he came to me.” Our similar eyes locked. “If you had done the same… maybe things would have turned out differently.” We began to walk for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I called a meeting. The Faith is going to make itself known.” Damascus spun around to face his father. “We’re going to make ponies see the truth, the oppression these walls entail. The lies that riddle our system of Governance.”

“You don’t have to be a part of this! Let your Prophet do his own dirty work!”

“The Prophet is my teacher, but he is not our leader.” We replied with cool control. “He kept the Faith from his grandfather, passed it along. He preserved our beliefs, to share them with us now. But he will not bring light to this Stable.”

“And you will?”

“The Faith will… and if I am the one that must endure the fallout to achieve this, then so be It.”

“Leave it be, Damascus.” The old buck pleaded.

“I can’t… it’s my destiny. The symbol on my flank came before I met the Prophet. It drew him to me, let him know that the time for truth, for freedom, had come.”

“You’re blind.” He spat. “You think you owe this buck, but you don’t, you think you owe the Goddesses, but their long dead. And above all, your letting that girl cloud your judgment.”

“I haven’t touched her! I have adhered to the rules; I haven’t deceived or insulted my Goddesses. And from tonight onwards I will never be tempted to again, not only for her, but for anything. Following my oath has changed me, for the better. Take solace in that.”

The buck across the room paused. His head bowed as he struggled with his anger and fear for his son.

“If I can’t change the path you’re on...” Damascus took interest in this submission. “Then I suppose there’s no sense in losing you by trying.” He walked over to us and offered his hoof to shake. “Congratulations, I hope you’ll bring her to meet me someday.”

“Tomorrow.” We returned the respectful shake then turned to leave out of the sleek door as it slid open.

A familiar hallway, my hallway. In fact the room that I had slept in only a couple of nights ago lay just a few doors down. We were on the upper, administrative level and Damascus continued on a path I knew all too well. We were going down, presumably to the lower Atrium if the Faith had begun where it still congregated today. The yellow striped gray steel was familiar, almost comforting, synonymously with its disturbia. I felt like I wanted to get out, and that I never wanted to leave, all at the same time.

The sounds of the Stable took me home; the feel of the metal under-hoof and the encapsulating air hit me with nostalgic force. I almost felt like I was in my own body, walking down the stairs to the middle level on my way to see Dr. Cross or Nurse Clearheart, eager to get another menial task to occupy myself with. It was an eerily pleasant feeling, the consistency, knowing what to expect around every turn as we passed through the residential area of the Stable. No raiders or Slavers, no alicorns or radiation, just gray and yellow. It was safe, but wrong.

I wondered if enough time had passed in this continuum for Slaver bands to have formed on the surface of Equestria. Damascus had said that his ‘Prophet’ passed the Faith down from his grandfather, which would mean we could be but two generations after the Great War.

As we passed the school I realized definitively how much of a gap there was between my time in the Stable and Damascus’. The mural that would come to exist over the generations that followed was, in this memory, nothing but a few juvenile scribbles on the schoolroom hallway walls. Eventually an enterprising teacher would get the inspiration to turn the disobedience of writing on this steel into a creation of art. That had yet to happen though, and now the hallway was as dull as any other, save for the work of a few untalented juvenile delinquents and their crayons.

We were going to the Maintenance level, I realized, a place that I had rarely frequented and was almost unfamiliar with. Damascus clopped down the last stair-case into the dingy lower floor. It wasn’t as rusty or scratched as I had known it, but the gritty atmosphere was the same.

Before we proceeded much further, Damascus ducked into a bathroom. Thankfully he stopped at a mirror rather than heading for the stalls or the unfamiliar devices that weren’t present in the ladies’ room.
Damascus looked at himself, he looked at himself looking at himself, and I watched.

The buck before us looked young, but I could see Damascus in his eyes. He was not the color of meat but a pale tawny brown, and his coat looked unnaturally healthy compared to how I knew him. His hair was a cinnamon red, his tail and mane both short and wavy, their colors were pure and hadn’t even begun to fade into the gray he would have over a hundred and fifty years from now. His shining, naïve eyes coupled with the white freckles above his snout made him look very young. His pupils were the usual obsidian and his irises retained that inherited, atmospheric blue.

He examined himself carefully, pushing a short wavy fringe until it set nicely away from his eyes. As I watched his innocence I hoped that mine was still intact. I had been in the wasteland for just about a day and I was already feeling as if this Stable-grown, pure part of myself was slipping away. Any trace of this young buck in Hell’s Damascus was gone, and I hoped that wouldn’t happen to me someday. I wanted to stay the way that I had last seen myself in a mirror, if not a little wiser and worldlier, but I doubted I could control the parts of me that the wasteland would come to change or steal.

Once the young, self-conscious Damascus was done examining himself we turned to leave the bathroom. As his body reflected in the mirror I caught a glimpse of his cutie-mark. It was the same as the one that I had seen burned or scabbed into his side except it retained its rich color, as the same golden cross that adorned my father’s coat. I didn’t know what could cause a cutie-mark to change from this to the wound on present-day Damascus, but the symbols were the same. His destiny was truly the Faith.

Down the hallway a ways we approached another sliding door. At our arrival it spread open to reveal the dimly lit, red and candle-dotted room within. Actual candles glowed, not the magical conjuration of imitation that I was used to. The atmosphere reminded me of a service, but the room itself was still in common with the rest of the maintenance floor, dirty and dank. Something dripped in the corner.

Less than a dozen ponies stood in the dim light, mares and bucks of varying ages. Most noticeable, if only for the sense of power and wisdom emanating from him, was an aged buck rested on his haunches in the corner. He was a rich, deep gold and his silver eyes glinted in the candle-light, his mane was a faded dark brown and his age was apparent in every aspect of him, but still the aura of power emanated.

Despite the respectful nod Damascus gave the old buck, his attention was quickly drawn to another pony shrouded in the darkness. A mare, beautiful even in the dim candle-light. Every shade of her palette was a derivation of gold, hair like afternoon sunlight and a coat like earthy corn, even her eyes, a rich brown, were laced with bands of the same royal color. She had no horn or wings, though Damascus had eyes only for her pretty face, so I could only assume that she wasn’t a Pegasus. Her mane and tail were painstakingly kempt and well-tamed, she looked like a model from a pre-war advertisement, but her eyes shone with depth of character rather than the cheap, faked emotions of a smiling spokes-mare.

Time sped up, as Damascus skimmed over the events that followed, editing the memory as we lived through it. He didn’t change anything, but just shifted his focus. All he was thinking about was that mare. The world resumed its normal progression every time he looked at her, slowing just enough to get a solid picture of the memory that he truly wanted to leave behind.

His Faith was his own, his failures were his own, but she was something he could not ignore, an independent factor of his life. A being that affected him, rather than a moment he had affected.

He was speaking to the gathering, that much I could tell, but he didn’t want to delete this moment, just her presence. So with every glance at her he allowed the extractor to take her in, to erase her. His work could stay, the Prophet could stay, and his founding of the Faith had made him who he was. But she weakened him, he had become the pony devoid as I had met him because he had omitted every positive pined for from his memory, his loves, his happiness and his vestiges of a good life led.

He was hardening himself to deal with the world. I worried for the zebra on the mountain with his sleeping body, would he ask her to remove herself from his mind? Was he preparing himself to return to the Wasteland from their living sanctuary in the snow and pines by removing anything that he believed slowed him down, any emotional ballast that weighed on him, positively or not?

I wanted to tell him that happiness was one of our greatest gifts, that if it stopped him from being the cold buck he felt he needed to be then he should let it. He should keep these moments, or when he lay dying he would have only a barren, grayscale wasteland to look back on. But I couldn’t speak to either version of Damascus, not the eraser or the memory, as the moment sped by.

The congregation was applauding, cheering him on as he announced whatever plans he had for the Faith. As he spoke of whatever course of action they would take to ‘save’ the Stable from disbelief and indoctrination. The Prophet didn’t speak; he just sat beside Damascus and nodded as the student preached his teacher’s words. Eventually the aged buck stood, to a roar of slowed cheering as Damascus stared at the golden mare just in time to make the moment tangible.

“We will make ourselves known, we will offer our beliefs to those who would partake of them, and we will fight the oppression of this despotic dystopia!” continued Damascus, addressing the small crowd and his Prophet, while looking only at his mare. “Every moment this Commissary’s system persists is another moment that insults the Goddesses, that suppresses our ability to reason, to think for ourselves. Belief should be a choice; Faith shouldn’t be ignored because somepony is dangling a carrot at the end of a string down a road of blasphemy.” I understood his metaphor for Ascension. “We don’t need genes preserved in pods to make Equestrian good again, morals aren’t genetic, we need a creed, a promise that keeps us faithful to the old Equestria, to the wishes of our Goddesses, who can no longer rule and govern us directly, thanks to our own selfishness and violence. We need to make ourselves good out of nature, not out of a desire for personal gain.” Irony, if sin was avoided to attain a different kind of Ascension. “We need to show the Stable that we aren’t what they think we are: we aren’t a band of juvenile anarchists or a troupe of showy, bored, children. We aren’t zealots, we aren’t insane. We are simply free thinkers, and we choose to believe what we want to, not what we are instilled to. It is this mentality, not only the Faith, which we need to spread to our conformed brothers and sisters, by any means necessary.” He concluded, the passion and power I knew his voice for had been clear in his speech, and it let everypony listening know that this was what he was fighting for, this was what he truly believed in.

Time accelerated once more as the Prophet came up to more cheers and shook Damascus’ hoof. He was the speaker, the arm, but the Prophet was who they still saw as their leader. Together they had founded the Faith, so may decades ago, that had now grown to constitute at least a third of the Stable. I was watching history speed by me as my host preserved it against the extractor. I had never heard Damascus’ name spoken in reverence, as a founder or a father to the now large order. He had seemingly been forgotten by his flock, leaving the only credit he had in his own mind. And so he kept it.

The ponies filed out, Prophet first, leaving Damascus behind. The stunning mare stayed with him.

Memory clear, slow, real, they embraced. Guarded intimacy between them, Goddesses’ assumed law keeping them from being together. I felt her warmth, the physical as she kissed the buck whose mind I occupied decades later, and the emotional that filled the young body of said host.

“What did you think?” he asked her, smiling warmly, still close to her in the candle-lit room.

“You’re really charismatic when you want to be.” She laughed warmly. “If they weren’t ready before then they certainly are now.” Her voice was sweet and young, like his own as he spoke to her.

“Are you ready?” they still held each other close as they sat together on the metal floor. “After we make this public they’ll be no going back. You’ll always be a part of the Faith in their eyes.”

“I’m sick of lying. It’ll be nice to live in a place where everypony lets everypony else be. Where you can live how you want to live and feel like you can think for yourself again.”

“I didn’t mean the movement…” her eyes widened in excitement.

“Then whatever did you mean?” she asked slyly, hoof rested against his chest and deep eyes fixed intently on his own.

“Will you marry me?” she rocked over onto him and they fell, sprawled, onto the floor together. She kissed him deeply, body curled up on top of him, eyes closed.

“Yes, Goddesses yes.” She whispered. Again I felt like an intruder in an intimate exchange as they held each other on the cold floor of Maintenance, on the very lowest plane of our Stable.

I couldn’t imagine how Damascus had been feeling, as he was watching parts of his life for the last time. If this worked he would never know this moment happened. He would never know how happy he had been, curled up with his wife to be in the middle of such volatile times. I wished more than anything else that, at that instant, I could just speak to him, tell him to replay this anchor to himself, to reattach these memories to the stream of his life.

What else would this delete? Their marriage? Their children? I knew the answer was everything. Everything he had ever experienced with this mare would be taken away from him, pulled out by a single powerful memory. This was wrong.

They lay together, resting in each other’s embrace, staring up at the golden lit ceiling. The candles were going out, slowly but surely, the wax was burning down over the wicks and extinguishing the flames. The speech we had bypassed must have been longer than I had thought, though it had been the unofficial founding of the Faith after all, the moment when they became more than a small collection of idealists, and became ponies willing to fight for their ideals. By any means necessary.

“They’re really up there, aren’t they?” She asked, nuzzling into his strong chest, as his arm wrapped around her.

“Of course.”

“Do you think we’ll ever meet them?” she sounded so beautiful, I couldn’t help but share in Damascus’ emotions, his body felt them, so I did too. The warmth on my chest, the warmth in my heart.

“I’ll be waiting for you with them.” He promised.

“Don’t… don’t talk like that.” She seemed like she had heard him make this dark promise before.

“Alright.” He complied, wisely preserving the moment in perfection. They continued to stare at the fading ceiling, the room getting darker as the lights burned out.

“Can we sleep here tonight?”

“You… you know I can’t do that until…”

“Just sleep.” She assured him, laughing her golden laugh. “And each other.”

“Alright.” He held her close and buried his head into her soft mane, closing his eyes.
“I love you Sweetheart…”

Her breath was soft against my chest; I could feel her arms on our body, limp and resting. She was asleep. So we followed her into the darkness.

As Damascus slept the memory ended, I was pulled back into the numb void. Floating in pure black in a form that I could only imagine was my own, otherwise I would be nothing. The screen pulled away, getting smaller and smaller as it faded into the eternity. And, once again, I was watching sleep.

---------------------------------------------

I worried that I would be trapped in this nothingness until Damascus awoke, but as quickly as we had zoned in onto the memory I was being pulled out of it. The link to my host was breaking, though he wasn’t waking up, I was being disconnected from his sub-conscious. The zebra must have realized that the memory was over, and now began to remove the extractor from Damascus’ head. The orb that sat within it would come to anaesthetize me years later, but for now it had served its purpose, the memory of Damascus’ mare had been destroyed, but preserved. Kept separate but safe.

As the orb left it harvested every memory Damascus had of her, as promised.
They flashed by me, if Damascus watched this they would reaffirm the memories into his mind, reattaching him with his past, but to me they were just blurs and fleeting moments.

More meetings, candle-lit and cozy, became expansive. Pony after pony added to the crowd where the golden mare stood, I saw the lower atrium flash by, then the main one, the cafeteria, their room…

A wedding, in the most spectacular sense of the word, flashed by. White and Red paper roses decorated the walls of the lower atrium to honor her name. The group watching was small, but she wasn’t in the crowd. She was right in front of me. She does.

Hospital, happy for once. No mother imprisoned to a bed, talking to herself, father beside me. She was at peace, a life for another, a natural exchange.

A child played, a filly, rolled and laughed in between her toys that lay scattered across a steel floor.
Marie.
She was young, too young to speak, too young to run. She had the bluest eyes.

Soon after the child, came red. Too much red to comprehend, all over my hooves, all over my home. The child was crying somewhere. But she was silent, she wasn’t breathing, and she couldn’t look at me.
Rose.

A bleeding Prophet, my hooves became bruised and bloody, but I didn’t care.
A life for another…
The satisfying end must have stayed behind, Damascus would keep it, he wouldn’t understand it, but he would remember the feeling of rage being sated, and sadness persisting.
Repent.
<-=======ooO Ooo=======->

Stone instead of Steel or Rock. Ruin instead of Safety or Peace. Wasteland instead of Stable or Life.

I woke up in the cold. I was naked, I could feel it. The grated metal chilled my back, but there wasn’t any pain. My body didn’t ache, it didn’t sear, and it wasn’t scarred or broken or burnt. My limbs were functional and unfractured; my head felt fine, unbruised and no longer bleeding.

This was my body.

I was out in the world, not in the Stable that the metal floor had implied to me. In fact it wasn’t a floor at all, it was a cart. Like those I had seen at the Acheron Supermarket, horse-drawn and made of thin metal. I was surrounded by junk, cans of preserved food, scraps of technology and boxes of ammunition. The cart rattled as it was pulled along the barren landscape.

I first saw the sun, directly ahead, hovering in that space of sky between the horizons of earth and cloud. Just to the right of it was Zion Mountain, but instead of menacing, it was beautiful. White trails of dust, streamed off it as they were lit up by the brilliant gold of the sun. Snow and Sunshine, White and Gold.

The black mountain was dusted with frost and at this distance it was clearly a lot more jagged and layered than I had expected. Its range stretched out to the East, encompassing a distant valley filled with tall trees, whose vague bodies almost looked green. Directly to my right was the tapering conclusion of another mountain range, the South Zion range, one that just moments ago had been far away from me.

Not moments ago, I realized, hours.

I didn’t want to look around anymore, I wanted to sit back and engorge myself in the sun. The band of clear sky had doubled in size thanks to my new proximity; it was faded blue, almost gray in fact. But the magnificent sun burning pale gold dominated it. The rays cut through thin clouds and snowy mist, lighting up the cold world in its implied warmth.

Wherever I was going, I was heading towards it. And that was good enough for me. Whoever was pulling this cart, was taking me exactly to where I wanted to be. I would thank them when we got there.

My head lolled in the slowly lurching vehicle, I submit and pulled my eyes from the sky to look at my surroundings. The land was flatter, but still rocked over itself making the line of sight to my sides short. Pine trees rose out of the ground sporadically, barren and dead, leafless and gray. The thin branches could no longer catch the falling snow. Snow that now dusted the ground as it did the mountains.

It looked like somepony had poured a little sugar over the world.

I loved where I was, I loved the fresh, cold air, I loved the beautifully simplistic palette of the land and I loved the sun. Why couldn’t I have a sun cutie-mark like Harvest had? When was I ever going to find a couple of ones with a dot in the middle lighting up the sky? Making everything so… perfect.

Bouncing over rocks and dirt the cart rocked me gently, juggling the junk within over me as we went. I hadn’t really moved since I had awoken, and simply allowed my head to be shifted about while I took everything in. This was just fine, north was where the MASEBS tower was, I had seen it from the gas station. Whatever was happening was right, I was making progress, so why not just sit here and bask?

No reason at all.
My head was jolted back; it lay loosely over the bottom left corner of the cart. I was now staring at a colossus. An earth mover, over four hundred feet tall, easily. I had read about them, I think Crane, a pre-war pony whose logs I read, had worked with them. In that south western quadrant of the bracket the metallic behemoth stood, far away but still so large.

A Bucket Wheel Excavator, I remembered the technical term. The largest was eight hundred feet long and four hundred high. I wondered where it was, because the one I was looking at easily met those specifications by my, admittedly groggy, estimate.

It was sort of shaped like a squat crane, upside-down because of the way I regarded it, and at the end of its arm was a round scoop that looked like a flat saw blade at this distance. In fact, from here it looked more like a weapon than an excavating tool. It had two shorter arms that stuck up in an upside-down (currently right side up from my perspective) V that supported the longer, more horizontal arm.

Its base was thick, looking like an angular pyramid with four or five levels that grew smaller and smaller from the ground up. But the arms themselves were thin, at least they were made up of seemingly thin beams of metal, gaps were evident in patterns along all of them. Its arm wasn’t bent into the ground; I doubted anypony would actually find cause to do any mining now that the world had ended.

I actually felt the urge to twist myself around so I could see it facing the right way up, converting the gray clouds from bottom to top again. The cart said different though and I shifted deeper into it as it lurched again, my head rested against the back of the framework, facing the sun. Fine by me, Cart, I smiled.

This is how I stayed for a fairly long time, Zion got bigger as me and Cart headed north to meet the Sun. In school they had introduced the celestial body to us, personified it, oddly enough it had always worn sun-glasses. I wasn’t naïve enough to think that’s how it would be, but I still wanted to be closer to it, if not to meet it then just to feel it as much as I could. It was the only thing that was the same.

Beyond the freakily constant clouds and the beautifully dead land the sun was the only thing that I had heard described that fit its description. The war hadn’t changed it. It was the kind of thing that could almost make you believe that Celestia was actually up there. I promised myself that I would awake very early the next morning, in hopes of seeing the moon. That certainly wouldn’t have changed either; they were both so far away, so detached from our mortal problems. Goddesses in the sky, I entertained. It wasn’t hard to see where that idea had come from.

Ash… I realized the importance of taking stock of who I was with. Not for my sake, but for my companions, anything could have happened in the hours that I dreamed a memory. I could be in a Slaver’s caravan, being dragged to the pens. I could have become the toy of a Raider, mutilated and molested in my unconsciousness. And in either of those situations, Caliber and Ash would have had to have failed in protecting my useless body. They would be dead, or in just as much trouble as I was in.

I tried to look over the junk to who was pulling my cart but it obscured my view. I kicked my hind legs softly, shifting the pile on top of them. I crooked my neck to look just ahead, at my captive/driver.

It was the flank side of a buck; his gray tail was electric, spiky and unkempt as was the mane poking out from beneath his military green cap. His coat was a chocolate brown but his face was invisible to me. His cutie mark was a yellow road sign, two black arrows pointing up and down respectively in the confines of the diamond shaped sign.

From what I could tell he was wearing a pale green trader’s vest, thick with a black collar and several stuffed pockets, cutlery hung from the side of it. Underneath it he wore a dark brown sweater that was rolled up at his front legs, it was only a couple of shades darker than his coat. He wasn’t wearing a battle saddle, meaning he was either not a smart wastelander, or he was a unicorn.

I was definitely a unicorn, so I levitated my… I didn’t have any weapons on me. My mother’s gold locket still lay on my bare chest, indicating I hadn’t been robbed, though my belongings were not on me or in the cart. My legs felt fine but were set in braces; I could move them with ease, to the point where I hadn’t even noticed their support. I could pounce him, I hypothesized, being a wasteland buck he was most likely stronger than me but I had the element of surprise on my side. Though he did too considering I had no idea if his allies followed behind us, I hadn’t seen anything when looking at the Earth Mover, but then again, I had been looking at the Earth Mover, a towering metal beast of pure distraction.

My Pip-buck was still on my wrist, so I checked the E.F.S. radar, one ahead two behind, friendlies… No, non-hostiles, all of them.

“I might have to stop here, ladies.” Called back the buck, his accent was fast-rated and a little nasal, not unpleasantly so, just interestingly. In fact I liked his dialect, though he had interrupted my great escape’s planning with it. “I’m certainly not going through Zion to get to where I’m headin’”

“Fair enough,” replied the slightly rural, gentler dialect of my first friend in the wasteland. Her voice gave the greatest feeling of comfort in my panicked state. I eased up immediately. “If you don’t mind waiting until she wakes up…”

“No problem, I’m, not going to make you drag a limp mare through the dirt after what you all did for me.” He stopped walking. “I figure that, if anything, I still owe you.”

“And I apparently have nothing against cashing in on gratitude.” Laughed Caliber. “You really have helped us out, Stockholm; let’s say were even once we part ways, huh?”

“Good deal for me.” He turned in the cart’s harness. He wore glasses, a thin set that rested on the very end of his snout. His eyes were a clear green and he wore a ragged neckerchief tucked into his neat outfit. His mane was trying even harder to get out from beneath the front of his cap. On which a pair of black goggles were strapped. “Looks like we aren’t going to be waiting at all…”

I had forgotten that I was blatantly staring at him.

“Grace!” Ash suddenly appeared at the side of the cart, the winter breeze making her pale lavender locks dance ever so slightly, highlighted in the sunlight. She didn’t seem to know what to do now, uncomfortable after her short burst of excitement. It was nice to see her acting young, as until now I had only seen her mourning and fighting. She had to be at least a couple of years my junior, and I was barely an adult, except for in the most general sense of the word.

“I would say that we were worried about you, but Damascus isn’t the kind of pony to give out volatile memory orbs.” Caliber joined Ash beside me, her short auburn hair shining brilliantly in the sun, inflamed. I was happy to realize that they hadn’t actually had a reason to worry about me, especially considering the healthy state I was in. “How’re you feeling?”

“Unsettlingly good, last time I was conscious I felt like I had broken…everything.” I bounced my legs around in the cart, shifting the salvage within.

“I’ve never had to deal with a victim and perpetrator of an alicorn crash before, but with Stockholm’s supplies we managed to patch you up completely.” Ash said, informally introducing the buck.

“Grace, right? You alright to shake?” Stockholm asked extending his hoof out. I shook in response.

“Manners?” I asked dumbly. Caliber had told me not to expect them. It made sense that most ponies in the wasteland wouldn’t bother to maintain the introductory gesture.

“Oh, sorry, I’m just used to eventually trying to sell something to everypony I meet. It helps to be nice.” He explained with a grin. “Everything’s free for you, of course!”

“What’d I do?” My mind still felt slow, mostly due to everything new that I was experiencing all at once. “You guys didn’t fix everything while I was unconscious did you?” I asked half-joking, it certainly felt like a lot had happened in only a few hours.

“Nope! We just ac-ciden-tally saved this trader from the alicorns!” she announced with mock pride.

“We asked him to tell us about it once you woke up.” Added Ash. “Caliber explained that you like to know about things first hoof.” I looked at Stockholm expectantly.

“Well first off, I’m from Manehattan, so it took a little extra stupidity for me to stumble onto a camp of alicorns. Caliber explained that they haven’t really gotten up here yet.” Caliber had explained a lot. “But down South they kind of just sprung up out of nowhere, they aren’t an epidemic or anything, but they’ve sure got ponies scared. Kind of like a new boogey-man that people can pretend are more dangerous than anything else out here.”

“How are ponies of the Faith reacting in Manehattan?” asked Ash, hoping to find something to compare her friends’ reaction to.

“Don’t really have much religion down south.” Ash seemed disappointed, and amazed. “A couple of radical groups sprung up, Worshippers of Atom and the like, but nothing that you could really see any credibility behind. Not like what I heard about from folks in Fairmount, they told me about your Faith”

“You’re not thinking of joining, are you?” Ash asked drearily.

“Sorry, it’s hard to think of them as anything but cultists ‘coz of the crazies I’ve seen in Manehattan.”

“Good, I’m not in the mood for missionary work.” She smiled, apparently relieved.

“Well if that’s what it takes to join,” Stockholm smiled sleazily. “Maybe I’m feeling a little religious.”

“That doesn’t mean the same thing to them.” Caliber laughed. “Dirtbag.”

“Oh, heh. That means… something else in Manehattan.” Ash looked puzzled. “Anyway…”

They had a familiarity that I couldn’t help but admire. It was nice to see a group of ponies being friendly with each other. I felt a little left out, but took solace considering that I hadn’t really been around for a while. I let them work through the conversation together, enjoying their smiles.

“So I got caught on my way to Calvary. I wanted a little variety in my trade routes and since no one really heads this way, thanks to Littlehorn, I figured I could cash in.” he thought for a moment. “Just because the Middle Passage is the safest way East doesn’t mean that it’s actually safe.”

“Wait,” I cut in. “We heard Fairmount was dusted by the Slavers. How long did it take you to get from there to here?” If he was there so recently surely he would have come across the bare ruin that the DJ described and not the settlement that it once was.

“Not long, even though I steered clear of that scary-lookin’ thing” he gestured to the Earth Mover. “I’ve been with the alicorns for a couple of days.”

“Days?!” I exclaimed as I sat up in his cart-full of items for sale. “How did you survive?”

“Apart from the lack of food and water, it wasn’t so bad.” I suddenly had a horrible feeling that killing the alicorns had been a big mistake.

“That is not possible.” Ash said with a frown. “I fought those things… twice.”

“Yeah, I mean Ash showed me the worst parts of that ruin.” Caliber looked at me. “It got pretty gruesome.” I immediately felt relieved, but hoped that Stockholm would explain.

“I hate to say it, but I got lucky.” He shrugged. “There was something wrong with those alicorns. The corpses you saw torn up and mutilated, those were… like tests to them.” Looking around at our asking expressions he continued. “Let me explain… the alicorns in the south are said to prefer kidnapping ponies to killing them, nopony knows what they do to them, but the victims don’t come back. These alicorns were confused; and they spent most of their time there arguing about what they were supposed to do with Me.”

“So those corpses were their attempts to do whatever they do to ponies in Manehattan.” Caliber deduced.

“Right, I didn’t see it happen to anypony but the remains made me pretty damn uneasy, afraid for my life. Fortunately they were so hung up on what each of them thought their Goddess wanted them to do that they barely tried anything on me.” He smiled. “Their biggest obstacle was the blue one who kept insisting that she WAS the goddess, if any of them had cracked, it was her.”

“I remember that one… I flew it into the ground.” I said passively. “She was even arguing with herself about whether she was the Goddess or not.” I felt better knowing that I had crashed a psychopath.

“So there was something wrong with them!” Caliber seemed validated. “I knew it! They didn’t fight like the DJ described in the legends, they fought like…raiders.”

“I guess we were all lucky that they couldn’t contact their Goddess. It sounds like she can communicate with them down in Manehattan, give them orders and make them more powerful somehow. They must be out of range this far North, and that leaves them disorientated and weak.” Ash said, looking saddened by the fact that her friends had killed themselves over a fractionally terrifying monstrosity.

“You aren’t thinking that their Goddess…” I was concerned that Ash may have seen similarities between her Faith and the leader that the alicorns followed.

“No,” she laughed. “The real Goddesses aren’t limited by range.” I smiled at her unwavering devotion.

“I’d never seen one in person before, but I heard rumors of teleportation, telekinesis and shields that even a Steel ranger struggled to get through. Doesn’t sound like they could do any of that.” Stockholm addressed Caliber.

“No sir, they most definitely weren’t com-muni-cating or using any advanced spells aside from telekinesis. If they were missing out on that kind of potential then we really did get lucky.”

“You didn’t know that though, that you weren’t walking towards certain death, so as far as I’m concerned I still owe you.” Insisted the buck. “Tell you what, if you’re ever in New Calvary look for me, I’m planning to have that whole city sold on this Manehattan junk as soon as I can, so I might have something more valuable to sell you.” I was glad he had said ‘sell’ and not ‘give’. It didn’t feel right taking advantage of a rescue I had not been conscious for.

“So you’re still heading East?” asked Ash. “Even after the alicorns?”

“If I was scared of alicorns then it sounds like East would be the best place to go, anyway. And I sure didn’t come this far to turn back now.” I clambered out of the cart, slipping the braces off before I exited.

“Good luck then, and stay off the rails.” Advised Caliber. “The slavers know exactly what they’re supposed to do with their captives.”

“Trader living can be brutal.” He shrugged. “I’ll be fine.”

“We’ll see you there then.” I didn’t have the same familiarity with this buck that Ash and Caliber did but I appreciated his part in getting me functional again. “Stockholm…”

He gave a salute and repositioned himself with the cart’s harness; he was a unicorn, I realized, and so felt the need to salute him back. I had never taken much stock in the three variants of ponykind but in the North it seemed that unicorns were a rare thing. A Pegasus would no doubt straight-out hug another Pegasus it came across, considering how scarce they were.

Earth pony fortitude fought the wasteland well; I had seen it in Caliber, and even Ash. If any of the three genotypes spearheaded the surviving Equestrians of the North, it was them.

We started walking again, after we had watched the roving trader on his way until he disappeared out of sight over a ridge. The MASEBS tower stood not a mile away; we would reach it before nightfall easily. It stood on a mountain range that served as part of the Great Equestrian border, meaning that if we hurried, we could be directly under exposed evening sky. To bask in the highlight of that eternity.

“What happened to the Pegasus?” I asked, as their rarity and ability to control the weather had peaked my suspicion. “Were they responsible for the cloud curtain?”

“Most ponies are too afraid of the implications to ask that question.” Ash looked impressed.
“The implications?” She couldn’t mean what I thought she meant.

“Nothing happened to the Pegasus, in fact, their living in just as much safety and comfort as they did before the war.” She explained. “As they ran from their dying country they closed up the sky behind them, refuting their fellow citizens, their families and their Goddesses.”
“They just sit there.” Caliber fumed. “Some think that they can even watch us as we suffer and die.”

“They’ve created their own Kingdom in the Skies, but they will never be allowed into the one we are destined for. They have damned themselves in their selfish abandon.”

I stared up at the clouds as we walked on, regarding them in new understanding. They weren’t an anomaly, they were a barrier. A means to allow denial and detachment for the old loyalists, turned cowards. I didn’t voice my opinions; the mares on either side of me could see I shared their disapproval, their disappointment. Caliber was especially angry, having suffered the most while those above her grew fat and ignorant. Ash looked sad, as if she pitied them for their impending destiny. She was upset to see such a grand-scale failure across morals and empathy. I was disgusted, Slavers worked out of greed, Raiders out of anarchistic instinct, but the Pegasus were motivated by nothing but fear and sloth.

“They’ve been up there since the war?”

“Just about, they’re led by an order that was formed eons ago… called the Enclave, though nopony knows if they even bother with the name anymore. Considering that, to them, they’re all that’s left, all that matters, why would they need to differentiate themselves?” Caliber asked rhetorically.

“They’re still the Enclave. Just like the Steel Rangers cling to their title they cling to theirs. Between them they hold almost all of the greatest technologies left in the world, but they still intend to ‘wait it out’, or ignore it completely in the Enclave’s case.” Ash explained.

“Sounds like both groups see the wasteland and its inhabitants as something to avoid, to survive rather than to help, or even consider themselves a part of.” I related the two. “I’m starting to worry that the DJ isn’t going to find any potential if we can get him to look over the Calvary Steel Rangers.”

“Information is power, even if it’s bad. Better to rule them out as allies than do nothing.” Caliber justified.

“Speaking of allies…” I changed the subject to address our apparent new companion. “How did Caliber convince you to come along?”

“It wasn’t hard,” the recruiter interjected. “After fighting the alicorns with her, I couldn’t help but to insist.”

“Usually when you think you’ve lost your way on one path, options open up to you.” Said Ash. “My pilgrimage isn’t over, and it may never be. But running home with my tail between my legs when an invitation to do some good stood open, would have just been another failure.”

“So you understand why we’re here?” the tower stood high on the escarpments above , and now that we were so close it loomed over us. We just had to find a path up.

“Yes, but I don’t think I can help you when you’re dealing with the DJ.” She apologized. “I’m not very charismatic.”

I looked at Caliber, assuming the task of getting the DJ to accept our help (not necessarily a challenge) would fall to her. I didn’t think of myself as charming or persuasive in the least.

“Sorry Grace, I’m paid to fight. Damascus hired me, and has charged me with shooting things that try to bother you while you go about rallying all the remaining good in the wasteland.”
I raised an eyebrow at her.
“It’s in the contract.”

“You sound like Charon.” I laughed. “You know you’re not doing this for the money… neither was he.”

“Still, I follow orders. And if that means you’re the boss, then you’re the boss.”

“Why can’t Ash be the boss?” I shifted the honor over, passing the buck, as it were.

“I’m too young and foolish.” She emulated a filly’s wide-eyed innocence, the shadow of a smile dancing at her lips as she almost broke character.

“Face it Grace. Damascus knows that the DJ will jump at a chance to work with another idealist, he’ll see you as the material embodiment of his Good Fight as soon as you bat your pretty little baby eyes at him.” Caliber dismissed my weak protest. “You’re going to have to get used to trying to make ‘friends’.”

“The wasteland depends on it.” Ash added jovially, still wearing her mock expression of awe and reverence. “Anyway, this is certainly going to be easier than the Zion tribes or the Buffalo. It’ll be good for you to get some practice.”

“What?” I hadn’t heard about that part of the plan.

“If we’re headed to Calvary to do whatever will get the DJ operating in that area, then I figured we might as well go through Zion and the Plains on our way.” Explained Caliber. “The zebra and buffalo could be vital to facing whatever the Slavers have going for them.”

“They can’t have that big an army.” I argued, the Slavers couldn’t be so much of a threat that we had to go begging tribes across the northernmost reaches of Equestria. Right?

“Considering that our army currently consists of Damascus, Charon, Me and you…”

“I’ll help.” Ash added meekly.

“And Ash. They’ll steamroll us as we are now. Two Mercenaries, two zealots and a Stable pony aren’t going to make a dent in their forces and that Earth Mover.”

“That thing is functional?” I didn’t see the threat it could pose, apart from tearing up dirt. A lot of dirt… whole towns worth of dirt… Nevermind.

“If they got a train working we have to expect that they can get that thing moving too.” The thought of the four hundred foot tall monstrosity tearing across Equestria was admittedly terrifying. Caliber watched me as the image flickered in my mind. “So are we done arguing about this?”

“We were arguing?” Ash asked. “Whose side was I on?” Caliber smiled at her adorable confusion.

“Alright, if you really think I’m the best one to talk to these ponies,” what could I call buffalo and zebra? “Then I’ll do It.”

“Not what I think, honestly, but Damascus made it clear.” Caliber admitted, we both agreed that so far I hadn’t shown any particular political negotiating prowess. If such a skill even existed anymore.

We had been walking slowly around the base of the mountains, absently searching for a way up, for the road or pass that had once been used to access the large satellite tower. Our scan was fruitless and we were about to run out of places to look.

The Equestrian border lay before us, stretching far from the MASEBS Mountains to Zion’s own, covering the gap of relatively flat land that left the country exposed. It was a great wall, darkened by ash and age, standing tall but narrow as it extended across the terrain. Intermittently small towers jutted out, cylinders breaking the walls flat curve; they were adorned with dead floodlights and sirens. Ready for a long abandoned Zebra invasion. In places the wall had cracked and collapsed, leaving gaps that had either been made by erosion or attackers, it didn’t matter now.

A few of the floodlights burned on, some flickered, though most were dark. But the implied weak power source made me worry about automated defense systems that may never have been disengaged. According to my Pip-buck the topography of the land was such that we could access the MASEBS tower from behind, by approaching from the other side of the range, from out of Equestria.

“There’s the pass.” Ash relieved us. A narrow gap split the sharp escarpment of rock that the tower sat high atop of. It had been built before the war, I assumed, considering that it was more accessible from the wilds than from Equestria. A security risk that would have undoubtedly been compensated for in the decade of war-time revolution and development. Another reason I was glad we had found the way.

“It’s blocked.” Caliber’s face fell as we looked down the gap. A colossal pile of rocks stacked tightly, forming a barrier in the middle of the pass. Too steep to climb, and too large to shift. “Looks like there was a landslide, probably from the bombings.”

“Or it could have been intentional, a ways to keep ponies out. The obstruction is perfectly placed.” Ash suggested. “There’s no way over.”

“Then we’ll go around.” I said matter-of-factly.

“What, all the way back? It would take us days to walk along these mountains twice.” Ash pointed out.

“No…” I had come to a realization.

“Through the Divide.” Caliber understood, she met my shining eyes in the afternoon glow, and for a moment I forgot my concerns, ignored them, as we would be walking ever closer to the sun.

Footnote: Level Up!
Perk Added: Travel Light: While wearing light or no armor you run 10% faster. You’re still naked by the way.

Quest Perk: Sky Seeker: When under direct exposure to the sun’s rays or the moon’s glow you gain the powers of the Princesses. Not really. That would have been cool though. You actually get +1 Endurance. That’s not so bad, right?
How about I throw in +2 Luck since I got your hopes up and then crushed them like grapes at the Sister-hooves social.

Chapter 9: Video Killed the Radio Star

Fallout Equestria: Sola Gratia
Chapter 9: Video Killed the Radio Star
“There is a foul stench on the wind, let us not tarry long.”

Infinity stretched onwards above us. Never stopping, never fading. There was no longer anything to prevent me from looking into the realm of the Sun, Moon and Stars, so I stared up into the eternity.

The cloud cover cut off, with an eerily sharp precision, exactly along Equestria’s border. I now knew that this was no coincidence, that the roof of my country was created through cowardice and seclusion, by the retreat of the Pegasus. But the wild lands of the North, the stretch between Equestria and the Griffon Kingdoms in the mountains far away, were free from the Enclave’s cover.

I had led my companions, Caliber and Ash, here excitedly as soon as I had been given a valid excuse. The way to MASEBS was blocked by a landfall, and according to my Pip-buck, the only way up the steep escarpment was from the other side of it. So we had walked along the wall, gray and aged, until we came to a breach. Concrete and steel reinforcements lay scattered along the earth; we had crawled our way through the ruin and now stood in No-mare’s-land, in what Caliber called the Divide.

The land wasn’t anymore alive out here, the world had been bathed in Balefire, and nothing was pure anymore. Even Zion, a valley that had been sheltered by walls of mountains, barely retained natural life.

The trees were scarce at first, but further into the expanse great forests stood, stripped and gray. The plethora of mountains far to the North indicated the beginning of the Griffon territories, unfairly affected by the war just as harshly as Equestria had been. The fading sun burned just above that horizon, still lighting up the white snow and tearing through the darkening gray sky with its gossamer rays.

We were all standing still, the three of us, regarding the landscape of the Divide. I think we were all a little disappointed by how similar it seemed, how it confirmed that there was no escape, no end to this barren death. ‘The Wasteland’ was not a term reserved for what had been known as Equestria, no, it was a term that applied to the entire world. The ashy gray and powdering snow was all the same, the mountains on the horizon stood bright and white under the dying sun, but everything between there and the broken border shared the familiar dead palette.

Running from West to East was a crack in the earth, what would be identifiable as a large gorge from anywhere closer. From where we stood, however, it looked like a narrow scar cutting through the ground, running deep and persistent. It seemed to glow a slight green, especially noticeable when the view was obstructed by one of the silhouettes of a blackened tree cutting through it. The land around the scar was flat, leaving the stretch of the wound visible until it tapered off towards the Western Horizon.

In that same direction I could see the curve of the Equestrian border reappearing at the base of the MASEBS mountain range. We would have to find a gap in it to get up to the tower.

After a few more moments of silent staring Ash, Caliber and I began to walk along the wall that we had already passed over. We would follow it until we found a way back into the country.

“We had better stick close to the wall,” Caliber warned. “I’ve heard it said that this chasm was used as a dump-site for the radioactive by-products of weapons production.”

“That’s horrible.” Whispered Ash, not expressing much surprise or even disgust.
“No one would have cared about a stretch of barren, unclaimed land, not during a war.” Caliber explained.

“It’s all the same now.” I had retrieved my shirt, vest and coat from Caliber’s satchel bag before we had crossed the border. The sun was setting and the day was seeping into a cold winter night, we could feel the mild warmth dying. I loaded some of Caliber’s burdens into my own saddlebags before I had strapped them back on. Apart from the medical supplies, Stockholm had rewarded us with a couple of grenades and some ammunition for his rescue. I wasn’t sure what defenses would be in place at the tower itself but I was glad that we were prepared.

The chasm now lay directly to our right, far enough away that we weren’t affected by the piles of radioactive refuse buried within it. I hadn’t really experienced radiation yet, surprising considering its apparent abundance in the wasteland, but Caliber assured that she had enough Rad-Away to deal with more sever levels of exposure. I didn’t yet know what it caused, apart from death or ghoulification.

“There’s a breach in the wall!” Caliber stated excitedly. She had taken point on our tight walk along the border so was the first to spot the hole. Though it was large; the collapse of an entire watchtower had brought the surrounding cement crashing down with it, leaving a scattered ruin in place of the border.

The floodlights of the collapsed tower remained lit, they had detached from the bent railings and now lay scattered amidst the stone, lighting up the rubble strewn about them. Their light shone white and strong, and they became more and more noticeable as the sun slowly descended into those far off mountains of the horizon. I would miss it, but the prospect of a clear (hopefully starry) night sky also appealed to me.

“Your thing was right Grace,” Ash said, probably referring to my Pip-buck. “It looks like we may be able to climb this slope fairly easily.” We stood on the fallen wall and peered back into Equestria. Though the over-bright floodlights made it hard to see the comparatively dark mountain face, it looked like the land was indeed sloping gently up to the escarped tower.

Before we made our way over the, now meaningless, border once again I noticed something else my ‘thing’ was telling me. Something equally helpful, but much more urgent. I couldn’t gauge their proximity, I couldn’t see their physical manifestation out of the blinding floodlight before me, but they were there.

“Red Bars!” I hissed as I ducked behind a large chunk of cement. Caliber quickly followed suit, being familiar with the display of my E.F.S, and so reacting accordingly. Ash stood still, taking just a moment to try and interpret my warning. A moment too long.

A flash of mottled brown swept her off of her hooves, and sent her rolling along with it across the ruin. She yelped and was rapidly stolen from our sight, sounds of shifting debris and bruising impacts followed.

Caliber and I leapt out and away from our cover, my radar registered two more attackers behind us, but Ash took priority. We stumbled clumsily in our speed but eventually we found them. A mottled bird pinned her down, raising an eagle’s claw to rend her as its rotting wings extended to its sides. It had pounced like a lion and a thin, raw tail whipped around at its flanks. No cutie-mark, nor had there ever been one, this wasn’t a pony, nor was it really a griffon, at least, not anymore. This was a ghoul.

The floodlight cast the creatures shadow, magnified it five-fold onto the wall behind and exaggerated the enormous, curling talons preparing to cut into their young victim. The holes and gaps in the attacker’s skin and feathers were made all the more apparent.

Ash kicked and fought as we took our pause of shock at the disturbingly undead lion-bird. Caliber acted first, being more desensitized to the sight of a seemingly walking corpse. As I drew my laser pistol she was already dog-piling on Ash and the assailant, stabbing the feral ghoul repeatedly in her own frenzy.

I turned to face the approaching pair instead, hoping two against one wouldn’t be enough to undo me, and knowing that one against two wouldn’t be too much for Caliber and Ash.

I fired rapidly at the nearest oncoming Griffon thing, focusing my fire on one. It absorbed the shots, appearing to take little interest in the creation of more wounds in its already torn up body, and closed the distance between us rapidly. As it pounced I did all that I could to roll to the side, ungracefully throwing myself head first across the broken concrete. Though my roll was embarrassingly unsuccessful, it did achieve its evasive intent and my eager attacker went streaking passed me, unable to halt its feral lunge.

The third ghoul hovered above me, its wings functional despite their almost spider-web scarcity. I quickly reloaded more energy cells into the gun with my magic. I clicked the casing shut just as violently feline hind legs landed hard on my stomach, winding me to the fullest extent of the term. I pulled the trigger of the pistol recurrently, as fast as I could, my telekinetic abilities undaunted by my wheezing, empty lungs. The eagle head let out a screeching roar, sharp but powerful, though gravelly through a decaying throat.

I kicked up with all my physical strength; making impact with nothing but air, my target had swooped away. It flew high and wide, illuminated irregularly by the floodlights as it soared through the late evening sky. What orange sunlight was left made the bird another shadow amidst dozens of others.

I got back upright and hurriedly followed my E.F.S to the other two red bars. I wasn’t going to play games with my sky-faring enemy while my friends were in danger. I had already seen how hard it was to hit a flying target, and I wasn’t eager to resort to another air bound hijacking.

Before I could get to Caliber and Ash, I was accosted by the Griffon that I had first evaded. It wasn’t bleeding from the places that I had hit it, but the smell of burnt feathers and flesh surrounded me.

“You fight like cowards!” I yelled at the mentally destitute ghoul, frustrated by their recurring ducks and dives in and out of combat. It didn’t seem to care very much, and promptly reared up to swing its talons violently at me. I copied its stance and forced my hooves into its sharp hands, propping myself up against the creature’s almost unbearable strength. My legs dug into the gravelly dirt as I fought against it, both of us on just two legs as we formed an aggressive mockery of a triangle together.

The Eagle face stared right at me, eyes wild and bloodshot, pink skin poking out from behind moldy gray feathers. Its beak snapped forcefully at my tender face, leaving a stinging, deep scar where its tip grazed my left cheek. I floated my laser pistol to the side of that same cheek, leveling it to take a shot directly into the ghoul’s eyes, hopefully disintegrating its frenzied face as I had done the raider’s.

Eagle wings flapped wildly as it almost fearfully tried to break away. We were balancing each other, however, and before it could push against me and fall backwards I fired a red beam of concentrated energy directly into its right eye.

The ocular fluid boiled in a millisecond, popping the organ as soon as the shot hit home. The detonation lightly splattered my face as the Griffon slumped, limp, onto the ground. Its brain was burning, melting or dissolving into mush and ash, leaving its ugly head hollow and smoking out of the now empty eye socket.

I bound over the body nonchalantly, shaking the congealed goo off of my face as I ran. It had been a disgusting kill, but strangely – even upsettingly - appealing. The Griffons seemed more like the animals they were made up of rather than the fully sentient, sane beings that they had once been.

I saw the flyer flanking me on my side, swooping low and near as it raced me to our respective allies.

Buckshot flew through the air and stopped the ghoul mid-swoop in a satisfying burst of feathers. The coward flew straight up once again, flapping one wing weakly as it escaped from the onslaught of shrapnel. The creatures seemed able to survive a lot of punishment, needing a more directly lethal impact to finish them off. I fired fruitlessly after the retreating lion haunches, only succeeding to light up the sky.

“Where’s Caliber?” I asked, panting as we ran.

“Just ahead, finishing off the first one.”

We scrambled up and over a large chunk of wall, bounding over a floodlight which cast our shadows across the southern cloud cover that it was now aimed at. In the patch of clear ground below was Caliber, and she was repeatedly slamming the first ghoul’s face into a sharp piece of concrete.

She gasped, breaking for every forceful impact. The creature’s beak was shattered; its head was gradually collapsing in onto itself on every crushing meeting with the rubble. And yet its limbs still flailed, whether out of dying reflex or genuine struggle they flailed until finally they became still attachments to a corpse. Caliber allowed herself a faint smile as she panted over the body, her hooves completely bloodstained and her face splashed in a light mask of the same sanguine fluid.

“One left.” I reported, turning my gaze to the sky. It was darker than the nearby cloud cover now; the floodlights aimed at it disappeared into nothingness whereas on the clouds appeared faint circles of light. Obstructing these circles was the last ghoul, cawing while circling us high and wide. I holstered the laser pistol and floated out Caliber’s rifle. I wasn’t sure if I could make this kind of shot, but it was the gun most suited for the job, and, right now, I was the only one who could use it.

“How loose is she when you float her?” Caliber asked, catching her breath much faster than I could.

“Why?” I swung the weapon after the fast moving shadow.

“Let me aim it.” She said as she calmly trotted up beside me. “Put the incendiaries in.” I quickly swapped out the clip for the orange tinted one as I loosened my hold on her gun. She sat just slightly away from me, avoiding putting herself between me and the focus of my magic. She softly rested her hooves against the floating weapon and stretched her back until her unclenched left eye was on the scope.

I kept the gun floating on an axis so that she could rotate it at will; I put up no telekinetic resistance to her urges, letting the experienced marksmare take aim.

After a moment of dead silence, she took the shot.
The rifle kicked back with its usual power, hitting Caliber around the eye with its scope and knocking her off of her hooves. We could hear the bullet tearing through the air after the initial gunshot. A brilliant fire appeared high above us in the darkness, as if out of nowhere, and, after a few moments of flailing, the plumage of orange and yellow flame came rocketing towards the earth. It looked like a meteorite, or a falling star to mimic the purple one comprising Ash’s cutie-mark.
After Caliber collected herself off the ground, the three of us watched its descent together. The exposed sky was all but black, no stars, and only trace amounts of dim orange sunshine. I looked over to Ash as the Griffon burned just above us on its way to the ground. Her shining black eyes reflected the flames vividly, the dampness in them making the fire seem to dance against those shimmering coals.

“Goddesses…” she whispered almost inaudibly. The familiar look of distant pity crossed her face again as what was left of the ghoul nestled into the ruins before us. Feathers burned up in the air as they swayed slowly towards the earth and the remains of the Griffon emanated a strong smell of hot, rotted meat.

Before we could even move, familiar screeches sounded off from the North. They were laced with the rumbles of a lions roar but the sound that cut through the night made me think of a horrific, crying bird.

“Shit.” Caliber cussed as she rubbed her eye, I admittedly flinched at the word. “That was stupid of me.”

I realized what she meant as we stared out into the night, seeing the glowing green of the radioactive chasm behind silhouettes of dark trees and shifting figures. We had essentially set off a flare.

“Get to the tower.” I ordered uncharacteristically. Ash didn’t move, she just continued to stare down at the charred corpse that had lit up the sky and alerted its kin. “Now.” I barked, snapping her out of her daze.
We ran over the debris and cement, bruising our hooves as we occasionally clicked them against a jutting piece of the ruined tower. The floodlights looked fantastically bright now that all other sources of light were gone, and made it seem like the ruin was the only thing left in the world, a broken island in the night.

The wall stood clear and distinct though, and we easily found the large hole made by the towers collapse. Darting through it, I spared a look behind me. While there was nothing solid to see, the night was alive with activity. As I turned back on my way, I head more of the blood curdling caws and shrieks. One, the loudest of them, let out seemingly indiscernible sounds , but my paranoid imagination made them all sound like abominable and ominous words.

“Diiiiieeeeee…..”

“Suffffeerrrrrr…”

“Runnn, Runnn Runnnnnnn…”

Adrenaline pumped through me as we darted up the gentle mountain, dirt and rock gave way at our scampering ascent and we ignored any semblance of a path to make a bee-line straight for the tower. I was terrified, I couldn’t think because of the fear consuming my mind, driven by my usually active and improbable imagination finally being justified.

I had been scared of a lot of things as a filly, all monsters and horrors from the unfounded, unreliable source that had been my imaginings. But this was real, and so was the terror. It was new, the challenge of rational fear, and in a way I couldn’t come to terms with it. A part of me kept assuring that it was all another nightmare, creatively spawned by my own exaggerations of the situation, it promised that I was under no real threat. That I was making it all up, a silly little filly making monsters out of mole-hills

I ignored that part and kept running.

The tower was dark but offset by the gray clouds behind it, though it was still difficult to find a door or access point. Ash circled the angular faces of the structure coming back around with a dour expression.
“The front door is sealed, metal and wood bars, it looks solid.” She panted.

I spun around frantically looking for Caliber in the blackness. If worse came to worse I would have to set off a grenade at the front entrance, I needed to know if she had found anything so that I could act.

“Here! Here! There’s a passage under the rocks!” she called for us excitedly. The younger mare and I dashed towards her voice, skidding on the descent across more loose rocks and dirt. Caliber was standing against a steel door, ordained with mechanisms that indicated a complicated opening. Blazoned across it, the enthusiastic green words ‘FUCK YOU’ welcomed us to the satellite communications tower. There was no terminal or apparent lock, and Caliber prodded at the door to little success.

I took her hoof in mine and guided it to press the switch on the adjacent surface. The thin bars spun round circles of metal that were no doubt attached to hinges or pulleys that pulled the door apart. It let out a series of clicks before sliding away into the frame, in four different pieces. The hallway within was lit with flickering fluorescents and seemed just as mechanically overburdened as the door had. The walls were lined with steel and wires up to the point where they disappeared, curving along together up some stairs.

“Oh no…” Ash moaned. “They’ll surely figure out the switch, it’s too simple for them not to. The griffons will be able to follow us in.” she looked back over her shoulder in trepidation. The screams were getting louder as the ghouls investigated the ruins were their fellows had fallen. They were clear in the floodlight and all looked just as decayed and dead as the corpses they poked over.

“We’re not going in…” concluded Caliber, she met the other mare’s completely colorful eyes and they both shared another moment of tactical understanding. “Grace, go, we’ll follow if it gets too hot out here. But the faster you can get to the DJ, the better.”

“We’ll slow them down, give you some time.” Ash agreed. “Then lead them into the hallway.” They were planning together as I collected my words to protest.

“No, I can’t-“Caliber bucked me in the chest, hard enough to send me collapsing into the underground hallway and to most likely leave a bruise. She drew the 45. Pistol from her holster and for an irrational moment as I lay dazed on the steel floor, I thought that she was going to shoot me. Instead she turned to face the Griffons, now attracted by the light that was leaking out of the open doorway, as Ash stomped her hoof against the switch, bringing the four quadrants closing together again, and shutting me in.

I was sure that I would go back out to help them. That’s what I wanted to do. But they were right, if I was going to talk to DJ Pon3, I would have to do it now, or risk losing the building to the approaching swarm of ghouls. I didn’t know how many there were or if Caliber would relent quickly enough to accept retreat into the narrow hallway, valuing safety over maneuverability, but I surely knew that I had to hurry.

I got up and sprinted deeper into the system of corridors and turns. I ignored both nostalgia and the throbbing ache in my chest from exertion and coercion, forcing myself to continue.

I wasn’t even sure what I was looking for, or what I would do when I found it, but I knew that it had to be at the highest level of the tower. Everything important was always at the top.
I eventually found myself at the doorway into a large, similarly angular room that had to be the base level of the structure. I saw the barricaded front door Ash had accurately ruled out as a potential point of entry. Not only was it barred and boarded, but land mines dotted the hearth before it.
My E.F.S indicated a solitary non-hostile in the area ahead of me; I slowed my pace dramatically and cautiously peeked into the room. The bar must have spotted me as it almost instantly shifted from white to hostile red and the place where my head had just been was perforated by a barrage of bullets. Machine Gun rounds, it sounded like, no taunts or cries though. The room had been decorated raider-style, no corpses hanging but plenty of blood and graffiti adorning the walls and floor.

The bar was stationary, and as I panted against the corner of the doorframe it turned white. Robotic, it had to be, nothing else could be absent enough to think a threat could just disappear like that. This time I peeked directly in the direction of the bar. Nothing there, I turned my gaze up just as the automated turret swung around to face me again. Another clip emptied as I slammed myself back into cover.

It was fast, but SATS was faster. I hovered Caliber’s rifle at my side and dove into the room, activating the time-freezing mechanic as I found my balance.

The turret was caught mid-swivel, it stared eternally at the entrance that I had come from, frozen in its place by the magic of the Stable-Tec Arcane Targeting Spell. I tried to move, thinking for one naïve moment that I could continue life in this realm of timelessness, that I could drag the frozen Caliber and Ash away from their statuesque opponents and save the wasteland as it all stood still. But I was as immobile as the turret; however my mind and machinery raced on as I plotted two shots to the guard’s body casing. As the tinted stopping power of SATS faded away I begged for the two rounds to be enough.
The defensive robot completed its turn to face me just as the rifle sounded out. Both bullets hit hard, embedding themselves into the turret’s casing, causing it to sputter and stall for a moment. I saw a metal frame staircase that wound up to the next two levels of the tall room, but as I ran for it the turret began to fire again. Its shots went wild and wide, as I must have damaged its targeting chip.

As I bound for the stairs, I fired off more rounds at the automated defender, and eventually, after a few more successful hits, it exploded in a burst of bluish smoke, sending shrapnel flying across the room. I didn’t slow at my victory over the crippled machine; instead picking up the garish pace that I had maintained before, bounding up the staircases, level by level, blindly hoping to run into my goal.

My hope died as I reached a much smaller room, an alcove really, at the end of the black framework. Inside were two purposeless machines on both close sides, no longer lit or beeping as they once would have been, and a step-ladder attached to the wall directly ahead of me.

The ladder led to a small circular hatch which, by my guess, would open up to the heights outside. That was not where I needed to be, I thought. The tower had seemed higher than this though, maybe there was another hatch that led back into the building somewhere out there, dividing the place I wanted to be from this area.

I heard the sound of a shotgun and a pistol, along with much louder, shriller shrieks, coming from far below me. Caliber and Ash had fallen back into the hallway; I was running out of time. Suddenly charged to move, I clambered up the diagonal ladder and pushed myself against the hatch.

The metal circle sat heavily atop my head, flattening my ears, as I poked half my body out into the cold night air. A framework of steel grating hugged the exterior of the tower, wrapping around it. I could see the largest satellite dish above me, opening out to the cloud covered sky. There was enough room between us for another interior area to exist beneath it, validating my course.

Tumbling out of the hole, I let the hatch swing shut with a clang behind me. Caution was injected back into my movements; abrasive bounding and running on this rickety grating would no doubt get me killed. Had it not been for the railing I might have already fallen to my death against the rocky ground, nearly indiscernible as a black ocean, below me.

In the darkness I could make out the faint glow of the still-open door to the tower’s halls below. A few flitting shadows danced against it, like moths around a flame, the Griffon ghouls were slamming themselves against the sides of the doorway attempting to get in faster than the unavoidable drawl of going one by one. They were too big however; too stupid to close their wings or wait their turn as they recurrently bruised themselves against the concrete. The stream was slow, but there were several left milling on the outside. I understood why Caliber and Ash had retreated: if they had stayed in the open they would have been over-run, but in the narrow corridors they stood a good chance.

I wanted to help, but had to formulate a plan first. I walked along the framework until I came to another narrow hatch, too narrow, I noted, for any griffon to fit through. Returning to my overlook I pulled a grenade from my saddlebags, a gift of gratitude from Stockholm, and measured the distance between me and the writhing mass of living corpses, considered how the grenade at the toll had arched through the air

I let it loose of my golden telekinetic hold, putting as much power behind it as I could muster. I didn’t falter to watch its impact, instead turning to run towards the next hatch and back into the tower. I heard the shrieks, though, satisfyingly panicked and pained as the grenade went off with a compact cannonade.

They would come for me; they would slam against the impenetrable hatch as they had the doorway below, giving my companions a few less to deal with as they held the line. I knew that I had to be careful when I was talking to the DJ, I couldn’t sacrifice the meaning behind the words that I spoke in my haste. Somehow I would have to forget about the ghouls, have complete faith in Caliber and Ash’s survival as I acted as Damascus’ liaison, coherent, calm, a politician… though I had good reason to hate politicians.

I slid my way into the small hole, wriggling with half my body on either side of the hatch until it slammed against my flank forcing me to fall loose, face-first onto the cold cement just below. Brushing myself off, I sat back onto my haunches and surveyed the room that I now found myself in.

It was round, yet angular, like the base of the tower, dark apart from the flickering light of the live technology within. Screens lined the walls, all turned inwards onto the center of the system. Beeping, blinking machines and devices sat beneath every section, meaninglessly to my untrained eyes. Wires skirted across the floor in thick insulated black gatherings, carrying power, in the forms of electricity and information across huge distances from the Manehattan hub.

A microphone jutted out of the central pedestal, a small array of buttons beside it. I walked up to the system and sat back, pondering over the course of action that could patch me in to the DJ. I knew how to use terminals, years of experience had generated that skill, but I could generate no more intelligent ideas than ‘press something shiny and see what happens’. I settled on the biggest, most important looking button beside the microphone, if this worked like the walkie-talkies I had imagined playing with as a filly…

“Hello?... Mr. Pon3?” I asked, holding the button down as I spoke into the microphone. No response.

A large list of numbers appeared onto one of the screens as I held down the button. Another showed a wide angled map of Equestria, minimalistic, highlighting all major broadcasters that were functioning.

One of the markers was highlighted in white, drawing my attention to it, a red dot on the top of the map. That was me, I realized, on the very brink of the country. Using what geographical understanding I had accrued, I decided that the dot far south beside a large body of water was Manehattan. The North-Eastern quadrant of the map was unsurprisingly blank; if there was a functioning broadcaster there then the DJ would surely be using it already.

I mashed buttons until the white highlighter lay on the Manehattan dot. The system honed in and displayed a smaller list of numbers. One by one they cut out, they had been programmed into memory long ago when they were active but now these frequencies lay silent in the cites ruins. One remained, it had to be him. As I selected the Galaxy News frequency a security blockade popped up.

ACCESS RESTRICTED!
BROADCAST LICENCESED TO: GALAXY NEWS RADIO
<REMOTE TAP UNPERMISSABLE>
---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---
EMERGENCY_SECURITY_PROTOCOLS: ENABLED
MILITARY OVERIDE IN EFFECT
FORCE ACCESS?
Y/N…

This facility had been converted into a military outpost. Logical considering its ideal placement for broadcasting to the griffon lands or perhaps border patrols in the Divide.

I selected the ‘y’ option, for yes. Subsequently bringing the dauntless force of military authorization onto the frequency’s licensed privacy.

The soft static of radio silence filled the room; it was a gentle sound, as if somepony had turned the volume on a television too far up on a dead channel. I tried my luck on the microphone again.

“Mr. Pon3? If you can hear me then I’d really like to speak to you.” I didn’t know exactly what I had just done, but it seemed to have something to do with Galaxy News Radio so I persisted.
“I’m speaking from one of the MASEBS towers and I’m interested in helping you widen your broadcast range to include Calvary. The ponies up her could really use some… truth.” I used what I knew about the buck to try and appeal to his intentions, it had sounded like he enjoyed having as many ponies as possible listening to his broadcast, if only to inform as many as he could with his news and announcements. “Sir?”

Just when I was about to tap out in submission, the images, or lack thereof, on all the screens around me changed. A camera angle on a studio popped up, mostly obstructed by the face of a buck staring into the lens. He looked thin and aged but retained a clean dapperness that I found unusual for the wasteland. His coat was a washed pale blue, not shaggy or dirty in the slightest. His dark blue, blasted back mane had shocks of electric white streaking through it. Shiny red eyes peered over thick round glasses on the brink of his firm, lined muzzle, and a horn extruded from his soft mane, glowing a faint sky blue.

At first his expression indicated a mix of anger and frantic curiosity but as his eyes focused on me they became gentler, and the beginnings of a smile revealed clean, strong teeth.

“You’re on live, sweetheart.” He cooed gently, the wild DJ persona milder and softer as he regarded me from his Manehattan tower.
“Wha…” I cut myself off, dread spreading through me as I began to understand.

“D’you have anything to say to the Wasteland?” he looked amused. “I hope it’s damn good, considering you just interrupted Sweetie-Belle in the middle of a song.”

“Oh! I’m so sorry! I didn’t even realize that-“ I was panicking, nearly hyper-ventilating. “I’m… Slavers, I want to… kill them, Um, as much as I can? So don’t worry… folks!” I grasped desperately for words.

“You hear that children? This little filly is out for blood!” he laughed; I could almost hear the entire wasteland laugh with him. “So now that we’ve got someone to deal with the whole slavery thing, can I get a volunteer to disprove those pesky alicorns myths? Come on folks, there’s only lives at stake here.”

“Mr. Pon3?” I desperately wanted to cut myself off, let go of the button and go home, I had never spoken in front of a crowd before. Never been allowed to speak in front of a crowd before. And though I couldn’t see them I felt as if the whole wasteland was watching me quiver. “I need to talk to you…”

“Well go ahead Lincoln.” He chuckled. “What’s your name anyway?”

Before I could answer, and reveal my invaluable, or worthless, identity to the world as a result of my nervous compliance, Caliber came crashing through the hatch into the room.

“Hey!” She cried out, as Ash dropped softly through the entrance behind her. “Uh… Shepard!” she ran up beside me, making sure her voice would carry into the microphone as the Dj’s did. “All those ghouls you killed on your way up here, we… we took care of the rest of them! But you got most of them!” she yelled with feigned admiration, her voice doubled by the mimic coming from the radio strapped to her blue vest.

“Now hold on a minute, children…” the DJ addressed his wide-spread audience, still maintaining his sarcastic tone. “Could it be that the terror of the Slavers has some merit behind her?”

“I…” I caught on to Caliber’s façade as she prompted me on with her wide eyes. “Damn… damn right I do! Now my two companions and I fought our way past dozens of ghoulified griffons, automated turrets and ventured into the accursed Divide to get here! So how about you and I talk about how you’re going to help me in my crusade against the plague of Slavers stealing Equestria’s own from their beds as they sleep.” I forced away the nerves in my attempt at a bold, confident tone; we wanted him to take us seriously. Caliber had shot me a worried look at the mention of the Divide, but Ash was cheering silently behind her.

“He-ey! Looks like we got ourselves a force to be reckoned with here, children! Griffon ghouls and Robots? Sounds like the Slavers are going to be seeing some serious shit!” he shifted his eyes to the devices in his studio as he continued to speak. “It seems like this Shepard wants to talk to the old DJ about strategy, so how about I set you up with a couple of songs to tide you over while we work this out!”
I noticed the Dj’s cutie-mark as he worked, a treble cleft like those recurrent on sheet-music. He wore a black vest over a white shirt and his cleanliness continued to baffle me. Even his hooves looked trimmed. Another prompt appeared on one of the screens.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------
BROADCAST FREQUENCY: GALAXY NEWS RADIO
REQUESTING TERMINATION OF OVERIDE
Y/N…
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
I quickly obliged and music began to play once again, audible over Caliber’s radio and from the studio still displayed on most of the shining screens. I slumped back onto my haunches, indescribably relieved; I hadn’t even known how nervous I got when speaking in public. Even trapped within a Stable of hundreds for most of my life I had yet to have held long conversations with any more than a dozen in total.

“Who the heck is Shepard?” Ash laughed as she sat down beside me.

“It’s what a group of ponies that she saved this morning called her.” Caliber explained.
“It was all I could think of.”

“But why?” I sat silently shivering as the two continued to talk over me. The DJ was still busy lining up the playlist that he would use to give us the time we needed.

“Your real name isn’t something you want to share with just anybody, especially not when you just announced a ‘crusade’ against one of the most organized groups of criminals in the wasteland.” She shot me a light-heartedly skeptical look. “You two are awfully eager to share yours.”

“But now I’m a patriotic zealot with a taste for the blood of her enemies and a penchant for killing Slavers. How is that any better?” I sighed.

“You’re an anonymously patriotic zealot with a… all that. Besides, we were just telling the truth.”

“’Crusader against the Plague of Slavers stealing Equestria’s own from their beds as they sleep’ is not what I thought I’d grow up to be.” I shook off the shakes riddling my body and gathered myself to continue talking to the DJ. There was a faint pride welling inside me at my victory over surprise self consciousness.

“If that was the truth then you two must have taken big steps on this crusade while I wasn’t around.” Ash pointed out. “As far as I know we’re still on the very first step of this whole thing.”

“And I’d like to know why you felt the need to cut into my broadcast to take that step.” Pried the blue buck who had drawn his attention back to us through the screens. Ash went quite, apparently more nervous than me about speaking to an audience. “You’re definitely off the air.” He reassured. “And there’s no need to press anything else, just talk and I’ll be able to hear you through the cameras.”

“Then why didn’t you hear me in the first place?” I asked, wistfully wondering if this whole debacle could have been avoided, though there was still a strange pleasure at becoming something relevant… known.

“I’ve tapped into the tower you’re in; so I’m getting a live feed from the security systems now. I had no reason to focus on some far-off abandoned broadcaster until you all used it to hijack my baby.”

“An accident, I swear.” I waved off his smiling accusation. I had seen his anger when he had first popped onto the screens, but it had disappeared as soon as he had seen me. Was I really that unthreatening? “I’m sorry, though I’m sure that hurt me more than it hurt you.”

“Hurt me? Kid, the wasteland loves to hear about heroes! And I don’t care if that was a load of bullshit or not, it still made up for the invasion on my frequency.” He laughed.

“No lies, sir.” I nodded at Caliber, thankful that her interrupting report on what had happened could only serve to sway the DJ further to our side. “We’ve certainly been through a lot to get here.”
“Well then, I suppose you came for a reason.” He arched his frosted brow.

“We want to help you.” I confessed. “What I said about Calvary was the truth. I want to know how we can get you access to the East.”

“Funny, that’s usually the kind of thing I ask ponies to do before I agree to help them. Not what they actually want help with.” His voice was recognizable as the one he had used when addressing his ‘children’, but somehow vastly different. “Why volunteer?”

“We were sent by a buck named Damascus, he asked me to rally a resistance force so we could liberate the railway from the Slavers. Getting information on the Great Plains and Calvary was our first task, and you seem to know everything about everywhere else.” I summarized.

“I understand the logistics… what I meant was why are you involved at all?” he had already figured out that if we wanted to help him access an area so badly, then we must want to use him as our source of information on that very area. “I’m an old buck, should’ve retired a long time ago, and in my years of watching and reporting I’ve learned how to read a pony, how to look at the visual to see the truth. You’re traveling with a weathered mercenary who lost her innocence long ago and a mare too young to have the wounds she does, too have seen what she’s seen. They’re wastelanders; they can only be wastelanders, that much is obvious, they’re wounds make it clear.”

I looked at Caliber, bandage on her head, black eye from the rifle scope’s impact, a hardened coat on a body that had sustained more bruises and scars than I could imagine. Ash’s middle was wrapped in bandages, I realized what the white material was as I looked at her as the DJ would have, barely an adult but still so damaged, the Ecru swatches across her green-beige body weren’t stains, they were wounds.
But I had scars, both fresh and aged, on my left cheek and a multiply bruised chest under my father’s dirty brown coat, my own body had been stained by blood and dust multiple times over since the last time I bathed, there was little about my physical state that implied the life of safety and comfort that I had lived.

“You don’t mean physical wounds do you?”

“No. That’s not the truth I see.” He regarded my friends. “You two are here for different reasons.”

“We don’t have to explain our reasons to you.” Caliber hissed, she clearly didn’t like being judged by the clean, healthy buck from his comfortable tower. Ash remained silent beside her, eyes cast down. “I might not be able to ‘read’ ponies like you think you can, but I can sure as Hell see that you haven’t been anywhere more dangerous than that studio in years. You’re just a louder version of the Enclave.” At the rising tensions Ash stood up and backed up to the hatch.

“We should wait outside.” She urged, suspecting that Caliber’s disgust could dissuade the DJ from co-operating. He seemed a little pretentious, granted, but couldn’t they see how much he was helping the wasteland from his ‘ivory tower’? Much more than as a lone, old buck with only a gun and his ideals. But Caliber had understandable trouble respecting that, and Ash didn’t like the past wounds and traumas that he was causing her to dig up, so I let the two of them exit into the night together.

The buck didn’t seem to be bothered. “I didn’t mean that they weren’t invested in the Good Fight,” he explained calmly. “They just aren’t solely motivated by the thought of fighting it. Like you are.”

“What about you?” I wanted to get to the point. “You’ll help us, if we can give you the means to?”
“Definitely,” he nodded. “If I want to see anything happen before I go then it’d be this damn railway put out of commission.”

“What do you mean go? How long has DJ Pon3 been around?” It was hard to imagine a persona dying.

“Technically… since before the war. I’m just another embodiment, a child of Galaxy News Radio, though I call it my baby it really doesn’t belong to me, I’m just the one keeping it alive right now.”

“How does that work?” He didn’t look like a ghoul.

“DJ Pon3 is a title, passed down from pony to pony; it’s a responsibility to uphold the values of this station, and to keep preaching on about the Good Fight.” He explained. “Once I find somepony to pass it to then that responsibility will shift to another, and I will leave this tower.”

“I respect what you’re doing.” I reassured him, feeling that the reference to the tower was his subtle way of assuring that he had no intention of maintaining the apparently luxurious lifestyle after his job was done. “That’s why I’d be willing to help even if we didn’t need you. Just tell me what has to be done.”

“That’s what I mean.” And that was what Caliber had meant when she had insisted that I be the one to talk to this buck. “You’re an idealist.”

“I just want to get to work.” I really wanted to console Ash and Caliber, in case they’d decide to leave me.

“You’re eager, good. Unfortunately the only way you can help me is from beyond the city itself, a considerable distance South-East of here. There is a routing tower in the heart of the Plains, far north of Calvary.” The city was on the opposite end of the Canterlot mountain range according to my Pip-buck marker, a ways out of the crescent-shaped Littlehorn Valley. Though we could get there by heading straight East through Zion then directly South, as Caliber was planning. “I have enough knowledge of the MASEBS system to tell you exactly what building you’ll need to get into, though it should be obvious from the satellites that will undoubtedly be attached to it. All I know is the location, I can’t tell you what to expect when you get there, or what might stand in your way.”

“If you know where it is why haven’t you just sent your signal there already.” I asked, surely if the underground cables of the system reached the relay then he should be able to access it.

“It’s locked down, somepony shut it off or sabotaged it or it simply isn’t powered anymore. The country’s crazy technological revamp during the war could have turned it into a television tower for all I know. In any case, you noticed there was no marker for it on the map that popped up? That’s because it’s no longer recognized as part of the system.”

“So you just need us to repair it?”

“Flip a switch, plug in a cable, adjust a satellite, do something! It could be any number of issues so I’ll transfer schematics and access codes to your Pip-buck if you would plug it into the machine there.” I obliged, using the same cable that attached it to the Stable terminal in my room days ago. “Once it’s connected I’ll be able to talk to you from there, and I’ll have access to every security system in range that I can hack into. I’ll be able to get you most any information you need.” He promised as he transferred the data across the countless miles of cable.

“Then I look forward to talking to you there.” I had more questions but I didn’t want to leave Caliber and Ash fuming out in the cold for too long. “Oh, and feel free to play up this Shepard thing if you want, as long as I don’t have to do any more interviews.”

“You get me a voice in the East and I’ll let everybody in the wasteland know that you were responsible.” He assured with a smile.

There was that urge again, that wanting, an anticipation even. “Shepard.” I falsely introduced, donning what now seemed like a stage name of renown. Suddenly feeling as if I was doing something wrong, I tried to word the insistence out more subtly, as if it weren’t personal desire. “If ponies like heroes then go ahead and use this whole mess to invent one for them. You’ll have to explain the interruption somehow.”

“Sure, but I don’t think I’m going to have to do much inventing.” He grinned.

“You don’t do any at all, do you?” I had a feeling this pony held the truth higher than anything else.

“Not ever, no matter how bad it hurts.” He assured me. “That’s the whole point, and that’s what makes finding an appropriate replacement so difficult. It can be hard sometimes… there aren’t a lot of things in the wasteland that you can just un-see. And spreading these things, broadcasting bad news far and wide, isn’t a job I would wish upon just anypony.”

“But you love it.” I smiled.

“More than anything in the world.” He looked back at the records and machinery of his studio, his home. I was starting to respect this buck more and more, the work he had put into his ‘baby’, the care he had for it, shone out in the crimson of his musical old eyes. “I’m not saying it won’t be hard to let her go… but death isn’t predictable, and if I’m not prepared before it comes, then this station dies with me.”

“How long have you been DJ Pon3?” My curiosity was battling against my guilt over choosing to side with the DJ over Caliber, though I was starting to feel like she had been the unreasonable one, which only made me want to apologize to her more.

“I thought I’d seen it all, before this job I mean, I was older than your fiery friend when I stopped fighting the good fight in the literal sense.” He chuckled. “But here… I think I’ve been here long enough to honestly say that you can never see it all. There’s too goddamn much.”

“And that’s without Calvary.” I pointed out.

“I can’t say I’m not excited to see it, the old earth ponies were always strong, and I’m willing to bet that that city is still as beautiful and powerful as it ever was. They built it, after all.”

“Beautiful?” I hadn’t imagined he would have that expectation.

“Famous for architecture and history before industry took over, it was. The hoity-toity Unicorns of the old days were always a little too quick to dismiss the fortitude of their more ‘grounded’ brothers and sisters as a brutish virtue. Truth is their ability doesn’t stop at the physical, they’ve got their own freaky magic.”

“That’s more believable than those ‘Magic of Friendship’ fairy-tales.” I nodded.

“Speaking of…” The DJ gestured to the hatch and the mares beyond it.

“Yes, I’d better go.” I turned to the exit. “You know I think you and Caliber would find that you have a lot in common, if she could managed being in the same room as… you were transmitting to.” I adjusted.

“I don’t blame her. It’s hard to see anything but black and white sometimes, especially in times like these. I should have been more careful. I know what it’s like, not wanting to be judged.”

“She’ll come around.” I blindly promised. “You two can make up at the relay.”

“Here’s hoping.” he raised a hoof in a half salute. “Good luck, kid.” The screens cut out; I had barely noticed the music playing behind us as we spoke, until it was gone. The room was oddly dark, dancing lights of red and green dotted the blackness and the sound of whirring and breathing machines were all that remained. It felt colder.

I pushed my way out of the hatch once again, replacing the fading warmth of the room that I had taken for granted with high, almost icy winds. Caliber and Ash sat together overlooking the Divide, the scar still glowed green and was widened to a gaping wound by the higher angle we now regarded it with.

The night sky above it, cloudless in the no-mare’s land, was almost bright. Flickers, tiny white pin-points of light seemed to move while simultaneously remaining completely stationary. They were beautiful in pictures, and pictures couldn’t dance. That’s what they were doing, I decided, dancing.

“Are you guys alright?” I asked softly as I joined them, Caliber was pushed up against the railing, hooves hanging over it as she sat tall on her haunches. The thought of being that far over such a height made me dizzy and I opted for Ash’s guarded curl on the grating.

“Fine.” Muttered Caliber, frowning absently as Ash just nodded in empathy with her reply. “I know why I’m doing this… and it isn’t only for the money, Grace.”

“He didn’t think that.” I excused. “In fact I think he genuinely respected you. He’s a good buck.”

“I wouldn’t take it personally Caliber; it’s something he probably does automatically.” Ash spoke up. “He might not be risking his life but Grace is right: his intentions seem pure.”

“Why’d you leave then?” the frown left her face but she still stared off into the bleak horizon.

“He was making me think of things I didn’t want to.”

“Your Pilgrimage?” I asked.

“Amongst others.”

“So you left from discomfort, not anger.” Caliber flopped off the railings to face us. “Explains why you felt better once we were out here.”

“You don’t?” she asked.

“That whole conversation left a sour taste in my mouth. And anger stews.” Though she seemed to have shaken it off, or she was just concealing it. “Trust me; I don’t like my reaction any more than you two did, but it’s hard to see past a hooficure.” She giggled.

“Or designer glasses.” Ash contributed, smiling at her friend’s improved mood.

I realized how odd it must have seemed to them, cleanliness, health. In the Stable everypony had looked like that. I hadn’t seen anything wrong with the DJ, because a few days ago I had looked exactly the same way. To them, he immediately looked spoilt and, in terms of the wasteland, he was. That didn’t mean his work wasn’t important though.

“So what now?” Caliber asked. “He give you anything useful?”

“Some codes and blueprints, he doesn’t know much more than we do. There’s a routing tower in the plains north of the city that we need to check out.” I showed them the distant marker. “And it looks like we’re going in blind: it could be a repair job or a complete rewiring of the place from what he told Me.”

“Well then we might want to find somepony who knows a little more about that kind of stuff than we do.” Caliber suggested.

“Check.” The lavender haired mare chirped

We both looked at her expectantly.

“I can help you with that.” Ash beamed. “I’ve done a lot of research and work in repairs and electronics. I kept a lot of the tech at my old commune running long after it would have packed it in.”

“You can repair things?” Caliber was clearly getting excited by the prospect.

“Sure! When I restored some discarded Enclave stuff I was named the official mechanical-mare of my congregation.” she recited the achievement like a girl-scout announcing a badge that she had worked particularly hard for.

“I wish you had mentioned this earlier! I got a wrecked battle-saddle that I would really appreciate you taking a look at.” she skipped gently in place, I wondered if Ash knew about the borderline unhealthy relationship Caliber had with the rifle that her decrepit saddle was built for. “In the morning of course.”

“Sounds like you want to sleep.” I grinned; Caliber must have been exhausted to put off her long awaited reunion. Though she looked a little ashamed. “You’re allowed to be tired, Cal.”

“I hate to say it, but I am working on mental overtime here.” She admitted. “So I was hoping we could hole up here for the night. Seeing as we can’t count on hospitality in Zion with any confidence, we should probably get as much rest as we can now.”

“What if there are more Griffons down there?”

“You can’t sleep anywhere in the wasteland without somebody keeping watch. Besides they can’t get into that hatch, so I’d say we’re actually relatively safe.” We had spent the previous night at a grenades-toss away from a raider-infested toll booth, after all.

“Well then I’m volunteering for first watch!” I exclaimed. “And there’s nothing you can say to dissuade me this time!” I was determined to get Caliber some sleep.

“Relax, the logic I used against you at the toll still applies, except this time you’re the one who’s well rested and I’m the one who would have already passed out if it weren’t for my reluctance to roll off this tower. If you’re up for it, go ahead.” She said dismissively, quelling my adherence to the call of honor.

“Don’t try and reverse-psychology me, sister! I’m going to sit here, in the cold, on this rickety framework and keep first watch, so don’t you try and stop me!” Caliber giggled at my jovial outburst as she turned to re-enter the hatch. The younger mare stayed curled up against the concrete.

“You’re not passionate enough to oppose her on this, are you?” she asked Ash. “Because I don’t think you’ll win, Gracie’s got a weird thing for volunteering.”

“No, it’s just… I’d rather come in later.”

“What’s the problem? She’ll wake you for your turn in a couple of hours if you want to go second.”

“I just… don’t like trying to sleep with somepony… I mean..!” she panicked. “I just think it is weird to be in a small space when you’re both trying to fall asleep, you know!? I always end up laying there until the other pony is out, I feel like I have to wait for them before I can relax. It’s just… something I struggle with! In my Pilgrimage I was always the last to go, and I couldn’t ever do it while watching anypony else was trying to do it! Or even knowing that they were lying there, in the same situation as me.” Ash explained awkwardly, her face scrunching at every hesitant stall. “It is just uncomfortable for me.”

“You know for most people I’ve worked with; sleep was a lot simpler than this.” Caliber remarked as she held open the hatch. “They’d pass out when they pass’d out and first watch would go to the pony who drew the short straw. You two are making a political science out of it!” she wiggled her way into the dark room as her last sentence echoed within the chamber of cement and machines. The hatch swung shut.

“You’re not exaggerating?” I pried.

“No… I’ll go in in a minute. That room is just so small.”

“I would have thought you’d be comfortable with Caliber by now, you two seemed to be getting along really well after I came out of the orb.”

“It’s not her, it’s just a problem I have.” She assured as we stared into the starry sky from beneath the Enclave’s cloud cover. “I’ve always been a little… private.”

“Nothing wrong with that. Lack of privacy was one of my biggest problems with the Stable” After the murders and conspiracies of course, I added to myself.

“Caliber told me that you were from a Stable.” She settled forward, deeper into her curl, resting her muzzle on the low railing. “She also said that you do not like to talk about It.”

“Yeah.” I closed off the issue. We sat in silence for a moment, just looking into the night. Apart from the radioactive cut in the landscape, it was awfully beautiful out. The snowy mountains in the northern distance were visibly white, the gray earth and skeletal trees from here to there were also dusted with snow. Black and White nights, Gray days.

“How long have you two known each other?” she asked, breaking the silence with her soft voice.

“Only a few hours longer than you two have, I left the Stable yesterday afternoon.” ‘Left’ was not the word that I would have used if being honest, but I still didn’t want to be candid about it. Keeping it all to myself seemed like the easiest way to forget. What we were doing now was more important anyway.

“Oh?” she seemed surprised. “You seem closer than that, and it sounds as if she knows a lot about you.” Ash kindly side-stepped any questioning about the Stable.

“She’s read me, whether she meant to or not, I think she picked up more than I offered. Though she definitely won’t analyze me to my face like the DJ did to her.” That was the difference between how they each used their shared skill.

We sat in silence once again, Ash seemed to get entrenched in her own thoughts from time to time, and when she did I could see her eyes vividly lighting up as her mind worked. They always seemed a little wet, like she was constantly on the brink of crying.

“About what the DJ said…” her black eyes reflected the brilliant dots of lights that decorated the obsidian tapestry that was the sky. “Do you ever feel like… like you are not living how you truly want to live? That you don’t even know the real reason you do things, or the reasons you should. Like you aren’t really in charge of your own life? Your own destiny?” she stacked each question slowly onto the former, building up the severity of her wonder.

“I think everypony feels like that sometimes. I know that it was all I could think about when I was younger, reason, obligation…Heck, I’ve been unemployed my whole life, so I never even felt like I found my destiny.”

“What is unemployed?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“You know, when you don’t have a job, a purpose, a thing you do for a living.” I explained.

“I thought you only had to live for a living.” Her face didn’t show much expression, her eyes stayed fixed away and her mouth moved gently against the rail, bouncing her darkly lit lavender head slightly as she spoke. “And surely a purpose is bigger than a job, something on a whole other plane.”

Her viewpoint was confusing to me; your job was your life, your reason to exist, your contribution to the Sta- to the world. Without one you had no viable reason to be, no destiny. “Well, your cutie-mark symbolizes your destiny, right? And it tells you what your good at, or what you’re going to achieve or be involved with, and most of the time it’ll point you in the direction of a certain career…”

“So you didn’t have a job because your cutie-mark is just a symbol?” I remembered that she had seen me naked for an extended period of time while I was in the orb. Not that she would have been paying attention with stupid old toned-up Caliber waltzing around in her vest. The standard for body image hadn’t been high in the Stable but in present company I was starting to feel a little soft.

“Pretty much…”

“Seems like a flawed system. How can you be expected to rely on just one factor to determine the rest of your life? What if you don’t like what your cutie-mark tells you that you’re going to do with your life?”

“But you will like it Ash, that’s the point, it’s your destiny.” This was simple, why didn’t she get it?

“Do you like not having a destiny then? Because according to the Stable’s interpretation that’s all you might as well have.” she pointed out. There wasn’t harshness behind her words, just logical curiosity.

The silences were getting to be a little arduous. Due in part to the odd train of thought that she was following, and subsequently causing me to trail behind, struggling to keep up. Her opinions on cutie-marks were… different, in a strange way they felt almost blasphemous.

“No I don’t.” I murmured after the awkward pause.

“Sorry.” She noticed that I was upset and shifted back to my side, face coming away from the railing and resting beside mine as she leaned back against the concrete tower. “I just don’t get it.”

“Well what do you think of your cutie-mark?” I asked pointing at the falling lavender star engulfed in dark purple flames, set in place within a solid black diamond. It was also rather vague.

“I don’t give much thought to it.” She deflected. “It certainly doesn’t change the way I live.”

“Alright,” I understood the body language that shyly said ‘I don’t want to talk about it’. “What about Caliber’s,” I pressed, hoping that she would yield if I made things less personal. “You saw the shot she took on that Griffon today, it was almost pitch black, the target was circling high above us, and she was relying on my telekinesis to aim!”

“What does that have to do with a compass?” she laughed.”Did she navigate the bullet into that Griffon?”

“What does a ‘compass’ have to do with the crosshairs on her flank?” I retorted, though she had used an unfamiliar word. I knew what it meant but I had never seen a physical incarnation of a ‘compass’. Caliber’s cutie-mark had always looked like a black crosshairs bordering a white interior to me, not some maritime directional device.

She seemed as confused and surprised by the word ‘crosshairs’ as I was by ‘compass’.

“Crosshairs are what you’re supposed to see when you look down the scope of a rifle right?” Had this pony been living under a rock for her whole life? An even bigger rock than the one I had been living under? I gave her a look that expressed my internal skepticism.
“I’ve never been able to do that before,” she bumped her soft, flat forehead against me playfully.
“Earth pony… I have only ever used a battle-saddle.”

“Right, sorry.” I felt embarrassed despite myself; surely she would have seen a crosshairs somewhere else before, I thought, though what did I know? I might as well be a day old when it came to knowing what life in the Wasteland was like. “I suppose it’ll be interesting to find out what she thinks it is.” I offered.

“Yeah.”

Sky and Stars again.
“Sorry to bring up something so heavy.” She said earnestly. “I’m still feeling a little lost.”

“Seems to me like you ended up exactly where you were meant to be. A couple of mares on a quest to repair a big, confusing satellite relay meet up with a helpful, mechanically adept, genuinely good pony in a wasteland writhing with idiotic, illiterate sadists.” I smiled. “Coincidence?”

“We’ll see.” She returned my look. Despite our pithy arguments I still liked seeing her happy. She had a sweetness to her that I couldn’t help but feel protective of, to want preserved.

We sat in yet another span of starlit silence, thought this time it was comfortable, peaceful even.
There was something about it all, this place I found myself in, that made me undeniably happy. The Wasteland was damaged, scarred and torn, but the beauty of Equestria survived. Not only in the stars, the Sun and the Moon but also in the snow and lights. Even the ruins and the memories that dotted the landscape served as a reminder that this had once been home to a peaceful nation, a happy nation.

I wanted to be here, I realized. I had always been sure that I was glad to have left the Stable, but that was after being introduced to how intrinsically screwed up it really was. Now I saw that this was what was important, this was what I was meant for. I wasn’t sure if I believed in fate, how could I not if I invested so much Faith in the prophetic cutie-marks? But for a moment I felt as if this was exactly what was supposed to happen, that I was walking the same path that I always would, my path. And now I walked through a beautiful, dead world, filled with sin and sadness, but redeemed by the good that survived.

It was easy to be a good pony in the Stable, there was incentive, authority, and it was expected.
Here it was a miracle, morals made life harder, made survival an even more unattainable aspiration.
I hoped it wouldn’t break me, I hoped I could hold onto myself in the face of it all.
But I knew that moments like this would make it easier.

The Moon ebbed its way into the sky from behind the Pegasus’ cowardice. I thought the white of snow was pure, that the light of the fluorescents and stars were all that would brighten the night. I was wrong. This was the incarnation of Luna, of her night. The Snow and Lights couldn’t compare.

It was incredible.

It glowed as it shared the light of the Sun that now burned above an entirely different piece of dead world. And though it wasn’t as bright, or as brilliantly blinding and warm, it was easily as beautiful as its sister. Looking at it made me think about how small I was, made me feel comfortable despite its reminder that compared to the eternity of space and even Equestria, I was so very small.
I could see its face, its blank, incredibly empty face. Hills and craters gave it depth but couldn’t take away from the fact that it was impossibly simple, grand and expansive, but simple all the same.
Not dead like the land we were perched above, but peaceful, eternal, alive.
I was looking at day, I realized, the night it brought was always accompanied by its own lit up landscape, its own piece of sunshine to light up the darkness. The Moon wasn’t the cause of the night; it was our comfort for it, our salvation.

“I’m glad that I’m Lost.” I whispered.

Footnote: Level up!
Perk Added: Demolitions Expert: +20% damage with explosives.

(Happy 100,000 words everyone! Thanks for reading and Enjoy your Heritage Day!)

Chapter 10: Lullaby for my Favorite Insomniac

Fallout Equestria: Sola Gratia
Chapter 10: Lullaby for My Favorite Insomniac
“Embrace democracy or you will be eradicated.”

I stared down at the orbs; they sat snugly, cushioned within the ornate box, set in a single row.
Red, Blue, Gold, Pink, Purple and White.
Blood Red, Atmospheric Blue, Holy Gold, Eternal Pink, Sickly Purple-Green and Snow White.
The colors were tints, emanating from the memory’s hearts, visible as if submerged in deep water.
I had watched the red orb, it was passion, it was blood… and it was roses.

My shift for the watch was over, and though I hadn’t woken Ash, she had eventually come to relieve me. After our conversation she left to sleep beside the long-unconscious Caliber, only returning hours later to insist that I retired, so that she could take her turn.

But I couldn’t sleep, in between the red orb and the ‘stake-out’ my body had rested enough, I simply couldn’t force it to do any more. I would have stood guard all night, but Ash had essentially forced me, in her own indirect way, into the dark room where Caliber still lay dreaming. Now I sat across from her, looking into Damascus’ ornate box of memories, while the technology around us blinked and breathed.

Blue was next, the blue of his eyes, of his daughters. I predicted it to be another painful rending, the destruction of happiness that I could do nothing to stop. My curiosity was making me think it a good idea, promising me that it wouldn’t be as bad as the last one, that it wouldn’t be a recount of how Damascus had torn his life apart by the zebra’s ancient magic. It would be a bad memory that he removed, it claimed, he would break his oath to the Princesses and ask for a sin to be erased, and wouldn’t that be nice to see? Damascus getting some peace?

I wasn’t buying it, I admitted to myself, but I’m willing to endure. If he wouldn’t remember his happiness, then I would. Perhaps someday he would let me tell him about what I had seen, about the pieces of his mind that he had burdened to me. Perhaps someday I could give him his family back.

I focused on the second orb, trying to direct my magic right into its core, right into the pure blue of its heart. It seemed to grow, to engulf me like a thin mist as my focus grew stronger, and then it all stopped. The exertion was over, the colors were gone, and all of it was overcome by the blackness.

<-=======ooO Ooo=======->

I recognized this place…
I felt as if I had been here before, seen it, lived it.
Wind rustled through the pristine trees outside; the sound of their life filled the cave.
The narrow slice of sky that I could make out between the nearby cave mouth and the distant mountains, between the rocks, was almost blue. There were no clouds here, there was no radiation, ash or bullets, as this wasn’t Wasteland… this wasn’t Equestria.

I felt the device on my head, the extractor, and I relished the warmth of the burning fire in the center of the ritualistic cave. My skin wasn’t burning, though it was undeniably uncomfortable, gnawing softly at me, impossible to forget. My desire to go outside, to see the calling life, was outweighed by my own reluctance to feel the cold searing again, not that my desires mattered.
Damascus’s body was old again, hurt again, the last time I had been with him he had been a young buck, being watched by his older self and I as he relived a memory for the last time. What next? I wondered.

“What next?” she asked. The zebra was gorgeous in the firelight, eyes both youthful and wise danced with the flames, shadows merging her stripes together across her strong gray body.

“I had a daughter…” Damascus sounded confused, like he wasn’t actually sure, like he was asking a question rather than making a statement. “It doesn’t make any sense. It’s like she’s an idea rather than an actual little filly. She shouldn’t exist, I… I can’t understand her.”

“A lot of things will feel that way as we erase their reasons.” The zebra stirred a small pot that sat very close to the heat. “You don’t know where she came from, do you?”

“No… and her age fluctuates from a foal to a walking, talking little filly. There isn’t an in-between; she just exists when she exists, as if her life is in pieces.” I felt the strain that he was undergoing by trying to comprehend the vaguely remembered fractures, a filly with no mother, who was never born, though she was spread across his life sporadically, randomly. “But I know that I have to forget her.”

A gust of wind brought a cutting chill to my body and a fade to the fire, tiny pieces of snow darted around the cave, disappearing again as they melted into the rock.

“You remember what to do?” she must have explained everything again, while he wasn’t creating a memory that was going to be erased. Everything she had said to him in the last orb had been removed along with his wife; and everything he heard now would be removed along with his daughter. There was nothing they needed to say to each other, nothing that would matter.

Damascus took the brewing alchemy, it emitted a gentle flow of steam that immediately caused us to tire and droop as we inhaled it. This would take us into the memory that epitomized his daughter, the moment that was the most powerful between them. We drank it and slept.

------------------------------------------------

“Daddy?” the screen pulled closer and closer, carrying the soft face of the little girl with it, her blue eyes were like faceted diamonds replicating over themselves, growing as we entered her father’s mind. Her hair was an intangibly light blonde, like her mother’s, I thought, like nopony’s, thought Damascus.

“Yes, sweetheart?” asked the third variant of Damascus’ voice that I had heard. First had been gravelly, cold and powerful, second had been young and idealistic, this one was in between. The youth was gone and the authoritative power had begun to lace its every word, though it was not without emotion.

“Do you like my dress?” the light-beige filly wore a layered blue dress ordained with glittery stars and imitated embroidery. Crude stitching somehow made the sight of the diamond-girl heartbreaking; Damascus may have stitched that dress himself. It was cheap, but she looked like a princess.
A patchwork princess.

“You look beautiful.” They nuzzled together before Damascus turned to a mirror to inspect himself. He wore a collared shirt, black tie and a formal, if slightly weathered, suit jacket. His cinnamon hair had traces of faded color in it, like pepper, but his face looked only a few years older than it had before. He pressed his tie into the suit jacket and frowned at his wavy hair.
“You look very handsome, daddy.” She laughed, still tripping over words; her accent was that of a filly just learning how to speak. She was young; young enough to make it clear that she knew more words than most fillies her age would… perhaps her father had forged this education in the scripture of his gods.

Damascus chuckled and turned away from the mirror. “Alright, I get it, we’ll go.”

“I mean it,” she giggled. Damascus lifted her in his hooves and spun her gently around as he balanced on his hind legs, she laughed wildly as they pirouetted. Strands of her neat hair came loose as she flew in his arms, solitary strands becoming invisible in the fluorescents. They didn’t care.

He set her down and they laughed together for a moment, wobbling slightly in a dizzy haze.
“You ready?” he asked, after they had recovered.

Her smile dropped, as if she had forgotten what they were dressed up for until this point. “I’m scared.” Whispering, we held a hoof around her.

“They’ll leave us alone,” he promised. “Once I make them see.”

“Why do you keep your friends here with me whenever you go downstairs?” she asked, burying her head into my strong chest.

“Just to be safe, baby.” He kissed her smooth forehead. “I couldn’t just leave you two alone, could I? No Daddy would do that.” Damascus smiled at the space beside his daughter. There was nothing there.

“Will this make them stop?”

“They would never do anything to hurt you, they’re good ponies sweetheart, remember that. But good ponies can do stupid things sometimes, so I need to make sure.” He stood up, helping her along with his hoof. “I’m going to say some things that might sound scary, and I wouldn’t usually say them with you around, but Daddy needs you today, alright?”

“You’re saying them to scare the bad guys away?”

“Yes Marie, this needs to stop.” They walked together out of the room, the same room I had started the last memory in, and the same room that I had seen in the flashes that had ended it. Instead of walking downstairs Damascus led the filly in the opposite direction down the hallway. They passed what would become my room, the door was shut but I could almost visualize the inside perfectly. They were all the same, after all. We were going to the main atrium.

The hall was crowded, it reminded me of my trial, as that was the only time I had ever seen it this full. Ponies I had never known, ponies that were long gone - all ascended, damned or dead - sat in rows and murmured at Damascus’ arrival. These were my ancestors, I thought, everypony I had ever known in the Stable would be born to their lines, would come from this audience.

The Prophet sat, not on the stage, but within the crowd, and he didn’t look happy about it. Damascus stepped up; he walked past two important looking bucks and a unicorn that could only be the Overmare. Damascus emanated the same aura of instinctual power that the Prophet did, but he sat on stage while the latter drowned in the teeming audience. Things had changed in the years since our last memory.

Marie sat alone, beside an empty chair as Damascus stepped up to the pedestal near to them… her.
Rose was gone, erased from this memory, Damascus didn’t notice the difference, but I knew that she was supposed to be there, with their daughter. It was awful to see that empty chair and to know that the wife who had once sat upon it no longer existed in this realm of memory and dreams.

Damascus stayed near to his daughter, as just an erased memory divided them. The crowd looked on expectantly, Prophet frowning deeply at the new order. In a way, I was glad that I didn’t know what had happened, Damascus deserved that knowledge more. Just as he deserved to remember the two mares he had loved the most in his life. It didn’t make sense that I should experience this when he could not.

“Good morning brothers, sisters, friends” we smiled softly and looked back at the Overmare. “And I see some enemies” a few ponies in the crowd laughed and applauded. “Because in these volatile times that is what we have become, that is what we have been reduced to: enemies, even though we share a home, we share a living and we share each other. We still may call our neighbor: enemy. And that’s what I’d like to talk to you about today. I’d make reference to a personal matter to start off, if you all are alright with that.” He spoke as if he shared a connection with his listeners, as if they were taking part in a two-way discussion rather than a speech by one to many others. His audience waited, seceding permission.

“I am still a member of the Faith.” Excited Applause again. “And I still hold my mentor, my teacher, my Messenger… in the highest regard. Because he brought the Faith to us, let us not forget, and I know some of you may think badly of him, those of you who are against what our group stands for may resent him for what he brought into your Stable… your home. Let me tell you: he brought change.” Damascus met eyes with the Prophet; though the acknowledgement had not improved his demeanor.

“And though it may surprise you, I would ask that you take the particulars of my belief out of this discussion. Because what I believe is not what most of you believe, I know that… some of you have gone lengths to make that clear. But what I want to talk about here, in our atrium, is the change that the Faith has brought, not with its doctrine, but with its founding. And I want to address the reactions to this change, to this ‘threat’ as most would call it.” Some murmurs and exchanges passed in the pause.

“Being able to think for yourself… is not a threat, being able to subscribe to the beliefs you wish to subscribe to… is not at threat, and the Faith… is not a treat. Change is not a threat. And it’s time we all get accustomed to it! It’s time we all think for ourselves, and look at the way we’re living, to see what we restrict ourselves to with our Commissary and Destinies. We need to see that we limit ourselves every day when we talk about Ascension, we limit ourselves each time we use every ounce of our being to work towards a false goal, to work towards the validation of a synthetic sham!” I could almost hear the Overmare growl from her position behind us.

“I was allowed here today, that’s right allowed,” he spoke the word in disgust. “Because your Overmare realized that we need to find a solution to this problem, that we need to reestablish equality in this Stable. The Faith made itself known and the ground began to shake, ponies began to think, so we grew. But still we are limited, all of us, by what we think we can or can’t do, by what we think we can or cannot believe. Some are scared that questioning the system will cause removal from it; they’ve become complacent to it, scared of it, even! They worry that the glistening doors to their ‘Ascension’ will close if they dare to think out of line, to think there may be something else to brighten a black and white existence!” he declared.

“Some are so scared, in fact, that they choose to enact their system by force.” His tone became gentler. “Now, I want to be careful here, you all need to know that I do not blame the Overmare for what I’m about to describe, I blame the way this Stable makes some of us think, how it makes some of us blindly obey it.”
“I have gotten threats on my life, threats against my family and my religion because of this obedience. That’s why we’re all here today, because lives are in danger,” he stared fondly at Marie.
“And that fact alone should make it clear that something is wrong with the way we are corralled to think. Something is clearly wrong when we would turn against ourselves to protect a system!” The way he kept looking at his daughter… it was like he expected to lose her.

“And the Faith needs those of you who would harm us to understand something… We aren’t weak.” Cheers from few, fearful looks from most. “You come to us with violence and hate, we will respond appropriately, we will reduce ourselves to your level, because that is the only way we can see to get through to you. Violent minds respond to violence, as that’s all they understand, and so we are willing to explain things if it comes down to it. If violence is the only language we can use to settle this issue, then we’ll be very willing to talk.” He promised with a begrudgingly honest tone.

“We’re trapped together, that’s the way it is now. We are trapped. Is that how you want to live? Trapped in a place that you have no alternative to, trapped in a system that drives ponies to threats and violence, trapped in a mind-set that keeps you complacent, keeps you ‘good’ so that you can get some reward at the end of the line. Let me tell you, that isn’t goodness, that isn’t fair and that sure as anything won’t make you happy!” Some more hooves applauded together, he was winning ponies over.

“That is not the way I want my daughter to live! Afraid and alone? We are living in the damnation you so fear; we are living in a place of fear and loneliness, sadness and imprisonment! There is no freedom here, there is no safety. We owe it to ourselves, we owe it to those who sheltered our ancestors in this preservation of the now dead country outside, to find equality, to find freedom!”

“We do not need to fight each other for it! That’s what you need to take from this, if you take anything at all, know that we are on the brink of conflict, violent conflict, and we need to save ourselves. Leave your religion, or lack thereof, at home and think about what we’re doing to each other, think about what we have reduced ourselves to! I’m talking to some of the Faith here too; In fact, I’m taking to them most of all. You can go down to the lower atrium, let your ‘Prophet’ lead you along as you try to earn your way into another variant of Ascension, you’ll sing your songs and say your prayers, but for what? What good does that do? Who does that help apart from yourself?” the applause was loud now, but through his eyes I saw that some of the ponies who had been behind him all along were hesitating to join the others in their appreciative stomps and cheers.

“You can’t sing your way to freedom, you can’t sing your way to salvation!” he announced passionately. “You can’t SING your way out of second-class-citizenship! And that’s what some of us are seen as: second-class, and until that inequality, that bigotry has been resolved; we are sitting on a bubbling conflict more dangerous than a balefire bomb, because bigotry and inequality were the real driving forces, the real reason behind the death… of Equestria.” We watched as Marie applauded along with the crowd.

“We are the last light of that country, we’re all that’s left of it… and we’re not going to go out like this. We are not going to fight each other until one side, one system stands as oppressor over the rest, in fact we are going to fight our way out of that oppression and embrace our own individuality, our own freedom, our own control over our community. We must be good for the sake of being good, not some otherworldly or mortal reward! We are going to get out of this darkness, get out from under the hold of systems long failed, get out and see the truth that we choose to see and get- our own freedom!”

“By any means necessary…”

The audience’s reaction spanned wide ranges of emotion, but applause sounded clear and loud over the disheartened silence of fear and disagreement. I didn’t get to see them for long, as Damascus turned almost immediately to his daughter; this was for her, to protect her and to give her life in a place that deserved the title: ‘Last light of Equestria’.

As he went to her time slowed down, this was the moment, this was what he remembered most strongly of his Marie, the look on her face as he came to her. The confused smile of a filly who didn’t know why she was happy, why she was so proud of her daddy, but who still wore an unarguable expression of love and reverence, of blind gratitude and appreciation.

And that face stayed frozen. The memory stopped, as the light in her diamond eyes and the beauty of her innocence and care were what he would remember… so that he could forget. The little patchwork princess before us began to burn, not as a pony but as a photograph. The edges of the screen blackened and melted like a piece of waxy paper held to a flame, darkness grew over her smile, and the black void consumed her entirety as she burned in one last display of color and light.

I shouldn’t have come here…

Was she still here? I wanted to look for her, to see her one more time before the zebra removed the orb, severing the link. No… I wanted Damascus to look for her; I wanted him to need her, to realize what he was losing…had already lost. This had all already happened… there was no stopping it. I just had to sit by and watch as he fed her to the extractor, burned her into the diamond blue orb that I now inhabited. And then, finally it was pulled away. Dragging what was left of Marie with it.

The doctor handed me a wide-eyed foal, no explanation as to where she came from, or why she was mine. I didn’t know her, I didn’t feed her. She was just there sometimes, impossibly important.

Her first word was my name to her… What she called me, a title that seemed to fall to me by default, luck.
Daddy
I read her to sleep sometimes, sometimes I didn’t even know where she was when I went to bed alone.

A child played, a filly, rolled and laughed in between the toys that lay scattered across a steel floor.
Marie.
She was young, too young to speak, too young to run. She had the bluest eyes.

She was there beside me sometimes, always alone, always independent. I gave speeches, I met ponies, sometimes they asked about her, sometimes they didn’t know that she existed, sometimes she didn’t.

Soon after her birth, came red. Too much red to comprehend, all over my hooves, all over my home. Marie was crying in the corner. But she was silent, she wasn’t breathing, and she couldn’t look at me.
Rose.

The trial: the filly cried for me, she cried in fear and maybe anger…. I didn’t know why she was crying.
She was alone again, but this time it seemed genuine and whole, this time she was actually on her own.
Before I could assume she was with another… that someone was waiting for her, but now she was alone.
Repent.

<-=======ooO Ooo=======->

I woke with a start, still surrounded by machines, still lying in the darkness, orbs before me.
This time nothing had changed, this time it didn’t have to happen, I could’ve stayed out…
Separate but safe…

I wasn’t old, I wasn’t Damascus, and neither of us were fathers. Not anymore.
We became more alike with every extraction; his past becoming as lonely as mine had been, as empty. He was a fool to give it up, a selfless, wasteful fool.

All we knew now was that our mothers had died on hospital beds, our fathers were both forgotten. Except I had never had anything, and he had just given it all away, now all that was left of his family was with me. The last traces of Rose and Marie were surviving only in my mind… This was all that could keep me from wishing I hadn’t bothered with the orbs, wishing I had never accepted them, this thought is what made me keep them. So I packed them back into their case, four remaining mysteries, and slid it into my bag.

Caliber wasn’t sleeping across from me anymore, and neither was Ash. When I had entered the blue orb it had been the part of morning that counted as night, the part that that annoying friends would insist counted as the next day if you had been through a late night together. But now it was that next day.

I peeked out of the hatch; it was light, but barely. I scanned the room one last time; everything was as it had been when I first entered it, nothing but the blinking machines. I pushed myself out of the hatch.

Caliber and Ash sat together once again, overlooking the horizon, waiting for me to exit the orb. They were dressed and packed, a couple of cans and strips of tough red stuff lay before them on the grating.

“Good morning,” I said, rubbing my eyes with my hoof as I limped up to them.

“Food?” Caliber asked, mouth full of an unappealing mush, she kicked at the meal set out in front of her.
I was used to nutrient paste… I had only ever seen real food being imitated, or in advertisements.

“What is it?” I stuck my round snout into one of the cans, and as I lifted my head it stayed stuck around my muzzle.

“Pork and Beans.” Caliber reluctantly giggled as I tried to shake the contents of the metal cylinder into me. I didn’t know what ‘pork’ was… but it was good! I kept my head up to the soft gray cloud cut and tipped the rest of the ancient, hopefully preserved, food into my greedy, salivated mouth.

“It’s good!” I mumbled, voice echoing, into the can. Ash stood to help me get it off my face; she gripped the other end of it in her mouth and began to pull against me. The can went flying as we stumbled apart.

“Try some jerky… Caliber made it herself.” Ash offered. I bit into the tough band of salty deliciousness. Everything tasted! And all so differently! I chewed viciously at everything that was given to me, savoring the textures, flavors and warmth of it all. It was such a welcome change from the monotonous, masquerade of paste that I was used to. And the fact that I hadn’t eaten in days didn’t do anything to stop me from pigging out on the pork, beans and jerky.

“Ooooh…” I moaned, in a dizzy, shameless ecstasy. “It’s all really good!”

“Do you want some privacy?” Caliber smiled, watching my tirade from a safe distance. I became a flurry of consumption and gobbled down as much as I could before collapsing, satisfied, against the tower.
“Tell me I get to do that again!” I begged, hooves resting against my warmed body as I lay back.

“I can even say that you will literally die if you don’t.” Ash assured. They both seemed amused, if a little disturbed, at my reaction to the glorious, glorious concept of actual food!
The cold morning air was light and contrasted perfectly with the heavy warmth that filled me. The Divide lay ever-scarred before us, below an empty sky. Despite how content I was in the moment, I knew my friends had been waiting for me long enough already. I pulled myself to swaying hooves.

“So…” my breath was heavy, nearly panting after the effort of lifting myself from the gluttonous splurge. “What’s the plan?”

Caliber slipped her hot-plate and the surviving food back into her bags. “Well, Ash and I both think we need to do a little scavenging on our way into Zion.”

“Yes, I have taken a look at Caliber’s battle saddle and think that I can fix it if we find a few things first. We might also need more food than expected.” She implied.

“Sorry about that.” Of course food was scarce! You glorious idiot! “I got a little carried away.”

“We’ve got enough for now, though it won’t last if you get freaky with it again.” Caliber teased. “Anyway, I saw an old border-security building down the wall a ways east. Might be a good place to scrounge some.”

“Okay, let’s head there then.” I agreed. My pip-buck had already marked it down as ‘Equestrian Border Security’. We would have to walk back across the wall and along the Divide until we could get back in.

We made our way out of the tower, picking through a couple of boxes and piles of junk on our way. The turret I destroyed last night had thrown one of the pieces Ash needed across the room when it exploded, but the tech was still intact. I disarmed the fragmentation mines that trapped the barricaded front door and slid them into my saddle-bags. I found I could almost perform the action reflexively now.

Mottled corpses, blood and feathers lined the hallway out into the open. Caliber and Ash had killed at least half a dozen of the oncoming ghouls on their own, and outside we found quite a few more, lying still and scattered. My grenade had left burn marks and shrapnel in a few of the bodies, and its blast mark was surrounded by a sporadic circle of charred ghouls.

“That really saved our flanks.” Caliber thanked. “Most of them scattered after the explosion, I don’t know that we would have been able to get rid of them all on our own.” We stepped over the crisped birds and continued on our way down the gentle, still-Equestrian slope. I worried that, if there were any surviving ghouls, they would accost us at any second now, but the trip was blissfully uneventful.

The floodlights in the ruin and along the wall shone on, almost indiscernibly in the soft morning haze. The last three corpses lay were we had watched them die. The first’s beak and face were crushed to a pulp and smeared against the dusty concrete, conclusive and messy. The second had burned to a fraction of its original size. Most of its body, its feathers, had dissolved into black ash around it. Ash balked at it again, giving it a wide berth as we walked past the landing/cremation site.

The last had wholly been my kill. Its eye was hollow, black and empty, though in the light it was clear that its entire skull had suffered the same fate. Its face was matted with the now dried fluids that had melted from the boiling eyes, feathers stiff and stained, looking as if a wax mask had been set over them.
We hugged the border, keeping a brisk pace. The corpses reminded us of the odds we had survived last night; we wouldn’t get that lucky again, not out in the open. The crag of the divide was dulled as the floodlights were; its green glow was almost visible but the air still sat heavy and unhealthy with radiation. However much of the stuff there was, it turned hordes of Griffons into ghouls, so we kept our distance.

I took the time to enjoy my last moments under the sky before we stepped over the ruined wall again to enter Equestria. It was laced with golden sunlight but was an expansive, empty gray. There were clouds every now and again, but they were so different from what I had come to expect, their shapes were creative, random and unpredictable. Some towered into bulbous mountains while others striped the sky in thin wisps; they were barely identifiable as the same things that made up the shifting, shaded ceiling that we were about to step back under. Far off on the horizon, some were white as virgin snow.

I turned my back on the Divide, and we clambered our way into the lost country once again. The Earth Mover loomed on this familiar horizon; mountain ranges that I knew and understood filled my vision. The feeling of coming home filled me, to my great confusion.

“Sometimes you can see Canterlot if you look far enough south.” Caliber said, as we stepped off of the broken concrete and onto dead earth. “In between the Earth Mover and the gas station.” She gestured to the giant machine and then to the spot where the highway lifted off the ground before it curved around the mountains and into Littlehorn. However there was nothing to be seen beyond the white, morning mist.

“That reminds me…” Ash chirped as she caught up to us. “How did you get your cutie-mark Cal?” We had argued last night over whether the black and white thing was a compass or a crosshairs. She had been prudent to ask for how it had originated, as that would give the best indication of what it meant.

“Well back when your grandfather and I were just little kids, bright-eyed and able-bodied, a great snow-storm befell the land.” She told the story with great consideration and a mock venerable voice. “Coldest one we’d seen in many winters, all our winters, in fact. Now I know you deep-Northerners think nothing of a little snow on your Great Plain, but we were West of Littlehorn you see, in a place where the cold actually went away sometimes.” She looked at me. “Now you haven’t seen a storm of any sort so I’ll give you a little bit of context: everything was bleached white, you couldn’t see the cart in front of you when walking in a caravan line and you sure as shivers couldn’t see the pony pulling it.” Compared to the light snow that had been falling ever since Ash buried her pilgrimage, this sounded unimaginable.

“Winds blew at gale force and little fillies were ushered inside just so they wouldn’t get swept away. It was the one time when you didn’t have to worry about Slavers or Raiders… ‘Cause everybody was too busy trying to survive the elements to bother with fighting one and other.” That almost sounded preferable. “Now if you ask those fancy-suits or the cloud cowards, then you’d hear it differently, but to us normal folks the blizzard was life-threateningly brutal, and the harvest yielded very little that year.”

“So you were a farmer!” I said in glee, getting caught up in the story.

“It’s an expression.” She refuted. “Anyway, like I said: it was cold, it was hard to see and scavenging was nearly impossible, but it was still sure as anything necessary. My parents were long gone by that time, and I had started to pick up whatever jobs I could to get by, wouldn’t have called it mercenary work myself, but there was some fighting when it came down to it.”

“Wait, you started this line of work as a filly?” I imagined my childhood, when I had run around the Stable with my make-shift tri-beam laser rifle, pretending to defend my home from ‘the bad guys’ of my creation.
“Every wasteland line of work is going to involve fighting at some point… I wasn’t a mercenary exactly, but I did what jobs I could. Scavenging had always been my primary provider though, and the storm was making it difficult. Now me and your grand-father…”

“I’m not buying that.” Ash laughed sweetly.

“You’re smarter than you look, little Ascella.” She quickly returned the pilgrim’s smile before slipping back into character. “Now me and a little colt, name of Candlewick, were out in the snow, looking for a ruin that was rumored to be in the area. Chock full of ammunition and, more importantly, food. In those days we had to rely on rumors alone, DJ Pon3 didn’t talk about the North much...”

“I thought that I was the Northerner.”

“A lot of things are north of Manehattan, Calvary and Canterlot most notably. Now stop interrupting!” Ash blushed silently, “So the DJ didn’t pay us much mind, though he mentioned the storm, as that’s all the traders who came up this way could talk about when they got back, ‘The Great White Wall’ they would call it. Talked about how everything past Canterlot was a big snowy haze, which it pretty much was.”

“Didn’t you see this storm?” I asked Ash, she would have been only a few years younger than Caliber at the time, and even further North, in the heralded Great Plains that we were going to enter through Zion.

“I must have been too young at the time to remember it... Or she’s exaggerating.” She said, gesturing accusingly at the story teller.

“You dare!” Caliber exasperated in a perfect mimic of offense. “I’ll have you know that this story only gets sadder from here, and I will not be accused of anything while trying to tell you kids a sad story!”
Ash gave a courtesy look of apology. “Good, now let me get on with it.”

The Border Security building loomed along the wall ahead of us. It was almost as high as the border itself and beside it the tall skeleton of a reinforced gate, which would have opened into the Divide, stood flimsy. It was a square building; the top was wider than its base, creating a thick, heavy overhang over the front entrance. It wasn’t huge, two or three stories tops, and no wider than the Atrium a couple times over.

“So me and Candlewick are lost, blind and completely alone.” Caliber and Candlewick, I liked the image of juvenile friendship conjured up. “We think we’re going to die out there… and one of us is right. We’re getting cold, frostbitten, sluggish and hopeless, when it gets even worse. We see figures in the distance, they were dark silhouettes, hunched and slow, but anything is better than dying alone in the cold, right?”

We nodded.

“Wrong, these ponies turn out to be feral ghouls. We should have known, seeing as they’re the only damned things in the Wasteland that would still hunt in a blizzard. And that’s exactly what they did.”

“Did you make it?”

“Well, I did obviously, But Candlewick was slower, they caught up to him, started tearing him apart.” She spoke in a disturbingly emotionless voice. “He’s screaming out and the snow is getting bloody and starts melting underneath him. His own warm bleeding is turning it to mush and I can barely see him under the heavy-packed snow around him, and the circle of ferals gnawing at him.” She sighed, releasing a plume of cloudy breath to the gray. “I’ve got old Apollo strapped to my side, so I start hitting them with all I’ve got; I barely drop three of them before their done turning him to pink ribbons. I shot the three all clean through the head, but I couldn’t hold, I mean, bits of him are flying everywhere and I’m… just a little girl.”

“Goddesses, Caliber, you don’t have to justify being affected by that.” Ash comforted, shocked at the mare’s insecurity with admitting weakness, no matter how appropriate it was.

“So they finish him up, I know you don’t stop screaming until your dead when you’ve got ghouls on you.” She ignored her. “So I know he’s gone, but they’re still chewing on him, like they’re cannibals or something. Ghouls aren’t hunting you ‘cause they’re hungry, they aren’t after brains like some drunken barbucks will tell you, their just violently unstable, and killing is all some of them have left as an instinct.” She met my frightened eyes. “I sincerely hope you never have to see a feral, Grace. It changes you, there still so similar to ponies, still so familiar… So I run, logical decision… Bullshit, I was scared out of my mind. I run, my sides hurt and my vision starts to blur and pulse.” I imagined the little copper-headed filly, with the oversized black rifle at her side, crying and sprinting as she fought her way through a snowstorm.

“Now I’m alone… completely, no ghouls no Candlewick and no idea where I Am.” The grandmother act had dropped completely, as the story was getting poignant, and she was beginning to remember it vividly. “Everything is white, and screaming, so I have no idea where to go. But then I get this feeling… like an instinct and I follow it, and the next thing you know… I’m Home.”

“Just like that?” Ash asked.

“I walked for what felt like forever… for all I knew: could’ve ended up on the other side of the world, but I didn’t… I was lost, hopeless and alone one minute, then the next I was back in town.”

“And you had a compass on your flank.” I yielded. Ash had been right. It didn’t seem to matter now.

“In a crosshairs.” She added. Ash and I exchanged a look as we stepped onto the concrete base of the Border Security Building. “I guess it means I’m good at finding things to shoot.” She laughed. We had both been right; I didn’t feel like saying anything though. The story of Caliber’s cutie-mark had depressed me, her reaction to it even more so. It was supposed to be the happiest day of a little filly’s life, finding out their purpose. But what did you do if you had to watch your friend get ripped apart, only to end up running from a pack of corpses? What did you do when your talent turned out to be survival? If you’d been fighting to survive your whole life, how did knowing you were destined to be good at it help you?”

“I’m sorry…?” I didn’t even know how to react. Ash didn’t look as disturbed as I was, empathetic yes, but not intrinsically disturbed.

Caliber gave me a confused look. “For what?” I didn’t know.

“How about we split up to look for parts.” Ash chirped in, recognizing my loss for words. “You’re not seeing anything on that thing are you?” She asked.

I pulled myself together, but was appreciative of the chance to be alone. Out of apologizing distance from Caliber. “No, it looks all clear.” Two white bars stood out nearby, according to my E.F.S, and that was all.

“Alright, if you see anything that looks useful, grab it, and I’ll check for what I need from you afterwards.” Ash called as she made her towards the dead army vehicles in the parking lot ahead of us, along the wall.
“How about we dig around inside?” Caliber offered, smiling despite her story, smiling despite the life she had lived. I felt spoilt but managed to follow her as she headed for the double-doors.

The entrance room was an amalgam of scattered stationary and paper-work, the tiled floor was almost invisible under the sheet carpeting. Desks lined the wall, spearheaded by a semi-circle that stood, circumference facing us, in the center of the room. Terminals whirred, glowing green at some desks, but most were quite and dark. A long-stopped clock was tilted on the brown wall, I wondered if it had stopped at the moment the bombs fell, or whether it had broken sometime in between then and now. A door opened into a storage room to the right and a staircase rose up in the same direction against the far wall.

I instinctively slipped my way over to the nearest terminal, nearly losing my grip on the floor through the loose papers. A bulletin board ordained the wall above it. A lot of posters were stuck to it, and though most faded or torn: some were legibly intact.

EQUESTRIA’S FIRST DEFENSE! One yelled at me from above a picture of a stoic looking unicorn mare levitating a rifle at her side in pink magic as she peeked over a wall. The wall was spattered in mud but the mare wore a fresh pressed military uniform and a rounded helmet on her pink head. I wondered if she was actually a soldier, or a model.
KEEP YOUR COUNTRY SAFE! It ordered. I’m on it ma’am! I thought as I saluted the long-dead mare. Whatever this war had been about, the soldiers that had fought and died in it still deserved my respect.

A few of the other posters were less appealing.
THIS IS YOUR ENEMY! A picture of an insidious looking zebra buck, armed to the teeth and dressed in the tattered rags of a uniform made up the bulk of the poster. I knew this couldn’t be a real soldier. I wondered how many zebras, the actors who had posed for these posters for example, the citizens of our country, had had to deal with the racism that this kind of propaganda instilled.
KEEP THE STRIPES OUT OF EQUESTRIA!

PINKIE PIE IS WATCHING YOU!
I knew Pinkie Pie! She had been the element of… laughter? That couldn’t be right… I strained to remember the mare’s inconsequential title. Whatever the stories had made her out to be, she looked down-right frightening in the poster, despite her smile. A streak of gray in her cotton-candy mane reinforced my belief that those stories had come from long ago, in a happier time, a simpler time. Ministry of Morale, huh? I guess that worked with her element.
FOREVER! The poster didn’t make me feel like laughing though.

SHE MAY BE LOADED! This one did a little.
An attractive mare straddled a comically large pistol just under the caption. Her make-up was heavily applied and she was wearing an outfit that was somehow more suggestive than being out-right naked.
DON’T TAKE CHANCES WITH PICK-UPS!

I turned my attention back to the terminal; though I could hear Caliber rooting around through the mess behind me, I felt the urge to use it. My hooves danced over the wide keyboard, reminding me of my long days in the Stable, which I mostly spent reading and writing on a terminal similar to this one.
Except mine hadn’t been locked.

The security screen popped up. I quickly bypassed it and set to work on figuring out the password. Numbers, symbols and, most importantly, letters, flashed before me. I filtered my way through some duds during my scan, improving my chances to find what I was looking for. The lock wasn’t particularly advanced; and I didn’t think I would have to back out at any point. Eventually, after a few near hits I determined that the password was: ‘Gateway’

The terminal housed a couple of reports dating back almost two hundred years, I couldn’t help but investigate. The chronological first was written by an author identified as Corporal Fern.

Communal Log: 104
Cpl. Fern: 3rd patrol regiment, West Zion Border Security.

The Griffon immigrants have stopped being a problem.
The last reported attempt to cross the border illegally was over two years ago, meaning we are now down an alert level. Though I think we can safely say that immigration isn’t going to be a problem for a while. Even the most desperate know that Equestria is no place to be right now. Consider the issue closed.

However, we have a more pressing issue to shift our attention to: Invaders.
The soft-hooves up at Strategic Defense think that the zebras are bound to try and sneak their way into the country, with a small task-force or regiment of specialized operatives at the most.
I wouldn’t think they’d circle all the way North to do it… but we don’t want to be the post that goes down in history as the one that let the Zebras in. Not when we’ve been warned.

I know I don’t have to remind you about what happened at Littlehorn four years ago. And that was reported to be a sole zebra insurgent working in retaliation to the issue with the immigrants. Needless to say, the zebras are nothing if not exceptional at stealth and infiltration. And with the weapons technology both sides have access to… the megaspells they’re testing?
One soldier could destroy a city; one soldier could end this war, taking the world with it.

I’ll assign the watch tomorrow morning, I expect you all to be ready to march at 6:00 a.m. You’ll be at your posts for a long time so bring everything you can. But remember, we’re just being careful; I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ll have more use for a deck of cards than you do for your rifle.

Littlehorn was the valley that everypony seemed so afraid of. And it sounded like whatever had happened there, had been a turning point in the war. The log was surprisingly informal for what I imagined from a military leader, and I suspected that this base had been a lot less important, a lot less impersonal, before the war-time escalation.

Reading the logs, displayed chronologically, from more than a dozen decades ago, gave me a surprisingly warm feeling of Stable nostalgia. My terminal had always been one of my favorite things then. I hadn’t done much of anything nearly as often as I had read through the data-files it stored.
Unfortunately quite a few of the next logs I looked into had been corrupted or damaged, maybe even erased. The next was over a year later but still written by Fern, though she had evidently been promoted.

Communal Log: 149
Sgt. Fern: West Zion Border Authority and Liaison.

Good news everypony!
You all have obviously heard the news about the new suits the MWT has been working on?
Well they’re putting them out in the field.
Unfortunately, the word is you need some freakish amount of training, even a license I think, to operate them. So while we’re not going to be getting new, top of the line, tech to use, we are going to be getting some new recruits…
Though I wouldn’t call them that, considering they outrank us…hard.

So let’s get ready to embrace our new leaders, huh? Things are going to get a little tighter here but I would hope that you all are ready for that anyway. Things are getting hot, there’s talk of another insurgence attempt, and it’s the kind of talk you need to pay attention to.

We’ve got some problems with the mountain guard, and we know that the Zebras are tenacious, and may be determined enough to attempt an entry through Zion. Problem is, and as you know, we don’t even have a physical border there; the mountains have always acted in place of a wall. But now Defense is positive that the Zebras are not only willing to circle the country to get here but that they’d climb a damn mountain right afterwards.

We’ve always been the weakest point. Even with the Steel Rangers they’re sending we will still be the weakest point, but that’s statistics for you. We need to be the ones making the difference, not with numbers but with hard work, and I know you all are ready to bear the brunt of some long cold nights ahead. I know we all have something we want to protect, something that’ll keep us guarding our country, even if it kills us.

So let’s show those glorified tin-cans what kind of soldiers we are!

I didn’t even know if Fern was a mare or a buck but I couldn’t help but associate her with the pink soldier/model on the poster above me. This was how I imagined her, a gritty, pretty, sergeant on the brink of the world’s end. Rallying her troops, her friends to stand strong and together in the face of war.
But to my dismay the next discernible report, dated only a few days later, wasn’t from her.

Communal Log: 1
Junior Paladin Orion, West Zion Front Line.

Steel Ranger patrol arrived on site approximately 0700h, five hours ago.
Equestrian Border Security: West Zion
Junior Paladin Orion first report:

Commendation to the troops of this station is due.
Troops, led by Sgt. Fern, lined up in accordance to the correct protocol.
They fell out at our order; the process was seamless and precise.
Exactly the kind of commitment and respect we’re hoping to see in more soldiers working for our country’s defense. We expect them to keep up the good work.

I assigned one Knight Commander to four of the five watch divisions.
Our tally on arrival was six, myself, four Knight Commanders (listed in your dossiers) and Journeymare Scribe Kit, who I have assigned to Sgt. Fern’s third division.
I will be spearheading the watch from here as well as on the lines.
Report anything you see to your commanding ranger, who will then relay it to me.
I ask that you would follow our protocol religiously Sgt. Fern; Strategic Defense believes that we have developed the most efficient method for guarding Equestria’s borders.

Lastly… enjoy today, as we begin the real work tomorrow.

That report certainly felt more military. I looked around the room again, trying to find some sign of the Steel Ranger’s inhabitance. On an adjacent wall a poster emblazoned with their name and emblem caught my attention. A winged sword, blue and gray, sat against a backdrop of three cogs circling purple stars spread over a large green apple in the very deepest layer.

I glanced back at Caliber, her head was buried into a filing cabinet on the opposite side of the room, and she had a steadily growing pile of salvage near the door. I felt a little guilty for sitting idly by while she did our job for us.

“Do you need any help?” I called out.

“Don’t feel bad, Grace.” Her voice came out echoing but muffled through the metal cabinet. “It’s nice to see somebody interested in something other than scavenging.”

“Thanks…” I turned eagerly back to the terminal and skimmed through a couple of the Paladin’s logs, they became more and more spread out, but less concerned over time. Eventually he almost seemed as relaxed and at ease as Fern had been. The Rangers had been at this station for months, no invasions, no immigrants, all they could do was become friends with the troops originally stationed here.
I got to the last log he made, almost a year after his first, before Fern took over again.

Communal Log: 34
Junior Paladin Orion, West Zion Border.

I know it hasn’t seemed like it here, but the war has gotten a lot worse.
I have two pieces of disturbing news to relay to you all, as Sgt. Fern has conceded the task to me.
Firstly, to my fellow Rangers, the lesser development:
A near deadly anti-material, anti-machine gun has been developed…
In Equestria…

The Ministry Mare of War-Time Technology tried to keep them out of production, in fear that the zebras would get a hold of the technology on the battlefields down South, but they are now being mass produced nonetheless. They are capable of tearing through the extent of our armor plating, possibly rendering us immobile, or killing us instantly, depending on the shot.

Now I wouldn’t worry about insurgents on this Northern frontier having access to these guns for some time. But we may need to worry about our brothers and sisters in the South. Minister Applejack tried to stop development, but ponies have gone to more dangerous lengths to win this damn war. So I hope your thoughts will go out to those under threat of these weapons, let’s hope they’re worth it in the long run.

Secondly, and more upsetting, news for everypony.
Our job here was in question for a time, as it was believed by the Defense Strategists that the commodities we have invested here would be better served elsewhere. But now our position, our task, has become imperative, undeniably crucial.

It has been confirmed that the zebras have acquired megaspell capability.
And they have most likely weaponized the technology already.
We’re all that’s keeping them from sneaking them into the North… and so we will do our jobs, we will keep the line held, and hope, for our countries sake, that this war will not escalate that far.

I knew what that meant… the bombs.
The ancient, though timeless, story’s end was getting close. Only a few reports left.

Sgt. Fern, West Zion Border Security.

As some of you at the station already know: Paladin Orion and his regiment have been recalled.
They left last night, soon after the siege on Canterlot began.
We’ve got a description of the attack; it came with their orders to re-group with the rest of the Steel Rangers. Long range Zebra missiles are bombarding the city…

Dammit, I don’t have to do this, do I? You can see it happening, for Celestia’s sake!
Just look south, if you’re further along the wall you may not be able to see it… but if you can see the ring of fire… that’s Canterlot. That’s the missiles hitting our Princesses’ shield.

There are so fucking many, all you can see are the explosions.

Stand strong, the Princesses will hold the shield. And we will hold the line.

Reading through the increasing small number of remaining logs was like watching a countdown. A countdown to the end of the world.

Sgt. Fern

Canterlot is nothing but a smoking pink bubble.
We don’t know what it is but the missiles are still not penetrating, the Princesses are still holding strong. The Zebras are firing at us from out of the country, they’ve got more weapons range than we expected.

We… we don’t know if they can get the megaspells this far.
But nonetheless we sure as shit are NOT going to let them sneak a bomb past our borders!
SO STAY ON YOUR POSITIONS!
If we ever arraign Flake for running to the Stables at the first sign of trouble, believe me she is going to be court-marshaled as soon as this war is over!

The next three logs were all made on the same day
three…

Sgt. Fern

They hit Cloudsdayle!
They wiped the whole fucking city out of the sky!
The missiles are coming from out of the country…
I don’t know if there’s anything we can do…
I think the Pegasus are planning to stop them from targeting anything, block their sight with the clouds.
Maybe it’ll work…

For now we’ll follow our last orders, and I’ll be damned before I leave this post behind.
We’ll hit them back! We’ll stop this! Just hold the Line!

two…

Military is collapsing, Maripony has gone quiet, we’re alone now.
This was in the last report I got:
Manehattan was hit from the inside…
They got a balefire bomb into the country. They got a bomb across our borders.

The cloud cover is up… did you see the Pegasus?
Like an infinite flock of migrating birds…

I think something is going on… but I can’t get a hold of the Brass.

Report in, if you can. If you can still read this then fall in.
We need to get organized, try to get to Calvary, help with the evacuation.
Unless it’s been hit too…
It’s a bombardment… they can’t even aim and they still won’t stop.

We must have hit them back.
And if… when we survive this, we’ll march over there and finish them off ourselves.
Report in!

one…

The shield is down… but the bombs have stopped.
Either the cloud cover was enough to dissuade the zebras… or we cooked them.
I honestly don’t care anymore.

The shield is down…

The Princesses are dead.
All I can see of the capital is pink mist. Like a Cloud.
That might be all that’s left.

All I can see of the sky is clouds, except to the North… there it’s fire.

Where are you?

I suppose it doesn’t matter now… the war is over.
The military is gone…
The Princesses are gone…
Equestria is gone, this border is meaningless, this post is meaningless…everything…

Do you remember what they taught us about Fallout?
When the megaspells were weaponized, the course they made us take?

If you’re still out there… if you’ll still follow me…. Then report in.

We’ll fight this together… We’ll wait it out… then we’ll go to the city, like I promised.
Maybe it survived… maybe we can survive.
I sat still for a moment, eyes damp and shining in the green light of the terminal.
I felt like crying for her, I felt like doing everything I could to save her, but I also knew that it was too late.
She had watched her country die, she had always done her job, defended the border, held the line, but still she watched her country die…

The Cloud had consumed Canterlot… killed the Princesses.
Fern had died as her leaders had, in the defense of their country.
Fern, Luna and Celestia…
That in itself was too much for me to take in.
Cloudsdayle, Manehattan, Maripony… names that meant almost nothing to me… were driving me to tears. I knew the name that mattered, and I understood what we had lost, what had died that day.

For what? I slammed my hooves against the desk, again and again. What was the point!?

“Grace!” I fought her as she tried to hold me. I didn’t want to remember where I was, I didn’t want to remember what was waiting for me outside… I didn’t want to exist, because I was a product of the war. The Stable, my ancestors being forced together to survive, had been because of the war.
The same war that had killed them… that had killed us.

I curled up tight, like I had on the highway just a day before.
But this was worse than the revelation about the Stables… this explained why they had come about, it told the story of fear and panic that had been the last moments of Equestria, the story of cowardice and death. I didn’t want to know it; I wanted to pretend it was just a story, a twisted fairy-tale.
I had been doing that up until now… denying the truth of the Wasteland. Seeing this dead earth as the same Equestria - their Equestria - had been a lie, a naivety, an indulgence to my sheltered mind.

This time Caliber didn’t pause to stand above me, she didn’t hesitate to hold me as I wept. My hooves ached, the desk was cracked and had left splinters and scars on my legs, but I couldn’t feel them. The mare held my head into her tear-dotted scarf, her warm, beating chest. She rested her muzzle over my head, her arms around me, she held me tightly, unyieldingly in the embrace.

Her whole life had been reserved to this suffering… this damnation. She was as much a product of the war as I had been, but she had never thought for a moment that there could be something better, she had never been foolish enough to believe that Equestria could still be saved.
A filly got her cutie-mark alone, consumed in fear of snow and blood, and it was a cross-hairs.
I apologized again and again, so she whispered to me, trying to console me, saying hush and that we would be alright, implying that I was forgiven for the crimes of my fore-fathers. Crimes that I wasn’t guilty of, crimes that I was created by.

“Hush now, quiet now.” She hummed, half singing as she rocked gently back and forth. I was a child.

That’s how we stayed for what felt like forever, and yet still seemed like too little a time when it was over. The patch of exposed chest I had burrowed into between her scarf and vest was damp and matted. I felt l as if I could drown in my own tears, but she was so warm, so I stayed gasping softly against her. She didn’t seem to mind and kept whispering for me, comforting me like a mother would her scared filly.

“Why did they do it…? Why did they have to die?” They didn’t, I knew that to be my brutal answer, I knew that it had all been futile, and for that I wept. So much life wasted, entire generations would never come to exist, entire civilizations were brought to their knees, and for what?
Soldiers had laid their lives on the line, mothers had sent their children to war… to die for a forgotten cause, to fight for a forgotten country.
Stables divided what little the old world could preserve from what was left of it, divided its inheritance from its corpse… kept us from the truth we so blindly denied.
We thought the world was bigger than us, beyond our perception or control, and yet we had ended it.

“Everyone has to die…” she whispered. “Everything has to end… we aren’t going to change that, but we can foght it… remember that there are ponies out there, fighting to survive the place they have no choice but to call home, and take comfort in the fact that despite it all, we’re still here. We have survived, we still haven’t lost ourselves…?” she awaited my agreement. And I knew that I had to be her paragon.

“No,” I choked out. “We haven’t lost ourselves yet.” I had to be better than this. I couldn’t condone the ponies of the past while I lay curled up, weeping in the arms of a mare, doing nothing to improve the future. This new Equestria would never be what it once was, it could never be restored to the ideal of the old world… but the old world had ultimately destroyed itself in violence and balefire. “Redemption.”

I pulled myself away from Caliber, softly and thankfully. She smiled into my drying eyes, dying eyes. “We are the last light of that country, we’re all that’s left of it… and we’re not going to go out like this. We are not going to fight each other until one side, one system stands as oppressor over the rest, in fact we are going to fight our way out of that oppression and embrace our own individuality, our own freedom, our own control over the lives were living. We must be good for the sake of being good, not some otherworldly or mortal reward. We are going to get out of this darkness, get out from under the hold of a system long failed, get out and see the truth that we choose to see and get our own freedom.
By any means necessary…” I recited. “Damascus said that in the orb…”

“Aren’t the first orbs memories of the Stable?” she seemed surprised that his words from decades ago, from a place detached from what she knew as home, fit so well.

“War never changes.”

That was the truth I now knew. That knowledge had hindered my ability to believe in something better, but it now reinforced my will to fight for it. The war had lasted two hundred years; the bombs had simply been its peak, not its end. We were still soldiers, but we had more reason to fight than money, pride or patriotism, the sides were clearer now, though the wasteland was not black and white… it was gray.

I couldn’t say that the Zebras had been evil, and that Equestria had been their victim. Though they had fired first, they had once been a peaceful country, just like we had been. They had been our enemies on paper, by order and by declaration, but now what was left of us, all of us, fought the same enemy… that enemy was war. Equestria was alive… but war had scarred it, burned it, though as long as we fought the Good Fight we would symbolize what it had once been. No flags flew anymore, but our morals and values would unify us against war and its incurable extremities.

“You’re alright?” she asked, gently nudging my muzzle up so I looked her in the eyes.

“I promise not to put you thought that again.” I smiled, I had broken down exactly like this on the highway yesterday, and just as she had now, Caliber had helped me come to terms with the new truth that I faced. “I never had myself pegged as a Drama-Queen.” I wasn’t done thinking, or even done hurting, but I could hide it for her sake, for my own sake. If I couldn’t be good… Stable-pony, old-world darling… who could?

“I have no idea what it’s like… seeing all of this for the first time. And I can’t imagine what you’re going through; I’ve always been used to it. It’s almost sick that this all seems normal to me, isn’t it?” She still didn’t know what I had read, but what else could have affected me so much apart from the nature of the wasteland? “You can always count on me whenever you need somebody to cry to, Sugar.” We hugged; the difference in the embrace was that we were both sharing it, while just moment ago she had been the one comforting me, a one way gift.

She walked up to her pile of salvage, showing each article to me before she put them into her saddlebags. I showed appreciation for every single one, though I barely knew what any of them were. Needing to give her something back, I revered her for her scavenges, trying to validate her.

Content within each other’s friendship, we were interrupted. A third white band popped up onto my E.F.S, it was in the direction of the front door. Before I had counted two, Ash and Caliber… no, I realized, not Ash. She was the approaching band, she had been too far out of range for me to pick up until now, the band I had assumed as her was the unknown, and it was in this very building.

Ash burst through the door as I was waving them over to look at my Pip-buck, her hooves were leaving a trail of thick, viscous, blackening liquid behind her. Her lower legs and underside made it look like she had been splashing around in the stuff, but apart from that she looked unchanged, unharmed.

“Wha…” I began to ask.

“Gasoline,” she grumbled, waving one hoof and inadvertently sprinkling droplets of the substance onto us. “I was scrapping the army vehicles for parts when I found one that seemed amazingly intact, the keys were in the ignition… I couldn’t help it.” She was almost apologizing. “Once I started it up it pumped gallons of this stuff out of a hole somewhere in its insides. The whole parking lot is covered in it now.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Caliber forgave. “So we won’t smoke, big deal.”

That’s right, I remembered, gasoline was incredibly flammable. For a moment I worried about Ash, she was partially drenched in the stuff. The third bar didn’t help.

“My E.F.S is picking up another non-hostile here, it might be upstairs.” I was whispering, despite my recent, uncensored sobbing. “You should probably stay here and find something to dry off with.”

“It is probably just a bird or rodent.” She dismissed. “If it had a gun then your thing would label it as a hostile, yes?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m still worried.” She seemed shocked that the E.F.S didn’t work the way she had expected.

“How else would it judge something?” she was more confused than concerned for herself. “It’s just radar so it’s not like it can gauge intentions or moral credibility…” murmuring to herself more than anypony in particular she went on, pacing the room. “It would have to factor in heart-rate or some other vital signs to be able to determine aggression… there’s no way it can do that at these kinds of ranges.”

“So you’ll wait here?” I asked, not expecting an answer. She continued pacing and mumbling in response. “Thanks, we’ll go check it out.” I tilted my head for Caliber to follow me, quietly.

Ash had already tarnished a lot of the paper on the floor with her tracks of gasoline; they slipped out from under me faster and looser as we walked, nearly making me lose my hold on the floor.

Eventually we made it to the stairs; they were a single set that rose up a single floor, to the top of the building. The room above was separated by a door and the stairway was only lit by a blinking yellow-white light. Ash may have slipped down them by her own accord; they actually posed a more direct, believable threat to her slippery self than the non-hostile did. I hoped she would remember that if she got curious enough to follow us once her tirade of confusion had ended.

We snuck our way to the door; which now stood ominously breathing before us in the on-and-off lights. I pushed against it, and finding it unlocked I slowly proceeded to creak it open.

The room within was dark, but a forest of metal bars were lit up as I held the door open for Caliber, rows upon rows of them rose through the blackness. One set was visibly gnawed and worn, though they still held strong. A retched panting came from their direction, the same direction that the white bar was indicating our non-hostile was. The panting became excited breathing, what almost sounded like giggling in reaction to the inconsistent light that now sliced into its room.

I didn’t want to close the door, as it would leave us in complete darkness with the creature. Before I could gather up the nerve to do it another source of light appeared just ahead of us. A barred window was abruptly revealed after what must have been a shroud or blockade was removed from its obstruction. I let the door swing close as I stared in horror at the imprisoned lightbringer.

At first I thought it was another Griffon Ghoul, but only for a brief moment before I recognized the familiar shape of my own form. This was a pony, like Damascus, but so far decayed that instead of mortally wounded it appeared decaying and long dead. Her flesh was pink, like everyponies, but it covered her like a torn coat, completely bare; her eyes a cloudy green, irises bleeding its color out just like Charon’s did. What hair she had left were pale strands and flaking patches peeking out from underneath her rounded military helmet. Her uniform was in rags around her, barely recognizable as the outfit of a sergeant.

She stared at us expectantly, body constantly retching and shivering, looking like it was in just as much pain as its skinless, rotting pink hide implied. She looked like the mare in the poster, she looked like Fern.

“Sergeant… sergeant… third patrol regiment… Fern.” The words seemed to bleed from its crooked, gasping mouth. I instinctively ran up to the cell that contained her, scraps of paper lay scattered on the floors around her along with what I couldn’t deny were flakes of her… chunks of meat and skin.

“Fern…” I whispered. I couldn’t get the door open. I pushed it to every direction that I could but it wouldn’t slide or shift. The bars were chewed, wet with saliva and the blood of pounding hooves. The sergeant just stared at me as I panted in desperation. The tendons visible on her face pulled her lips back into a snarl; I watched the complex muscular movement in awe. She was like a living cadaver, a doctor’s perfect study subject. Before I could resume my assault on the cell door, its prisoner lunged at me.

Caliber pulled me out of the way as the ghoul that had once been Sergeant Fern of the 3rd division slammed against the bars, repeatedly, spit flying and teeth gnashing. Slivers of meat stayed behind whenever she pulled away until the bars looked pink on the inside at the end of her mad assault.

“It’s feral.” Caliber held me back while it secluded itself into the dark corner of its prison. It was chewing… chewing on its own loosened flesh.
“Do they need to eat?” If this was really Fern, then she had been here for almost two hundred years… she couldn’t have survived if she had to eat, unless…

“I’m not sure.” Oh no…nonononono “Don’t think about it, Grace.”

“Sergeant … Equestrian Border Security Sergeant Fern… report in…” she begged in her wet, horrible voice. “please… report in…” She repeated her last orders… she had waited here for her troops, but they hadn’t made it. The radiation had beaten them to it.

“How does this happen?” I asked, staring wide eyed at the ghoul as it continued to slowly eat itself.

“Ghouls?” I shook my head, I knew why Charon was the way he was… this was different though. “Ferals…” yes. “It can happen at any time after initial ghoulification, some believe that every ghoul is destined for this, others say that it’s chance.” Fern attacked us again, bursting out in a violent barrage against the bars before settling down, pieces of flesh dislodged again.
“Isolation… is the most likely cause.”

“Then who locked her in?” Fern was dead, I had accepted that, but now I knew that she had died alone, her body left to become an auto-cannibalistic, endlessly perpetuating monster.

“She must have done it…” Caliber said, as she tried to open another nearby cell, fruitlessly. “Once she realized that she was losing It.”

“She wouldn’t even have known what a ghoul was.” I realized. “She must have thought that she was becoming a monster. Or dying…”

“Locking herself in that cage is what turned her into a monster.” She sat back at my side; the whole room was locked down. “Although I doubt she would have been taken in by any of the other first survivors as a ghoul, feral or otherwise.”

“So this was inevitable.” I wondered if every first-generation ghoul had been driven to madness as the barely surviving world cast them away in fear. Maybe some ghouls had found each other, I hoped, together they could have avoided this fate: Begging for companionship while spinning slowly into madness, guarding the last and only place you knew that existed.

“report in… survives this together…” Fern pleaded, looking out at us from under her over-sized helmet. She had undoubtedly become much smaller over the decades, literally eroding away into nothing.

“Fern?” walking up to the cell again I whispered her name, searching for her in the husk. “Sergeant?”
I stepped from side to side as I spoke, but her faintly glimmering eyes didn’t seem to follow me.
“We need to get her out, Cal.” Staring at the curled up corpse of the mare who had documented the end of the world for me, I knew that I had to help her. “Do you think you can pick this lock?”

“Grace…” she protested softly.

“We aren’t leaving her to die… to rot in there… we have to do something.” Fern rested her head against her hooves, obscuring her face under the helmet. “Even if we have to shoot her after she’s out.” That grim compromise was enough to get Caliber moving. She examined the lock to the door closely, clenching her blackened eye shut as she peered into the mechanism with her other.
“It isn’t too advanced, but neither am I.” The room was barely lit; only two cells were clearly visible, it would be impossible to find keys in the black mess. She saw my disappointed look. “I can try.”

“I’ll watch her.” I promised, she had lunged at me not a moment ago, but now lay still in the torn paper.

“This must have been where they held the illegal immigrants that they caught before the war.” Caliber mumbled, nearly indiscernibly, as she dug at the lock with a seemingly invisible pin clenched in her mouth. “Though it looks like they upped the security to ready themselves for any ‘zebra insurgents’.” There was a loud click from the lock. “Fuck.”

Before I could ask her to explain the crude outburst, we heard a machinated whirring come from the darkness on the opposite side of the room. It was the sound of ancient technology waking up.

“ALERT! Non-combatants are advised to leave the area. Security sweep in progress. Lethal force may be used without warning!” A metallic, audio log bellowed from the shadows.

A short horizontal line glowed red appeared twice my height above the ground. Metal creaked and heated as the robotic beast we had awoken began to move. Caliber shot me a desperately apologetic look as she pulled away from the lock. I pulled the cell door, assuming she had unlocked it, but it wouldn’t budge.

“I’m so sorry… I screwed it up.” Caliber stopped my exertion against the bars. “We need to leave.”

“What!? No! We need to get her out of there!” I continued to rattle the cell door; Fern looked up at me, eyes glowing in the gray light of the window behind her. Caliber forcefully pushed me away from the bars.

“Hostile Detected! Commencing neutralization.” Rumbled the huge sentry bot as it rolled its way into the dim morning light emanating from Fern’s window. I resisted Caliber’s pushes and prompts; Fern was looking at me, her empty, somehow infinite gaze followed as I was slowly corralled to the door. The sound of a mini-gun readying itself for a bullet barrage of periodic thousands broke my empathetic haze.

“Sergeant Fern, 3rd Division Patrol Regiment, West Zion Border Security.” She retched out; I could never decide whether this final cry had been directed at me by the remnants of the mare within the husk or if it was just the barely coherent ramblings of a feral ghoul stuck on repeat. I turned tail and ran alongside Caliber before we dove out of the room, rolling painfully down the stairs in the light of the other side.

A hail of bullets came tearing through the briefly open doorway, though they continued to tear through the door itself as the reinforced sentry bot persisted in its attack. Splintered fractions remained swinging limply on the hinges as I regained my composure at the bottom of the flight of stairs.

The sentry bot pushed desperately at the door’s frame, too large to fit through. The sight would have been comical if I wasn’t so afraid for Fern and my friends. Ash had waited patiently in the room that we had just rolled into and now joined us to regard the stalled threat. Its guns were each stuck on either side of the exit, though if it shifted itself slightly then it could easily get one of its arms through to fire at us. With Rocket-Launcher or Minigun. Caliber looked at me expectantly.

“Run…” I ordered softly. Reinforced steel, thousands of bullets and high explosives, we would die if we stayed here. We had only moment until the sluggish AI figured out how to bypass its entrapment.

“You lead.” Caliber insisted. She suspected that I would attempt something stupid and honorable.
Celestia knew that I wanted to.

But I ran, Caliber and Ash close behind me, I bound over the oiled papers and gasoline, barely missing a solid step. We barged out of the front door, running though there was nothing chasing us, we kept on. Although our frantic haste didn’t seem entirely necessary at the time, it saved our lives.

Only a few moments later we stopped on a hill just several dozen feet south of the border. I turned around at the top of the hill and sat back to see if the sentry bot would be able to follow us, resting briefly to prepare myself for another bout of desperate sprinting. Fern was undoubtedly dead by now.

The upper-right side of the building exploded in a cavalcade of rubble and debris, the close-mindedly programmed robot must have fired off a missile with the confines of the small holding room. I could see metal jettisoned out of the building by the forceful explosion, cell bars and scrap came bursting through what remained of the wall. Though the initial explosion was small it sent flaming pieces of paper and shrapnel flying over the parking lot. The parking lot where the army trucks were… the parking lot that was drenched in gasoline.

The first soft flame, dancing gently downwards through the air, touched the flammable, wet asphalt turning it almost immediately into a huge arena of fire and melting tar. The fire spread so rapidly that it seemed as if it had all lit up at once, the insides of the station brightened as Ash’s tracks led the flames into its source. For a moment I thought the orange and gold death would come for us, along her hoof-prints, but they had grown far too sporadic and small for the burning monster to track.

The inside of the Border Patrol Station, which had stood for two hundred years, was consumed in the blaze. The flames rose up against the desks and paperwork within, engulfing history, cutting off the bridge between our times. Fern, borders, military, Equestria, all of it had some vestige in that building, all of it now burned into oblivion, destroyed by its own defenses. Gasoline and missiles, military and security, all triggered by our curiosity and scavenging, now served as harbinger to the eradication of our past.

“We should move…” Ash whispered, eyes set, coals burning on the rampant fire. “Those trucks…” Before she could finish her warning of things to come, those things came to pass. The flames on the parking lot, dulling in the cold wind compared to the vibrant energy from the tinderbox patrol station, licked up against the army vehicles. One in the middle of the lot suddenly exploded in an astoundingly loud resurgence of fire. The conflagration of the nearby building was outdone by the stout mushroom cloud of heat and color, shrouded by black smoke, which rose where the truck-load of gasoline had once stood. Shrapnel, pieces as large as a pony, flew off in every direction around the detonation, high and wide. At any moment any of us could have been speared by the charging shards of metal and yet we all sat completely still, silently overlooking the holocaust of our inadvertent creation.

Trucks followed suit after the first and the burning clouds rose out in either direction, each triggering the next. The gray morning became brilliantly lit in the bonfire and the outbursts, the paroxysm stood out bold and bright against the black form of towering Mt. Zion and the stretching wall of the Equestrian border. The last truck stood against the Border station’s wall, its dangerous proximity and impending detonation let us all know what was about to happen, though we couldn’t help but to stare on in silent awe.

The detonation started from an engine flame that burst through the front of the vehicle’s chassis, smoke was rising out of it, barely noticeable compared to the aftermath of the explosions beside it and the internal burnout of paper and wood in the building it parked up against. But the ensuing mushroom cloud joined the cataclysms of the burning building and the scorched parking lot; it came up with such force that the rest of the previously blown-out wall was sent rocketing in on itself, collapsing half of the station along with it. The tilt sent smoke and paper blossoming out of the burning wreck of concrete and woodwork.

Rectangular specks of white, occasional carrying their own orange and gold passenger, danced against the haze of black smoke as they both blew West along the wall in the pressure and currents of nature and collapse. Rubble buried half of the historical military building while heat consumed the other. We sat by and watched the smoke leak, ever slowing, out of the ruin, the fire dying at an equal pace under gentle, involuntary assault by the soft, snow laden air.

Large chunks of metal, the shrapnel and barrage, lay embedded in the soft earth surrounding the site, there was nothing to have rationally assured that those pieces wouldn’t have embedded themselves into us, and yet we hadn’t moved, I hadn’t even flinched. This ruin, as it was now, a skeleton of its former self, was not like most in the wasteland: it was fresh. This was what the world had looked like as the bombs fell, it had been choked by smoke and fire, hailed with metal and wreckage as cities collapsed, Fallout. This was no longer a piece of history; but a distant recreation of it.

“Caeli…” the fuel-spreading mare coughed out ritualistically. The fire had fed itself on her mistakes, she no doubt held herself responsible for the destruction ahead, but luckily she knew nothing of Fern. I had wanted to bury the mare, that had been my original intent; to free her, with a lock pick and a bullet, and then bury her. But the job had been done for me, clumsily, messily; and she now lay within her collapsed station, the place she had been held in, by duty and cell bars, for two hundred years. Gravedigger…

“The white bar was the sentry bot,” I lied. “It activated while we were poking around the room upstairs, turned hostile. Good thing the explosions dealt with it for us.” Caliber looked uncomfortable but there was no reason for anypony to question my lie, so she had no obligation to reinforce it.

“Lucky us…” Ash agreed. We stared on for a while longer until the smoke dissipated into the wind and the flames no longer melted the lightly falling snow.

The wreckage became ruin, another cold, scorched scar on the warzone that was the Equestrian Wasteland, another piece of the past that faded into the dead winter of our apocalypse. The conflicts within it would rage on, the war would burn forever in its eternal assault against Equestria, continue to rot it as it lay, never finding the mercy of sleep. We could, we would, do all we could to bring it peace, to find it respite and rest we would march on, restless as the land that we crossed. I watched the dancing lights fade in Ash’s deep black eyes, orange and gold giving way to the eternity of darkness.

Footnote: Level Up!
Perk Added: Robotics Expert: +25% damage to robots, your knowledge of their circuitry and lethal injection points means you can shut them down by sneaking up on them successfully . Try and remember that next time you want to blow a hole into Equestria’s border, huh? I mean it was one robot; you didn’t have to go all ape-shit gasoline-carpet-bomb-fires-of-hell crazy and bring the force of the Great War down on that mother. Are you even going to try talking it out sometime? Or are you too ‘cool’ for that now?

Chapter 11: Ghosts of the Garden City

Fallout Equestria: Sola Gratia
Chapter 1•1: Ghosts of the Garden City
“By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion.”

This place is not alive.
It isn’t the sanctuary, the proof, of life that I was expecting… that I needed.
It’s dead, another nail in Equestria’s coffin, or another sign of her corpse scratching against the wood.

The traces of green that I had detected from afar were just that, traces, barely visible.
The pines were numerous but barren, standing like gray skeletons with only vestiges of green foliage.
No… they stood like ghouls, partly rotted, partly lost, but still surviving somehow, clinging on to half-life.
Their bark was peeling, but only to reveal more gray beneath, gray skin, making up a gray world.

The mountainous rock formations stood tall on either side of us, as the ranges curved in such a way that, looking back, I couldn’t see the places I had come from, the open plain of MASEBS and the Earth Mover. Zion was nothing if not consuming, entrenching, it made you feel as if there was no way in, or out.
Clambering over rocks and crags we had come, descending into this snowy valley, into the ominous shadow of black and blue mountains that reached for the roof of the world.

Cliff faces, rocks and plateaus ranged in earthy tones of pale to bluer grays. Their flat, solid forms contrasted with the shifting sky and dying vegetation. I couldn’t even see my horizon, my anchor; there was nothing above us but blackening clouds and unalterable mountains, their sharp, snowy peaks well defined against the dark sky.

It was colder here, in this trapped land of sunless stone and dusted snow. The white precipitation fell with noticeable determination, thicker and slower than it had outside of the valley this morning. The earth had been - and would always be - heavily powdered by it, almost carpeted, which made our walk vary from a sudden soft cold to the usual dusty solidity. Apart from the rarer times in which branches or entire felled trees snapped up at us, splintering under our hoof-falls.

“Are you watching your E.F.S?” Caliber asked quietly. Apart from her blue vest and ragged scarf, she looked pitifully exposed, though still refused the charity of my coat. Ash traipsed along beside her, but the bandages, ironically, made her look more comfortable than the red-headed mare. “It isn’t safe here.”

I hadn’t been watching my Pip-buck’s radar at all, actually, as my perception and interpretation had remained fixed on the land around us. It was different that the wasteland that I was used to, though the differences were disturbingly slight. Still, I couldn’t help but to focus all my attention on it, trying to distinguish the two. I glanced down at the device on her request. All clear, it said. I relayed its message to Caliber, and then stopped walking as I continued to regard the ivory display.

The map in ‘Data’ was what interested me. Just east of the Equestrian Border Security building, now ruin, was Mt. Zion, it had been marked ‘discovered’ as we were walking along its dark base. Another, unvisited location was being heralded by the map, along the northern wall of the valley.

“What’s Celestia’s Landing?” I asked, not expecting an answer. But as I spoke, looking up from the screen, I saw Ash perk up at the reference, almost jumping in surprise and excitement.

“That is the temple I was talking about visiting!” she had mentioned an ancient religious site on our entrance into the valley, and now seemed delighted that I somehow knew its name. My Pip-buck must have automatically filled it in at her reference.

If the machine’s radar capabilities had perplexed her, then she’d see its ability to automatically map and label expanses of wasteland on their passing mention as something that was nearly infeasible.
“How nearby is it? Can we go?!” I had never seen her in such a state of unguarded anticipation.

“Jeez Ash, what’s the deal?” Caliber asked arching an eyebrow at the wide-eyed, quivering - though usually reserved - lavender maned mare. Her own eyes were shining with but a fraction of the shimmering excitement that glistened in Ash’s.

“Celestia’s landing…” she paused for dramatic effect. “Is possibly the most important monument in all of the North, it dates back to, not only before the war, but before Nightmare Moon’s banishment. The chance to see it is coveted on high, but so far we’ve never even heard an accurate description.”

“Why the interest?” Caliber inquired, surprisingly curious about the Faith’s motivations.

“Well it isn’t only significant to the religious, it’s the place where Celestia touched down after beginning the first day, after pulling the sun across what was once known and now remembered as Equestria. It’s historical as well as canonical, depending on whether you see the first day as the dawning of the world or just the point when Celestia inherited the responsibility of the sun.” she explained, happy to indulge.

“But earlier you said that it was a temple.” I pointed out.

“Well it’s a monument, really, but worshippers went on pilgrimages there before the war. Of course no one seems to bother with it nowadays, apart from in the passing thoughts of those driven by belief. Considering that not one of our kind has ever returned from a journey here, you should see why.”

“I can’t imagine that going to Canterlot would have been considered much safer.” The corpses of her friends were a testament to that, I thought, then immediately regretted thinking.

“The place where Celestia rose has always been more important than the site of her landing. And it is said that she took flight from Canterlot, though the meaning of her ‘ascendance’ has now changed from the literal to the spiritual.” She timidly hopped over a black log submerged in the snow. “Anyway, I would very much like to see the monument while we are here.”

“Sure,” I had to admit, I was actually interested. Celestia had apparently brought up the sun in a magnificent flight of light and power that began at the nation’s capital; it was actually verified in a history class our Stable’s teacher had given us. To see where that flight had ended seemed like a worthy detour. “Apart from that we don’t really have much of a plan, so I think we could even head there straight away.”

“Is it high up?” Caliber pried. “What we really need is a vantage point, someplace to scope out the area. I have no idea how the zebras will react if they see us first, and I’d prefer not to find out.” Ash nodded.

“How can we be afraid of them even as we go to ask them for their allegiance?” The relationship that allies shared shouldn’t be based on fear, surely that couldn’t be how it worked.

“If we ask, they’ll say no. We’ll probably have to do something to put them in our debt first.” She followed me as I shifted our course towards the Northern temple of Celestia’s landing. “We’re making a contract this time, not friends. They won’t help us unless we help them, and they have no reason to think anybody would come here to deal, rather than to fight. So we need to meet them on our terms.”

“I don’t think we need to be afraid of a bunch of tribals.” Ash murmured.

Caliber laughed, not out of relief or agreement, but in amusement at how wrong Ash’s information was. “Is that what you folks in the Plains think? That they’re a ragged band of savages with nothing but sticks and stones to fight with?”

“Pretty much,” she confirmed defensively. “The Zion Tribals, it’s what all the stories call them.”

“The Zebras aren’t the tribals!” Caliber waved her hoof conclusively. Ash seemed confused, but got no explanation. I didn’t know what difference it made, as up until know I had heard nothing of Zion.
Anyway, every place I found myself in just seemed more dangerous than the last, the pattern was easy enough to follow. “Even if Grace sees any bars on her E.F.S, we won’t know what to expect except a fight. There’s more to this valley than you think, and it’ll all be hostile until we convince it otherwise.”

The old pines seemed a little more intimidating as they surrounded us. The cold was making me shiver profusely, though my frayed nerves made me tremble at the same time, so I couldn’t tell the difference between the two reflexes. We were well armed, better than we had found ourselves before anyway.

Caliber had her favorite gun attached snugly to her side by way of the repaired battle-saddle, ready to fire by prompt from the bit near her muzzle. Ash stuck with her similarly attached combat shotgun, as she wouldn’t accept the 45 from me. And so I was left armed with it and my familiar laser pistol.

My fear rose for the unknown, the mystery shrouding this bleak, yet looming valley. It didn’t help that, whenever we didn’t speak, it was absolutely silent, making it feel as if we were the only living things left, continuously making ourselves known to imagined ghosts with every snapping branch or brief exchange.

Though the mountains were far enough away that I couldn’t quite see their bases, the way they obstructed my peripheral vision, reaching like jagged cracks in the sky, made me feel trapped. Like there was nowhere to run, and enough places to hide so that we could afford ourselves a superficial sense of security, preserved by the dead silence. It was a feeling that proved to be ultimately untrustworthy.

I wanted a bird to cry out, or for a distant rock fall to send an echoing rumble through the mountains, I wanted something apart from us to break the damning silence. Even distant gunfire would have aided in pulling me out of the white, quiet void of uncertain safety. A warning of coming danger, a promise of impending combat, anything would have made me feel at ease compared to this audible nothingness.

“Who are the tribals?” I asked, submitting to the need for our unreassuringly usual noise.

“Well, I don’t know much about them,” apologized Caliber. “Excepting for the fact that they are most definitely not associated with the Zebras here. According to Damascus: they’re incredibly stupid, but there’re enough of them to pose a legitimate threat, especially considering that their idiotic bigotry makes them hostile to anything they aren’t familiar with, anything foreign.”

“How can we be so sure that they aren’t with the Zebras? Maybe things have changed…”

“Well both groups are racially identified, for one; add onto that the fact that they’re both explicitly racist, the tribals to the point of violence, and you aren’t going to see much opportunity for an alliance.”

“And we’re sure that the tribals are all ponies? Ash didn’t seem to know about that distinction.” I pointed out; I didn’t want to believe that racist schisms still existed, especially not after seeing that blatantly derogatory propaganda poster back in the border security station.

Caliber sighed “Promise me you won’t freak out.”

“You know me…” I waved her off, unsuccessfully, as she seemed to want an actual promise.
“Alright, I’ll brace myself.”

After peering at me skeptically for a moment she prompted me to stop walking. “We know that the tribals are all ponies… because they came from a Stable.” My eyes went wide, as my mind cried out at another failure against the Stables’ purpose. Instead of a beacon of renewed civilization and peace, Equestria had only been given another band of racist savages by the technological preserver.

I quickly reigned in my crippling disappointment at the tangible evidence to the folly of Shady Sand’s ambition. I knew there were other Stables; I knew that all those that opened had failed, would fail.
I knew that I didn’t need to go through this again. Keep it down.

“Alright.” I solidified myself against the ground. “Is it here?”

“Somewhere, yes.” Caliber nodded grimly. “What are you thinking?”

“Nothing, I’d just like to… I’d just like to see it.” I compromised; I really wanted to fix it, to redeem it for its parting from inherited responsibility, but despite my ideals I knew that I would most likely be disappointed when attempting to do so. Still, investigating was not only appealing: it was critical to my understanding.

“You’re fine?” she seemed relieved, but I didn’t blame her.

“Don’t worry, I’m just curious.” I reassured checking my map to see if the Stable had magically appeared. It hadn’t, though the temple was apparently located just a little further North at the base of the tallest coalition of mountains, or possibly within them. “But for now, we have a monument to find.”
Ash seemed pleased at our similarly driven agendas.

“Stable for Grace, Temple for me… I hope that you can find something to go out of the way for, Caliber.” She said sweetly as we picked up our pace again. “It’d be nice if we all got something from Zion.”

“We will,” Caliber dismissed. “And don’t beat yourselves up over the detours, I have a feeling we would have ended up at both places anyway.” For navigating and fighting most likely, compass and crosshairs, I noted, suddenly feeling incredibly fortunate to have Caliber with me, an antidote against Zion’s solitude.
The looming, jagged rock face was impossibly large as we had very nearly reached its base.

I hadn’t seen the horizon in an unsettlingly long time, and worried that I had become hopelessly dependent on the thought of seeing the sun towards the end of each day. I doubted that we would escape Zion by nightfall; in fact, I had no idea at all as to what lay ahead of us. Whether we would succeed with the Zebras or tangle with the tribals was all variable. Our plan was free-formed at best, loose and arbitrary, driven by ambition more than strategy.

Fading white marble cut through the black rock, aesthetically working with the cascade of mountains alongside it to make the structure appear as if it were emerging from the earth after a burial. The faded pale made a doorway in the mountain, framing a dark passageway that would undoubtedly lead us to the high temple marked just ahead of this spot on my Pip-buck. Gold embellished the angular structures like jewelry, forming bands on rectangular pillars and crowns bordering the top of walls visible from within the rock. The entrance looked as if it were a part of the land, ancient and immersed.

I lit up my horn in anticipation of the darkness within, and we stepped up to the threshold. An aura of torchlight gold surrounded us, spreading the color of my eyes to reflect in my companion’s while never causing them to squint or shy away from its brightness. I was proud of this spell, as it was one of the three I could perform with any confidence, though I had yet to get a willing subject for my mediocre medical abilities. It would still be nice to get some practice, not that I was hoping anypony would get hurt.

“You’re both alright with going through with this?” Ash asked cautiously. “I have no idea where this leads, or how long it will take to get there.”

“The longer it takes, the higher a vantage point we’re working towards.” Caliber reminded her.

“Yeah, it’s not like Celestia could have landed inside the mountain.” I agreed, thinking that I saw Ash bristle at the use of the Princess’ name, though she didn’t say anything in protest.
“We’ll probably find an overlook on the other side of these halls.”

She smiled and trotted her way into the expansive stone hallway. It stretched wide and tall, walls adorned with statues and runes, ceilings left untouched by my soft magical light, making it look like a black sky was stretching onwards above us. I couldn’t discern the graying formations on the walls very well; some seemed to be scenes of the past recreated by chisel and hammer, while others were simply aesthetic or structural in purpose.

The faces on the ponies who once were dancing and celebrating now stood quivering in statuesque immobility, looking almost penitent in the dim light, every expression lit up unnaturally and shaded over as if above a fire rather than under a sun. They were medieval in setting, ragged clothing on earth ponies contrasted with noble, though thoroughly outdated, gowns and jewels on the unicorns.

The Pegasus set higher on the wall, swooping as they extruded from the stone they were based within, were barely visible at this dark distance and dim illumination. The ones that I could make out were dressed as if they had been called to arms, marshaled into steel plating and rank-based adornments.

They hadn’t known what their society would be reduced to, unicorns and earth ponies stripped of their nobility and fortitude while the once loyal Pegasus warriors turned to fleeting cowards at apocalypse.

Ash stopped every once and again to fully examine a mural or effigy, calling me over to defer the darkness that shrouded the passageway’s depths. The large rectangle of gray light from the entrance had long since disappeared, and so everything outside of my golden aura was pitch black.

A silently weeping mother cradled her colt tenderly; expression set in a cry of despair. The child was wrapped tightly in blankets, though it was still visibly frail and unhealthy. The maternal figure was wearing cascading, layered rags and appeared almost equally decrepit.

Nearby, a buck reared and whinnied, standing upright briefly, yet eternally, over the statue’s stone base. His visage was stretched into a strong, violent, expression of angry vigor. Face and neck remained exposed but the rest of his body was enclosed within a segmented suit of armor, ancient or new, there was no accurate indicator of what time he came from, though it was certainly a time of conflict.

“This doesn’t seem right.” I whispered, my voice magnifying at the break of our enkindled silence. These figures were depressing; they didn’t fit in a place that was supposedly intended to celebrate, to honor. The marble ponies were warring or mourning, enraged or depressed, there was no happiness here. Legionnaires and Widows, oppressive Royalty and abused Peasants, this was all wrong.
“This looks like a memorial… not for a beginning but for a loss, a war.”

I didn’t get a response from either of the mares; both were engrossed in the still forms appearing suddenly out of the consuming emptiness, summoned on our passing. The ground was a dusty marble tile but didn’t imply a ruin to me, an ancient memory but a reconstructed one. “Keep your guns ready.”
I ordered. We didn’t know enough about this place to assume that we were safe.

Particles of shifted dust passed through the light, expressing themselves adamantly as the decayed, refused erosion that they were. These were the only other source of movement, the only other source of anything. The Statues had tapered off, and now we walked alone.

Caliber made eyes towards my Pip-buck. I nodded in response. My E.F.S was the only thing keeping me sane, and so she didn’t have to remind me to keep attentive to it. Ash was peering around just as eagerly as she had before, despite the fact that there was nothing more than emptiness within and beyond the fringes of my arcane light. Fortunately, something was driving all of us; otherwise we would have been panicking, wondering how we would find our way out, wondering how we would find anything in the expanse of black. It could have been curiosity, or comforting denial.

I thought I could make out pillars to my right as the floor began to slope upwards, surprising sudden and steep. If the ceiling existed, it was no doubt being lifted along with us by the now distinguishable pillars; otherwise they stretched up endlessly into the expansive hollow mountain.

I caught myself panting a little bit after a considerable amount of time struggling against the slow, angled escalation. Ash’s breathing had changed too, becoming an excited series of held back whispers as she contained her fear or anticipation. We both attempted, but failed, in vain to hide the alteration, her out of religious revere and me out of Stable shame.

The dim gray light of day shone slightly from ahead, appearing high out of the walls by way of six ornately stained, circular windows. As we reached the peak of the slope, another similar - but exponentially larger - window became visible at the end of the room we had entered. Each aperture was laced with a tone of color, the largest illuminated in white gold by forlorn gray rays passing through both cloud and rock to reach it. The design clearly mimicked the sun in its grandiose, celestial stature, as well as through its decorative facets of triangular rays over curved flames emanating from a central, circular plane.

I dimmed my illumination as we stepped onto the level floor of the bleakly sunlit room. The distant walls were interrupted by pillars in between the impermeable windows, all orbiting over the central apex. A throne of a chair rested at the end of the cross, as that was what the room was shaped as. It was tall and persisted in an aged gold, though it was partially silhouetted by the huge sun window making up most of the wall behind it. The aisle to it was lined with pews that spread to the walls on either side, their quality enlightened by the slightly colored windows above.

Purple, White and Orange highlighted one wall, shining a consistent gray despite their dyed glass.
Yellow, Blue and Pink lined up on the other, again creating the illusion that light of the respective color would be created through it, yet yielding only the usual pale unto the room. The ceiling was ordained by another gargantuan circular window, it was a deep black, made up of obsidian, unlit glass. Not serving as a portal of illumination at all, but as a reference, I realized, a sly inclusion.

As expected, Celestia’s window shone the brightest, but the Yellow window on the right wall was a notable second. The others had a defined fade when compared to the brightest two, Luna’s window placing last to the point of being impossibly dark, almost seeming to absorb the dusty light from the room.

“I wasn’t expecting a church…” Ash seemed awestruck; her eyes locked on the giant window as we walked down the aisle. Even Caliber wasn’t even slightly indifferent; seeming thoroughly and genuinely taken in by the beautiful portal ahead of us. This room was stylized similarly to how the lower atrium had been prepared for the Confessor’s sermons. Rich red carpets and cushioning lined with gold spread over the pews and narrowly extended down the aisle. “Goddesses, this is incredible.” She said, scuffing and twirling against the dusty red carpet as her attention diverted from window to window. The steely and earthy hues set off perfectly with the red tapestries and gold embellishments. The huge room, the hall, seemed ancient, yet preserved, though the stained windows remained impossibly immaculate.

“I don’t get it…” We reached the throne and pedestal at the brink of the aisle. “Religion was never dominant enough to warrant this kind of construction, was it?” The hall was indisputably the greatest feat of architecture I had ever seen; even the pictures or descriptions of Canterlot in Stable media hadn’t seemed this intricate and regal.

“Celestia’s Landing, the event not the place, was effectively the beginning of our world, of our existence. It was not simply the first day of Equestria; it was the first day in time, the very beginning.” Ash recited, giving the throne a wide berth while I investigated it. It was simplistic, yet beautiful.

“So where did Celestia come from?” Caliber retorted benignly. “Or Luna, or everything else that wouldn’t have just appeared at the raising of the sun.”

“Astral eternity, a Kingdom in the Stars. The place we go to at the ending of a well-led life, the place from which the Goddesses now rule: the true beginning and the destined end.” I was surprised that Caliber didn’t roll her eyes at the vague answer; and instead seemed to accept the response.

“Considering that’s the only ex-planation I’ve heard as to where the Princesses came from, I can’t really put up any sort of argument. Anyway, the only difference it makes is where we’re heading after we die, and I’m not holding on to anything for that. I like the idea of an ending, a retirement... in its way.”

“When you reached the age of retirement in the Stable, you could either be punished, effectively banished from your home by rite of ‘damnation’. Or assigned a stasis pod that would preserve you until the world recovered: ‘ascension’.” I didn’t mention the neutral outcome, because it was boring.

“You don’t look old enough to have been retired.” Caliber observed. “And you surely aren’t someone I would consider deserving of banishment...”

“I was set up for murder,” I admitted, as the thought of my oncoming visit to another Stable was making me feel a lot more forthcoming with the truth. “They found me guilty and sentenced me to Damnation. The whole system was involved in the lie, committed to it. More than a dozen ponies sat by as I got punished for a crime that I didn’t commit.” Though I summarized it all with little emotional input, it still upset me.

“Corruption,” Ash announced, her voice echoing dramatically and uncharacteristically through the stone hall. “Is one of the reasons we can’t trust our own governance, why we needed the Goddesses as our Princesses in the first place. We were lost before them, and we are now lost again.” She was getting caught up in the atmosphere of the church, her blindly faithful side coming out in its full religious fervor.

Caliber gave her a wary, amusingly perturbed look. “Well… I’m sorry about the terrible things that happened to you Grace.” She rested her hoof across me, comforting me again, genuinely despite the subtle sarcasm aimed at our wayward prophet. I appreciated her support, though felt exponentially less upset at reliving my own past through memory than I had reliving the end of a world through data logs.

“Oh… right, me too.” Ash said as she snapped out of it. “I’m sorry, I mean…to hear that.” Her reconnection into the small scale was awkward and sudden; she went from an enthusiastic preacher to her usual shy self in less than a second. The mare floated her hoof in the air, as if she had been lifting it to copy Caliber but then changed her mind. She thought for a second, then lowered it again.

“It’s fine, I actually feel alright about it.” I assured. “Given the knowledge that I have now, I would have left the Stable by my own will a long time ago.” Now wasn’t the time to reminisce, we had a job to d-… We had a thing to look at. “This can’t be the place where Celestia landed; we’re still inside the mountain.”

“Must be up those elevators.” Caliber stated aloofly, gesturing towards either horizontal end of the cross that the church’s alleys formed. At the end of each perpendicular, shorter aisle were wide, metal sliding doors. They were blatantly incorporated into the stone walls and looked to be blemishes, wounds of technology against the ancient, devotional atmosphere.

“What the heck?” I asked rhetorically as I jaunted up the left-hand arm. “…That’s… convenient.”

“Just because they were religious doesn’t mean they wanted to climb a mountain every time they went to see the monument.” Ash smiled. “Although these must have been installed near war-time, during the technological revamp, so I doubt they were used by many pilgrims or devotees.”

“Probably just tourists.” Caliber agreed. “Or patriots. Celestia’s landing probably got commercialized to build up ‘team-spirit’ in the Northerners, get them behind the country.”

“That’s kind of exploitative,” I muttered, the elevators had ruined the sanctimonious and sacred room for me. The sliding doors were reminiscent of the Stable and seemed off in the otherwise pious place. “But it’s better than walking all the way up.” I admitted as I hit the call button. I couldn’t deny that, despite the connotations, I preferred technology to tradition. And there was nothing wrong with patriotism.

The button had lit up green, indicating that this place had power, and that the elevator might actually still function. I wondered if we hadn’t actually needed to blindly make our way through the darkness of the previous room, if we couldn’t have just found a light switch instead.

For some reason, the whirr of the approaching machine comforted me, and I felt more at ease than I had throughout our entire collected journey into and across Zion.

That peace was torn away as the metallic doors slid open at the arrival of our carrier. The elevator was expansive, rounded with a diameter of at least five adult bucks, and it was lit up in the flickering fluorescence that I had come to know as familiar. Scattered amidst the tattered rags were bones, another budding familiarity, which persisted in disturbing me. The bodies were painfully small: ponies, fillies and colts, almost a dozen of them, coated the floor in whole, recognizable skeletons.

Caliber just sighed softly, Ash crossed herself and muttered, but I remained silent, staring down, wide-eyed, at the long-dead, long-decomposed children. What bothered me most was how little I was bothered. The scene was surprising, depressing even, but it didn’t faze me enough, not as much as it should have.

At my lead, we filed into the graveyard, stepping tentatively over the stripped corpses, once students from the telling remains of backpacks and uniforms. A solitary adult accompanied them, had had to calm them as they starved, or froze to death in the still elevator. The power must have cut out at some point during the last day, stranding this school trip in a vertical hallway of the historical site they were visiting.

It wasn’t like they would have survived if they had been anywhere else, I told myself, but I couldn’t shake the remorse. This was a horrible way to die, early and completely undeserved, unwarranted. But the physical disturbia in front of me hadn’t stopped me from entering the elevator, I could justify myself with all the remorse I wanted, but it wouldn’t change the fact that I had become acclimated to death.

I organized to be taken to the top floor, ‘Memorial’ as it was labeled here, and so we began to ascend. Though it groaned, the dark machine trundled consistently up the shaft, stalling only briefly and never giving any signs of real danger, despite the skeletons. There was only one stop between the church and the roof, but I didn’t care to investigate it, I wanted to get this ride over with.
“You want to bury them?” Caliber offered kindly.

“Equestria is a grave; and we can’t dig fresh ones for every skeleton we find.” I said bluntly, I didn’t like it, but I had to accept it. “You’d know better than me how many there are out there.” She nodded at that. I had already seen several, and hadn’t really had the urge to bury any of them. There was something intrinsically wrong with disturbing what little peace they had left, what respite they had maintained for almost two hundred years. “Respecting their sanctity is all we can do.” It wasn’t.

“They’re already in a memorial.” Ash reminded, trying to console me, as my stoic façade was thinner than even I knew. “It’s not the worst place to rest.”

I nodded, stowing my sympathy away as best I could. The elevator reached the apex of its increasingly rapid ascent and began to slow. We were going to find ourselves considerably high up, hopefully giving Caliber the overlook that she wanted… And we apparently needed.

The doors slid open to reveal a smooth marble surface of graying white. We stepped out, into fresh air and the distant cover of a cut-off ceiling of clouds. We were near the border again; on it even, considering the mountains had served as the original divider. A light snow fell inconsequentially, small as the particles of dust within the tombs below, but less distinct in the soft illumination of occluded day.

The marble cut into a rocky landscape, smooth and angular compared to the near black, layered features of the land it was built into. Mountains stretched high ahead of us and all around us, so high that despite the visibly fading cloud cover; I couldn’t see anything but Equestrian soil, rock and marble. The distinctive form of Zion’s Nominal Mountain rose before us, still looming despite our own altitude.

The monument made a clearing in the range, large and solid, barely cracking or eroding. It was a circular plane, founded in the natural stone but constructed of the artificial. It worked with the crags and faults, columns occasional breaking into them, all arranged far around a central point. The monument was an expansive construction, but was specifically focused on the middle of its slightly implied, bowled form. Tall, flat pillars rose out around the focus like angled knives through the mountains, stretching up into the sky and creating a sporadic border around Celestia’s landing. The white sometimes gave way to gold, not only the color but the actual metal as it embellished the large-scale, geometric testament.

We walked towards the wide ring of almost two-dimensional pillars, through a flat pass that spilled from the elevators to the monument proper through a ridge of black rock. Cuts had been made into the marble for decorative trees to be planted, but now they all stood, old, dead pines stripped of color and purpose. Several pedestals stood along the border around the smooth expanse of marble, ordained with statues of heroes or memories. The monument’s entry passage was huge, a veritable plaza, and it took us awhile to reach the memorial’s central focus.

The floor here was another metaphor for the sun, I realized, energy emanated out of the center through color and patterns, faint shadings of white and gold. The massive blunt knives, more rectangular than triangular, were tilted out of the ground at angles to cut rays out into mountains or sky. To my right, at the edge of the circle, was the crowning pillar, a huge angular, monolithic obelisk growing narrower from its lower middle, which stretched out in turn from the structure’s base. It was set back into a black mountain like a cradle. It had a short staircase that lead to a large hallmark figure set on its widest point; it looked both like a dark golden cross and a minimalistic alicorn taking flight. Celestia raising the sun, I realized, that was what the cross on my father’s coat paid tribute to, what Damascus’ cutie-mark symbolized.

We stood in the middle of the monument, facing away from the obelisk, overlooking a gray void.
We were standing where Celestia had landed, a point left barren to commemorate its original purpose. Ahead of us was her flight-path, open sky that stretched on eternally. I could see over the opposite mountain range, into the Middle Passage, though every feature was reduced to indiscernible minimalism. Nestled within the highest mountains in Equestria, this was a lookout onto the world, barren as it all was.

Caliber and Ash simultaneously turned and walked in opposite directions, as if they were beginning an old fashioned pistol duel. One headed to the strategic precipice and the other to the sanctimonious obelisk, their intentions drawing them apart. I followed to behold Zion.

The wind whipped my mane and coat as I stood on the monument’s sharp and sudden ending. There wasn’t even a fence, the marble just stopped short along the circle’s perimeter, opening out into nothing but sky high above the hard slopes below. Caliber stood leaning over the cliff, terrifyingly close to the long fall onto sharp rock. I kept myself the reasonable distance away… perhaps a little further than that.

“You’re awfully close to the edge there, Cal.” She knew, but I had to voice my concerns. I hadn’t had much experience with heights, but it definitely didn’t seem wise to tempt gravity.

“You don’t just randomly fall over, do you?” she smiled, her head stuck out over the marble, front hooves solid on the border between life and death. “When you’re dealing with heights, nerves are what’ll get you killed.” Her short red mane ruffled in the breeze, like a dull fire. I had an involuntary lurching feeling in my gut, as looking at her was enough to make me shudder, somehow managing to make me worry for my own safety as well as hers. I shook off the feeling as best I could and peered safely into the valley.

Even Zion had become simplistic, reduced to basic symbolism and implication by the distance between. The black pines appeared even more skeletal, dotting the snow-dusted landscape in groves or lonely singularity. Mountains over mountains made up most of my field of vision. The first stretch of flat land was directly below but my overt caution made it hard to see in full. I could, however, look to the East where the valley opened out into the now named Great Plain, mountains giving way to an expansive, golden nothing, all features or factions invisible to my distant surveillance.

I couldn’t see anything to the West as the curve of the range kept Mt. Zion between MASEBS, the Earth-Mover and I. Looking back I saw Ash curled up beneath the towering obelisk, at the base of the Celestial Cross, praying or weeping, I couldn’t decide which was more likely. Seeing this place probably reminded her of her Pilgrimage, the suicides constituting her friends’ failure of faith. I felt uncomfortable watching her so I turned back to the southern horizon.

“It’s beautiful.” I offered, trying to make myself appreciate the admittedly majestic land before us with more enthusiasm than my fear was permitting. The mountains rose like walls, sheltering each valley from the next, savages from slavers, clean air from Cloud. Canterlot was somewhere on the furthest mountains to the west, Calvary: east, but between us was too much intimidating, eerily alluring dead land.

“That’s not what we’re looking for.” She mumbled, eyes locked downwards, searching for a sign. She looked up after my comment and her brown eyes reflected the same wonder, if a little numbed, that I was starting to feel for the panorama of wasteland. “But it is…” I smiled at her admission.

Stretching further than the earth, were the clouds, the Enclave’s barricade. They began, tearing black and gray above us, then faded lighter and lighter into the white haze of the horizon. If it weren’t for the snow, I would have already forgotten their original purpose, I would have thought of them as a ceiling alone, nothing remotely natural or even feasible, just an omnipresent roof over the world.

“Grace…” Ash’s amiable voice came scared and shaking from behind us. I turned to investigate, only to be faced by the sharp end of a spear. My eyes crossed down to its point before travelling along the pike to regard its master.

Raider! No… not quite. The buck was ragged, but his eyes weren’t burning with the venomous wildfire I had seen in the familiar, modern savages. Animal bones clumsily adorned his familiar rag outfit, blood and suffering created in exchange for produce, rational gain, not done out of psychopathic mock necessity. For a moment I thought the sand colored buck was a zebra, as he was striped. However it was not by coat pigmentation, but by wounds. This was a pony mutilated to look like another race; the scabs were precisely cut into him, covering the entirety of his body in the red injury of aged blood.

His black mane was periodically twisted or clamped by intricacies and earthy filth, wild patches disrupting what order had been retained. His cutie-mark was obscured by the leather and fur wrapping his body.
Something about his eyes, dark blue and vibrantly alive, stayed my telekinesis.

“We have a problem…” she choked out over the crude stone knife pressed against her throat.

* * *

Stable 34, a chokehold of population control as well as cultural acceptance, a genetic bottleneck gifted with a noble cause. A small population, given an expansive, yet isolated, environment. Authoritative intentions for a controlled, small population combined with joyous ignorance due to avoidance of the apocalypse, resulted in an inevitable population explosion. Disregard for the social restrictions of the dying Equestria just outside of the Stable doors, excitement at the chance at a new life, the gift of survival, and a prompt to procreate in order to keep the population constant, led to massive inbreeding.

In the installations earlier years, the ponies of Stable 34 were repeatedly taught to disregard the stereotypes held against Equestria’s last enemy, they were educated and informed on Zebra culture, beliefs and history. They had been the answer to the possibility that the Zebras would win the war, they were meant to be ambassadors for the surviving Equestrians, using their empathy and understanding with the invaders to bring a peaceful resolution to the predicted hostile take-over. But somewhere down the line it was all distorted in the inbred depression of intelligence and ability.

The Stable first opened decades ago, as the door was coded genetically, to open at a Zebra’s influence. The citizens first interacted with the Zebra’s that had taken inhabitance in Zion valley, but found them to be aggressive racists. So hostilities broke out, beginning another war between the two races, though this time it was on a relatively molecular scale.

Their civilization has degraded to the point of reckless savagery, these ponies have no idea how to survive off the land as their opponents do, and must resort to voracious hunting, the consumption of raw meat, or raiding. The population has been dwindling, inbred infertility and the harsh wasteland taking their toll, but this group has already survived for decades out of their Stable, living off what food and shelter it provided. Creating an unintentional dependence on the rapidly shrinking food supply has left them desperate, and violent. Restraint and forethought aren’t the qualities they live by. Their light will burn out.

The Stable is nestled in the mountains below, he claims, and he had to come to meet us: the intruders, as soon as he knew of our coming. A collection of in-bred savages don’t know how to deal with ponies diplomatically, but he is different, he was lucky enough to retain his intelligence, he says.

We had travelled through misty passes, avoiding crags and gaps in the rock as we were led away from Celestia’s landing. The ponies, who had found us, had used these passes to make their way to us, avoiding the terrifying darkness of the church and tombs. They were idiotic, simplistic, but hadn’t killed us. Using what sense they had left, they recognized us as more than prey, as their own kin by some distant genetic bond. Their war was based on race, their enemy was the one striped in black, not bare, the bare ones were initiates, ponies who had yet to prove themselves as warriors. They saw us as lost innocents, treated us as they would armed children, forcing us to follow them back to their temporary station.

Now we stood in their primitive camp, nothing more than a few rags and bags. No cooking fire, no supplies apart from the familiarly Stable-brand rations of water and food, though even these didn’t seem like nearly enough to feed the six of them. Like the buck had said; they were running out of food.

Five bucks had surrounded us at Celestia’s Landing, taking Ash hostage first to ensure we complied. I had prompted Caliber to oblige them, we didn’t take the opportunities we had to escape or kill our captors, and we followed them willingly at their request and mine. I had seen the stupid, ignorant, innocence in that first buck’s eyes, how easily our guns and skill would have felled them, and I had gotten curious. We would never get into the Stable if we had attacked the first inhabitants that we met.

This new buck, frail, untrained and soft, had been waiting for us at the makeshift camp. He looked like a Stable pony, though his dark gray mane was filthy and unkempt, while his body was contracting due to inactivity. He wasn’t hardened, he had lived in relative comfort for most of his life, he hadn’t been a hunter, and he still wasn’t a killer. These were the privileges intelligence had given him, strength determined their leader, but intelligence kept the weak valuable enough to leave be. He had no authority, no responsibility, but he was smart enough to have survived amidst a band of inbred animals.

He had told us about all this, his situation, his people, the Zebras, the Stable. He obliged to all our questions, never mentioning any requirement for us to give him anything in return, seeming genuinely pleased to be able to talk to somepony for once. Though despite his helpfulness, near friendliness and compliance, he was scum.

“Why haven’t you tried to help?” I berated the sleazy olive buck. “If your people are only attacking the Zebras out of savage jealousy then surely you can solve this diplomatically.”

“Listen Sugar,” when Caliber had called me that it had been warm, endearing, and sweet as the substance itself, but when this buck crooned it to me it felt as if a moist fish was sliding across my face. “These idiots are never going to stop, and I know for damn sure that they won’t listen to me, so I might as well let the men go out, fight and die, while I stay in the comfort of the Stable enjoying the benefits.” He shrugged off his selfish abandon like it was nothing.

“You’ll run out of food if you don’t get the zebras help.” Caliber pointed out.

“I have my own reserves…” he smiled his sour grin, ugly mud colored eyes glinting. “Enough to feed me for a hundred years, easy. And the zebras already tried to teach them how to live off the land, decades ago; they were too stupid to understand them then, and their even stupider now.” He spat, insulting his family, his neighbors. “They still carve themselves up, trying to emulate the stripes. They want to replace the Zebras, wipe them out and steal their land. Not that it’ll feed them.”

“I thought you said the Zebras were aggressive racists?” Ash cut in, reserve replaced by repulsion.

“I exaggerated, whatever, they can’t help each other so it’s all the same.”

“So you let your people fight them, casualties on both sides, even though they initially tried to help you? Even though there’s nothing but misconceptions and the resultant self-defense fueling this conflict?” I was starting to really detest this bastard. It was ponies like him that caused the Stables to fail, and selfishness like this that had escalated the war in the first place!

“The more alpha-males die, the more mares there are for me. Not that they’re monogamous.” He laughed. “I don’t even know if they understand where the children they so desperately need come from.” So the population was dwindling. “Well, they know where they come from of course, but they probably don’t have a clue how they got there! Maybe they think it’s magic!” he enjoyed their ignorance immensely.

“You’re disgusting.” Ash softly expressed what we were all thinking, in a gentler tone than I would have said it, and with less physical harm to the buck than Caliber would have liked to see.

“They don’t care!” he cackled. “Mine is probably cleaner than warriors’ anyway! In fact… I can show you if you’re interested…” he arched a greasy eyebrow, something told me that even if the Stable hadn’t run out of clean water, this buck would shower as little as possible.

Caliber snarled and set herself into an aggressive, canine stance. The buck balked, unaccustomed to defensive mares. He let out a pathetic whimper at the first sign of danger, a coward and a gluttonous pig. I was getting tired of this entitled sleaze bucket.

“Look, you’ve been very helpful…” my words were civil but I couldn’t help but maintain a cold, reserved tone as I tried to control my voice. “But we need to talk to somepony with some diplomatic control.” If we got these savages to lay off the Zebras then we could probably expect them to return the favor, then all we would have to do is aim that at the Slavers and their Railway.

“The Chief is no smarter than any of these meat-heads; the only diplomacy he sees is violence, which is how he got his job, after all.” Sleazebag seemed to enjoy disappointing us time and time again.

“What if one of us were to defeat the chief in combat?” Caliber asked, picking up on the tangible system of their monarchy.

“The rest of them would kill you.” He grinned. “No Mares allowed, no Zebras either, and the only pony out of that Stable who can string a sentence together is standing right in front of you, in the glorious peak of his physical form.”

“Any other loopholes, something that’ll appeal to their… traditions.” I inquired.

“It’s all about fighting to them, that’s how they communicate, it’s how they find their mates, educate their foals and eat their meals. They exist in some retarded system of hierarchy, based on physical prowess, the only way to get rid of them… is to wipe them out.” The bucks around us didn’t seem to be listening.

“You’re awfully quick to condemn them to death.” Caliber growled. “You expect to be spared?”

“I expect you to lose.” He chuckled. “Militant Zebras, despite all their rifles and stealth ‘expertise’ haven’t made a dent in our numbers. The savages are morons, but there are a lot of them. They traded genetic separation for fast reproduction, Zebras are smarter, but we’re a horde and they’re a family, a small one.”

“Take me to your Chief; we’re ending this without any more bloodshed.” I announced. Nopony had the right to make such a decided choice between two groups like this; I wouldn’t damn the savages to save the Zebras. At least, not until I knew the odds, and whether or not the Stable ponies were really as savage as they seemed. Being animalistic didn’t warrant execution… depending on the animal.

“Mares in the Stable are only used for three things. Because you have three-“

I slapped him across his smug, disgusting face before Caliber got her chance to pounce. I had swung my right hoof out, sparing him from the metal casing of my Pip-buck. But it still connected with a solid, satisfying click. The rest of the ponies in the camp reared up around us, enclosing us in a crude circle, primal weapons drawn. They hadn’t taken ours; it was as if they hadn’t even recognized them as the threats that they were. I hovered both of the pistols, laser and 45, at my sides for show while Ash and Caliber stood flank to flank aiming their respective battle-saddles.

“Call them off or you go down with them!” I commanded the whimpering buck, drawing from my contempt to sound intimidating. He had fallen to the ground at my previous outburst, out of fear more than pain.

“Alright! Alright alright!” he stammered as he got up and made gestures at the other, bigger bucks. I expected him to use their language, however primitive it was, but his imprecise hoof motions indicated that they didn’t even have something as basic as that. They were simple enough to respond to motion over words; they would probably look at the tip of your hoof rather than the place you were pointing to.

“They don’t talk?” Ash asked rhetorically. “Goddesses how far gone are they?”

“Further than raiders…” Caliber answered. “Grace, I think we only have one option here.” She meant to handle the situation in Zion as a whole, rather than the one localized in the encampment that was already boiling down as the bucks lowered their weapons.

“They have families… we need a better plan than that.” The thought of massacring an entire Stable of mentally challenged ponies shook me to my similarly reared bones, especially because it was fast becoming a viable solution, a consideration…

“They have sex slaves who occasionally pop out a foal, if their rapist decided to go the traditional route.” She corrected graphically. “Even then, they don’t see a filly or colt, they see a warrior or a whore.”

“The mares may also be this deteriorated, they probably don’t even object. They wouldn’t even call what’s happening to them rape, just a natural order.” Ash threw in. The bucks around us had all but subsided, some still blinked in confusion at the rapid exchange and conflict of orders against instinct. “We could wipe them all out, and have done nothing worse than exterminating a den of dangerous Yao Guai.”

“It wouldn’t be extermination! It’d be a massacre! Genocide!” I cried out, pistols still drawn on the idle bucks. I was trying to convince myself as much as I was them; I desperately attempted to suppress the temptation seeping into my mind. The fact that it was there at all made me guilty enough.

“Alright, they’ve stopped!” Greasy called out. “I stopped them.” He breathed a sigh of relief as I stowed my weapons, because this wasn’t happening. At least not yet.

“Thank you,” I nodded to him in feigned appreciation. Caliber and Ash relaxed.

“Don’t try anything like that again you bitch!” I should’ve hit him again, but that would make the pinnacle decision for me, which I wasn’t ready for. If the only intelligent pony in that Stable was…him, then what evidence did I have that there could be any redeemable quality to these savages. Genocide! I yelled at my own train of thought. It’d be easy, practical and… even moral? Merciful? Like putting down a mad dog. For what? A few extra guns to fight the Slavers?
No…
For the Zebras who had inadvertently unleashed this threat upon their home, who offered to share the knowledge they had, only to be met with frustration and immense violence at the very first failure to communicate. They deserved peace after all they’d survived, but judgment can’t be passed without evidence, without both sides of the story.

“We’re going to go find the Zebras, see what they think about all this.” I decided, maybe it was a stall to put off the decision or maybe it was a genuine precaution, either way I knew that we wouldn’t be committing to anything here.

“You aren’t going to stop us from leaving are you?” Caliber snarled at Dirty Coward. He was startled again; the selfish leech wasn’t the type to take risks, not when they were this personal.

He shook his head no, burying his face into the dirt and trembling. One moment he was an arrogant pervert and the next he was reduced to a sniveling child, polar opposites but both equally pathetic on him. His only redeemable quality was his cutie-mark, a scruffy stack of books and parchments. Maybe when he was younger he had used the gift he had been given, tried to help his people by learning about their past and the place they lived, but now he had either given up or given in to the temptation of lethargy.

“You tried to help them when you were a colt, didn’t you?” I asked, taking the time to try and find something forgivable about him. “That’s how you now so much about what happened in your Stable.”

“Yes… but it was pointless!” he spat at the primitive bucks standing around us. They didn’t even react, much too preoccupied with yipping and snapping at each other to vent their stalled aggression.
“They wouldn’t listen, they couldn’t! My parents didn’t even name me, dammit! Do you know what that’s like? A life without compassion or care from anypony, lived with just enough intelligence to realize how shitty your existence really is?!”

“So you snapped and decided to take all the advantages you could.” Ash concluded.

“Yes… now I have no higher responsibility than eating, sleeping and fucking. They didn’t even mark me with their damn stripes once I’d reached maturity. At least I got a cutie-mark, so it’s their loss.”

“They don’t…” I looked around at the wild bucks in the mountain encampment. I had assumed the skins that they were wearing had covered up their base identities, but now knew that there was nothing but blank-flanks beneath them. “How is that possible?”

“They’re children, they can’t even understand that they’re supposed to have talents apart from hunting and killing.” Caliber explained for us. “There needs to be some self-awareness involved… otherwise they stay just as indistinguishable as animals.”

“Animals who know how to hold hostages?” Ash added. One savage had held a knife against her throat, a strategy of higher reasoning than surely any animal was capable of.

“It’s instinctual; they learn that violence is the best way to deal with a situation, even if no actual killing is going to happen. It’s how they control each other, how their can even be a Chief at all.” Bookstack Sleazebucket agreed. “Don’t think that the ability to strategize makes them deserving of mercy.”

“You really hate them, huh?” I investigated.

“I hate being a part of them...” He shook off the sentimentality. “But their stupidity makes them pander to my own instincts, keeps me coming back for more.” He pushed his fringe, darkened by sweat and stains, away from his ugly, intelligent eyes. “I always enjoy the chance to collect visitors, out of curiosity, but I never leave with them… if they even leave at all.”

“Do me a favor Bookstack.” I requested, using the least derogatory name that I had assigned to him.

“No.”

“Get anypony who’s got a chance, any mental capacity at all, and take them away from the Stable. If it boils down to an all out conflict, the least I can do is try to save the few that I can.” The bucks’ lack of cutie-marks had almost made my mind up on the issue. They were violent husks of the personalities that they could’ve been. I believe that most ponies deserved to be saved, but these ones simply couldn’t be. “Are there any others with cutie-marks?”

“No.”

“I see…” I was crestfallen at the strategy developing in my mind, disappointed with myself while at the same time I preached the lack of moral castigation that this ‘genocide’ deserved. “Will you bring your chief out, act as ambassador? A liaison would really help us rule out a peaceful resolution, or maybe find one.”

“He won’t talk to anypony who isn’t a Bleeding Stripe, not even me, and he would only treat a mare or Zebra with the respective instincts, the physical reaction for each.” He didn’t seem upset at the impossibility of a non-violent solution. “You can try to talk to him on the battle-field if you’d like, but he isn’t much more vocal than these idiots.”

“How many of y-… them are there?” I asked beginning to take considerations for the seemingly inevitable fight.

“Less than the Zebras think, a lot less, considering the mares don’t count. A few have figured out how to use guns, but without strategy or co-ordination… I actually think you’d win. Intimidation has been the only thing keeping us alive so far.” He admitted. “The Zebras assume that with an expansive underground citadel, consistent food supplies and an armory we pose an incredible threat… but we waste all of it.”

“Do what you can to save them. This may be your last chance.” I warned him, my Pip-buck had labeled the Stable as he described it, and in my mind the course of action we had to take seemed unavoidable. After we confirmed with the Zebras… “We’ll see you around Bookstack.”

The encampment was set up in the clearing of a deep rocky crag, shorter mountainous walls rose up all around it and there were only two ways we could leave by. Either back to Celestia’s Landing, the overlook, or back down into Zion, to search blindly for the Zebras.

“Um…” I didn’t know where to go. “Seen any Zebras recently?” I asked Bookstack with an embarrassed smile, I felt I had ended the conversation quite poignantly, now I had to ruin it to ask for directions.

“You may as well have phrased that: been killed by any Zebras recently.” He answered dryly. “You see the Zebras when they want you to, and for us that means when they want to attack us, so no.”

“Any advice?” Caliber asked, holding a smile of obvious restraint rather than social awkwardness.
It seemed as if she would follow my lead to such an extent that her very personality was affected, and there was no way to truly know what would have become of Bookstack was she free of her contract.

“As much as I’d like to help you collaborate to wipe out my entire family, if we knew how to find them, we would’ve wiped ourselves out trying to kill them by now.” He rolled his eyes. “You’re lucky I’m letting you go at all.” She arched her eyebrow at him. “Yeah, yeah, I know that’s bullshit.”

“Let’s go back to the monument; maybe if we light it up we can draw the zebras attention.” Ash suggested. “Now that we don’t have to worry about the savages, there’s no reason not to.”

Bookstack laughed. “Since when did we stop being a threat? Sure we don’t stand a chance six to three, especially when we forgot to disarm those three,” he shot a disdainful look towards the sand colored buck, who chewed intensely in response. “But if we couldn’t handle ourselves we wouldn’t even be here.”

“Hold on a minute,” Caliber interrupted. “What do you mean ‘light it up’?”

“Didn’t you see the array set up around the obelisk?” Ash seemed surprised that we were confused. “There were dozens of floodlights built into the mountain…?” she waited for us to come to some realization. “Dozens…? You didn’t notice that?”
We shook our heads; we’d been too busy at the cliff looking over Zion.
“Well if we get those on then the Zebras will probably come to us, I bet you can see the obelisk from within the valley itself. In fact I think that was the point.”

“Oh… well good, then we have a plan.” I hesitantly agreed. “Better than nothing?” I looked expectantly at Caliber, kind of hoping she had a better idea. She just shrugged.

The filthy buck seemed to be enjoying our blind adherence to these slivers of a plan. “I’m real worried about the wrath you’re going to be raining down on us soon, so can I please go home and weep for my people now?” he asked sarcastically. “Prepare for the genocide?”

“You’re really just going to let us go?” I could tell he didn’t take us seriously, but he had put a considerable amount of effort into meeting us, surely he couldn’t just stand by and let us walk away.

“You still know how to use those guns?” we nodded. “Then we’re still the best of friends, alright?”

“Alright,” I tilted my head down the pass to Zion. “Get out of here.” Despite the sour taste that talking to Bookstack DirtyDishWater had left in my mouth, I still kind of pitied the sleazy buck. He’d lived his whole life as an outcast, family and kin separated from him by mental degradation and an animalistic social structure. He wasn’t lucky to have been born smarter, at least not based on what he had done with his life. I watched him as he loaded the supplies onto the bucks and herded them down the pass, like burdened cattle or a flock of sheep, like animals.

“Kind of sad.” Caliber said. Caliber? What the Heck? My face no doubt expressed my surprise. “You get used to bucks like him eventually, wasteland’s full of them. It’s easy to pity the ones with some reason behind their selfish, disgusting lives. I can almost forgive him, considering what he’s been through.”

Ash and I met each other’s gaze. “No, I’m with you Grace, he was just nasty.” Ash laughed softly, getting a sweet giggle out of Caliber. I smiled, drawing happiness from seeing their friendship on display again, despite the misrepresentation of my opinion.
We began on our way back to Celestia’s Landing. Our disruption actually having helped us more than harmed us, not as you would usually expect from a kidnapping by savages. Did victims usually just hand their weapons over or something? How else could those ponies have gotten their deadly reputation? Maybe they were actually getting stupider over the years.

The sky was darkening above, but the misty snow coming off the mountains was illuminated in the beautiful gold once again. Somewhere beyond Zion, the sun was beginning its descent, exposing itself for a few short hours to Equestria’s northern reaches. The layered, gray and black rocks beside me were caricatures of the layered gray and black sky above, leaving me with nothing to see but these dreary colors deprived of the golden light. The edge of the cold air was also left unhampered by warming rays, biting raw and solitary. I felt like I was missing out on it all, as if the sun would feel hurt at my absence.

The trees on the mountain faces alternated from tall, sharp pines to shorter, clawing shrubs or branches, daggers and hands, all monochromatic and dry save for a few rare specks of surviving green and the usual dusted white of snow. The frozen precipitation had stopped falling, leaving the air looking a little empty, although the ground remained lightly carpeted as it forever was here.

Caliber stopped every once and a while when we reached a clearing, or another scenic overlook of Zion, the crags rose sporadically and sharp, gray rock imitating cold steel, and we didn’t often get the chance for a view. Of course there were no signs of the veritable ghost faction, a group apparently renowned for their clandestine mystery. I still couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that had persisted throughout our day in this valley, the feeling that we were being watched. Despite the confirmation that we had, in fact, been followed and accosted already, I still felt uneasy; as if that hadn’t been the event that all the suspense and premonition had been building up to. Like ‘the big one’ had yet to happen.

The entire range was silhouetted dark in front of the golden tinted sky which drew bright lines, highlighting the black mountains by making the snow shine. Marble began to extrude from the rocks along our pass, an indication that we were getting close. Ash had explained on our way down that this place had been built long before the gross advancements in technology that had befallen Equestria in its last years. Magic hadn’t even been used to construct this monument, nor had flight; the stone had been dragged through these narrow splits in the mountain, propagated by raw strength and fortitude alone. And it stood the test of time, for over a thousand years it stood, refurbished or upgraded but rarely repaired or restored.

Stepping onto the great flat marble plane of the central monument I trotted towards its sharp rectangular end. The gold light hit the mountains in the relatively near distance, but quickly died out. There were some places, many places, in Equestria where they never felt the actual rays of the sun, I realized. Beyond the Middle Passage the world was eternally gray, growing rapidly darker as the day ended. You probably couldn’t see the sun from Canterlot or Calvary, meaning I would eventually have to say goodbye to its promise, the reliance on its coming, while we worked in that cold, dead city.

Turning back I saw Ash, our personal mechanic, pointing out the floodlights to Caliber. They were nestled neatly and subtly into the stone, focused primarily on the tall obelisk built into the considerably taller mountain face. I hurried to join them, clopping back across the shaded marble. The statues and trees strew the plaza to my right, off of the monument’s circular heart, where the elevators were. I hoped the light switch wasn’t downstairs, another hauntingly crowded elevator ride away, into the dark cathedral.

I arrived at the base of the looming obelisk and noticed that it was slightly slanted when viewed from this angle, its face above the wider middle point turned up to the sky at a marginal fraction. The section lower than the effigy of Celestia was similarly slanted, but towards the ground. You could stand with the gold cross and the bulk of the obelisk above your head if you stepped into the slight alcove below.

“So what do we need to do?” I asked

“Get in there.” Caliber said gesturing to a doorway well hidden just perpendicularly across from the base of the column. “It’s got to be a maintenance room. It looks like it was dug out of the rock, so we can probably assume it has something to do with the technological additions to this place.” Just like the elevators and floodlights, the changes had attempted subtlety but succumbed to unavoidable, borderline defilement. “Ash says it’s locked.” Why couldn’t pre-war ponies have trusted each other enough to keep something unlocked? It seemed as if the last thing everypony in Equestria had done was turn a key.

“Yes, I noticed it earlier and tried to get in.” It sounded like Ash had found more useful information investigating the obelisk than we had looking over the entirety of Zion.

Caliber sauntered over to the blue-gray door that had, for a moment, looked like an especially flat portion of the surrounding mountain rockery. She replicated her method in the Border Security station and winked her bruised left eye, pushing her right as close as she could.
“This is one hell of a lock.” She sighed, “Worse than the cell.”

“What cell?” Ash asked, causing the mare at the door to shoot me a panicked look.

I knew that I had to lie, better she didn’t know what had happened to Fern. “There were a bunch of cells on the top floor of the station earlier; a soldier’s… body was in it so I asked Caliber to pick the lock… I wanted to investigate.” Not exactly a lie. “Unfortunately the lock stuck and triggered the security systems… and you know the rest.”

“Oh, well then maybe we shouldn’t try to bypass this one, in case we break It.” She responded, thankfully uninterested in any of the more revealing details. “No offense.”

“None taken.” Caliber sounded relieved, understandably. “Though I think breaking it is our only option, and by breaking it, I mean blowing it up.”

I hoisted out the leftover grenades from my saddlebags, two should do it, I predicted. “It’s not any more complicated than pulling the pin and running is it?” I asked, actually looking forward to this plan.

“Nope, I wouldn’t even have bothered learning how to pick locks if I’d had a bottomless bag of grenades at hoof.” She rubbed her jaw. “Although there’s stealth and scale to consider… wouldn’t do much good to set off a grenade while trying to crack open a jewelry box on somebody’s bedside table.”

“You might need to get arrested for murder if there’s somepony sleeping in that bed.” I added.

“Arrested?!” Caliber laughed, as she set one of the grenades precisely against the door. “Murder doesn’t even count as a crime anymore. In fact, I think every crime doesn’t count as crime anymore.”

“Depends on who is judge.” Ash murmured, peering up at the obelisk.
“You don’t think this’ll damage the monument, do you?”

“Nah, it’s too far.” She assured, following us as we put more distance between ourselves and the doomed door, pacing backwards along the celestial marble.
I clutched the grenade close in my golden telekinesis, waiting until we were out of range to avoid the inevitable outburst of shrapnel and heat. I felt a strange desire for the satisfaction derived from the explosive landing of a meteoritic grenade, though it probably would have worked just as well to shoot the charges with Caliber’s rifle.

Speaking of explosive rifle rounds, just as I prepared to pull the pin, one embedded itself into the stone between my hooves, detonating on impact and sending me hurtling suddenly and semi-consciously into the center of the sun.

Footnote: Level Up!
Perk Added: Here and Now: You instantly level up, lazy bastard…

Footnote: Level Up!
Perk Added: Here and N- Oh no you don’t! You’re not getting away with that again!
No Perk for you!

Chapter 12: Peach, Plum, Pear

Fallout Equestria: Sola Gratia
Chapter 12: Peach, Plum, Pear
“Don’t feed the Yao Guai.”

As my eyes blinked open, I found myself staring up at the terrifying, shifting uncertainty that was the Equestrian sky. It was darker as only trace amounts of sunlit gold cut through the near black cloud cover.

My body didn’t ache much, only what I’d expect from its rough collisions across the marble monument.
What really bothered me was that the chronological guideline the sky served as told me that I had been unconscious. Too long than was healthy, long enough that I should have sustained brain damage…
After searching for a moment I found that my mental faculties were whole and blissfully surviving.
And using my undeservedly preserved mind, I deduced that I should get up off of the rapidly cooling marble and take stock of the current situation.

As I rolled over and hoisted myself onto shaky hooves, I froze up in sudden realization. I was surrounded by stripes of black and white, a dozen zebras dressed in rough, fresh leather, their lithe bodies adorned with clean bone and armed with black rifles. Their faces were almost entirely white. The skulls painted across them made it look like the zebra’s skin and flesh had been peeled away to reveal the frame underneath. I instinctively sat back in surrender. This didn’t look good.

“Don’t be afraid, little one.” A mare stepped forward, eyes glowing teal, just as the otherwise black, striped rifle attached to her side did. Her mane was set in a medium, curling quasi-Mohawk; some of it fell loosely, bending at the tips and base. It looked like exertion had broken its containment and now a few strands fell in light curls over her forehead. “We mean you no harm.” The beautiful, if scary, Zebra said.

“I was unconscious?” I asked dumbly, phrasing ‘You shot me?!’ a little more cautiously. I might as well not get myself killed just yet. “What happened?”

“I shot you.” Called it. “You couldn’t light up this structure, at least, not so hastily.” she explained, not making me feel any safer. I was in trouble if she intended me harm, and shooting me was a pretty good indicator that she did. Outnumbered and confused I pushed for a conclusive explanation.

“So… what? You knocked unconscious to stop me from wasting my time?” There was no logic behind that. I decided that I wouldn’t be able to trust her until I knew where Caliber and Ash were.
“I prefer hearing words to taking bullets.”

“It was a concussive shot alone, I honestly intended no harm to you: only a stall. With which I stopped you from bringing a horde of savages upon yourself and your friends.” She justified in her silky, inexplicably exotic voice. Similarly accented to the Zebra in the orbs. “Who are safe.”

“Safe where?” I pushed. Her companions, eleven of them, stood by watching our exchange silently. None were armed with anything that looked quite as powerful as this mare’s glowing rifle, but they were most definitely armed. Their faces looked statuesque under the white camouflage, somehow less distinct and personable than their leader’s.

“The cold one is below, working on enlightening the tombs to aid in your escape.” Ash? “The burdened one, black diamond’s indicating the weight on her soul.” She ‘clarified’. “The fiery one was taken to our camp, as… security.” I frowned. “Please do not take it as an affront: She volunteered as collateral.”

“Why didn’t you take Ash?” I couldn’t imagine either mare being eager to leave me unconscious; something must have made them choose Caliber specifically… perhaps it was Caliber herself.

“We would rather avoid placing trust on the Falling Star.” She answered cryptically.

“I want to see her.” I demanded. Ash would be evidence to her truth. For now, this whole situation seemed suspect. The door to the maintenance room was open; and according to her that was what she had gone to great lengths to stop me from achieving. “What’s going on here?”

“We came up with a plan to end the reign of savagery over our valley.” The Zebra sounded mature and wise though she looked to be only a few years older than me. “We will light this structure up, call the horde… and thereby create a distraction.”

“So why knock me out? Sounds like you plan to do exactly what you shot me to prevent.” I admittedly hadn’t known the savages would come running to Celesta’s Landing if we had illuminated it. And it was hard to believe that Bookstack had simply forgotten to warn us.

“I was acting alone at first, watching you since you arrived in our valley, I saw your exchange with the savage’s messenger, then followed you back to this beacon. During the time you spent… incapacitated, I was able to gather thirteen of our best, and your friends helped us to formulate a course of action. We can hold off the Savages here, keep most of them away from the Stable.” She grinned. “It will be a formidable challenge, but we will hold their attention.”

The nature of our first contact hadn’t exactly been friendly, but I believed the mare. She had needed time, and it wasn’t in her nature to initiate a parley with words. The Zionists seemed militant, almost to a fault, and it was no small wonder that they had remained isolated from the rest of the country for so long.

Ash appeared from the elevator’s plaza, trotting eagerly across the marble to join us. A thirteenth Zebra followed her, torch strapped to his battle saddle, burning a bright, unnatural orange. The flames didn’t seem to affect him as they licked up at his sides. He had either been her aid, providing light in the cold dark below, or her captor, making sure that she didn’t run.

“Ash!” I called out, waving a hoof at her over the ring of black and white. She perked up at my consciousness and hurriedly entered the circle, filling a space that the Zebras smoothly allowed for her.

“Hello Grace,” her voice didn’t reflect the enthusiastic relief on her face. “I worried that the Zebra hadn’t been telling the truth about your condition, glad to see that you are alright…after all.” She nodded at the knowing military mare.

“Thanks, Admittedly I wasn’t quite ready to trust you either, ma’am.” I laced my words with civility as I readdressed the striped commander, inexplicably trying to apologize for my justified suspicion. Seeing Ash made me feel bad for doubting her. “So Caliber is alright?”

They both nodded but only Ash spoke. “She seemed more than willing to go with the escort; she’ll be fine once you prove that we’re here to help the Zebras. They couldn’t take our word for it.”

“That you aren’t like all other ponies, who take our charity then leave us to struggle eternally in this valley while they run off to New Calvary or whatever other doom awaits them?” she raised an eyebrow. “That is not a promise we can easily believe.”
After the validation of her words, I almost felt obligated to prove myself. It seemed clear that whatever this mare had done had been a precaution, not an attack. But before I could express my compliance, I was blinded in an explosion of brilliant, overpowering gold from the obelisk I faced. I turned my head quickly, taking shelter from the burning by looking out over the lit cliff at a darkening Equestria.

“What happened? It isn’t yet time!” I heard the Zebra mare bark in frustration. I braced myself against the light and turned back to regard the monument.

The flash of its illumination had been blinding, but now it shone beautifully and brightly just on the border of being uncomfortably invasive to an onlooker’s eyes. The floodlights along the marble knives that extruded through crags in the mountain face were bathing the entire marble plateau in golden brilliance. The obelisk was visible, extruding out of the darkness to its very tip, out of the black rock around it. The entire area was drowned in a haze, every shadow eliminated or exaggerated to polar extents.

“I just don’t know what went wrong.” Another striped soldier peeked out of the maintenance room, ashamed at her premature illumination. Her leader beckoned her over with a sour expression, but didn’t reprimand her when she arrived, instead turning in attention back to me with an air of urgency.

“I’m here to help. Just tell me what I need to do.” I recited, pledging allegiance to the suffering locals.
Ash stepped forward to explain what vestiges of a plan they had assembled.

“Grace, did your Stable have an orchard?” I shook my head; I wasn’t familiar with the term. “A place to grow fruit, you know? Sort of like a farm where food is produced, a field with an emulation of trees and grass? To grow fruit.” She desperately tried to make a connection as the savages undoubtedly approached. It was too late to turn off the lights, I heard someone whisper, they would already be coming.

“We ate paste.” I excused.

She paused looking at me with skeptical confusion. “Well… I’m sorry to hear that, but the Zebras think that there must be another source of food down in the Stable; otherwise the savages would have starved by now. That smart buck must have taught some of them how to use it, or it may even be automatic.”

“So… We have to shut it down?”

“Better,” the Zebra stepped forward, holding a glimmering orange bottle cautiously in her teeth. “This is Celestial Flame, spontaneous and incredibly flammable; it’ll create an unstoppable, enormous blaze when its containment is broken. Release it in their orchard, on their food supplies, on their lifeline.” She smiled in anticipation. “Many of their soldiers will die here at the monument; but their survivors will starve in that hole, they will all die out.” She slid the bottle into my saddlebags. “Close the door on your way up, they’ll be dead before they can figure out how to open it again.”

“No.” I stood firm, suddenly resolved, this wasn’t how this would end. “I’m not doing that.” It was cruel. Killing them was my intent, wiping them out was what I needed to do, but this wasn’t how I would let myself do it. It was easy, it was convenient, and it was slow…

“W-what?” she seemed flustered. “They are animals!”

“Grace, this is the only way.” Ash pleaded. “They deserve nothing better, they deserve to be purged.”

“That doesn’t mean they have to suffer…” my rationale was weak, I knew that, but I couldn’t lock them down there with no food or peace, they’d tear each other apart before they starved. “They may need to die, they truly can’t be corrected, but they don’t need to pay for their mistakes. You want them to hurt, to atone for what they’ve done to your people, you’d have them die slowly, and painfully.”

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” she confessed. “There’s no other way. We’ve tried to shut them in, sometimes it even lasted for a few weeks, but they always get out. Only one insurgent can sneak into that Stable successfully, more would never bypass all of them. Two zebras were caught and killed, and one alone cannot possibly kill them all. It is a hive.” I could almost hear the roars coming through the craggy pass, indicating that the savages were beginning their ascent.

“Of women and children,” I recalled. “How have none of your soldiers made it through there?”

“They never had this distraction to cast a shadow on their path, to draw the warriors out. And none will ever have it again, this is our only chance.” She nodded to one hemisphere of the circle and they scattered, taking positions around the monument. “We may fall here Shepard, but your friend is with our kin, and if we die in vain… so does she. You’ll get what you want if you help us, we’ve spoken you’re your mercenary, seen her terms… but first you have to follow our orders, and get the job done.”

“I’ll do it,” I lied. At that the Zebras spread out, their leader giving a final nod laced with a disdainful reminder, a vague threat. “Let’s go Ash.” I ordered. We would figure out another way once we were in the Stable. I knew the nature of their home and together we could surely find another, more merciful solution.

“I’m staying here.” She apologized. “Two ponies aren’t getting through that Stable if two Zebras couldn’t. Just do what she asks, they’ll find their repentance while they rot in that accursed hole.”

“She threatened Caliber,” the tension was rising, the yips and growls from the pass getting louder and wilder as the animals approached. “I’m not leaving you with them. If you won’t come with me to the Stable, at least don’t stay here.” I shot a nervous glance to the place where the savages would come spilling onto the bright marble sun, tearing at anything they got their greedy, thrashing maws around.

“Caliber is being brought here once word is out that you have complied, all the zebras will stand to fight the horde. I’m not going to be the only one in Zion who isn’t involved in its salvation.” She smiled. “Do you really think the Stable, their hive, is a safer place to be? Because I’ll go if your motivation to bring me is deeper than wanting to keep me safe, if you actually think that you will need me.”

She had me pegged. If Caliber was going to be here… they needed each other more than I needed them. “Fine, just stay safe.”

“In the wasteland?” she smiled, eyes down to the monument. Then, placing a hoof on my shoulder, she dropped her light demeanor. “Remember what’s at stake; don’t let your misplaced mercy overrule what you know you have to do. Burn their orchard down; don not let them have another chance that they don’t deserve.” I nodded in compliance, now unsure whether it was sincere or not.

Explosive rounds went off at the natural rock entrance to the monument. The first short line of the savages’ approaching swarm fell onto the powerfully illuminated stone, severed and still. They teemed over each other through the narrow spillway, like a wave of mud and bone cascading onto the clean, ancient memorial before it. Ash turned tail and ran towards the obelisk, taking a stance between two Zebras firing down on the horde from atop ceremonial stairs.
Stripes of black on white collided with bleeding wounds of red on dirty coats, the emulators meeting their inspiration with a violent barrage of teeth and knives. The Zebra leader’s gun still glowed teal and its shots landed with a similarly hued corona of force that sent impeded ponies flying, just as I had.

I stood in the center of the monument, watching the beginning of the battle as if it weren’t unfolding just a pony’s toss away. The violence was both awful and awesome, fulfilling every expectation of what I’d imagined a war torn battlefield to look like, every detail of savagery and desperation that came with the immediate struggle for survival and victory.

Snapping out of the analytic daze I tore my eyes away from the unfolding carnage and sprinted for the plaza. Running hadn’t been smart. When encountered by a wild animal you should remain as still as possible, cadets, don’t panic or make any sudden movements. Show no fear. Colt’s Life had told me that, but I hadn’t applied the knowledge to the savages, forgetting their animalism and seeing them as the ponies that they could’ve been: subconsciously giving them the benefit of the doubt.

Two charged after me. That’s all I saw when I spared a glance over my pumping shoulder, their gnashing teeth and suddenly wild eyes, bearing down on me. Adrenaline pumped through me as I gave every ounce of my strength to the demanding run. It felt as like was bleeding sweat from fear and exertion, and the elevator was the furthest thing away from me in the entire world. Their repetitive clops and yelps sounded their gaining proximity, it was almost as if I could feel them biting at my tail. The battle behind us was almost silent to my panicked mind; the elevator was my only solace.

I hit the call button, not with my hooves but rather my entire body, slamming into the wall and stopping myself with the concrete pain. The savages made the same mistake, but didn’t have the same consideration for their skulls that I did, they crashed head first on either side of me, one sounded off with a crack against the steel shaft doors. The other, hard-skulled and surviving, reared up before I could and pounced onto me. We sprawled together at the threshold of the elevator. He had me pinned though I kicked and writhed wildly at his underbelly. He had thankfully abandoned his crude knife and now bit sporadically at my face, never getting a solid hold on my coat, but never relenting.

He was tackled, slammed against the doors by another blur of blood-striped dirty energy. I got my bearings fast enough to dodge their unified assault, no, their competitive race to see who would claim my meat, for consumption or… I didn’t want to know what they planned to do with me; I wouldn’t give them the chance.

I hopped over Broken-Skull’s corpse, levitating my laser pistol out in the meantime. The energetic torrents that were my attackers slowed each other down, like dogs nipping at one and other would stall, and I had enough time to level the weapon before they were upon me again. I hit their faces away as best I could with either the gun or my hooves, but the two of them together was becoming too much for me to handle.

Beams of red energy cut into one’s coat, burning away leather and simplistic barding and leaving smoking skin or exposed flesh in its path. As he balked, the other pressed on, actually thankful for the opportunity to best his kin, in a feat of primal selfishness not entirely exclusive to animals. I cracked the pistol repeatedly against his filthy head, making him flinch and duck to great frustration. He let out an angry roar, rearing onto his hind legs to foreshadow an oncoming barrage of savage fury, a barrage that never came, fuelled by a wild emotion that was quickly cut short.

I unleashed half a clip of concentrated energy into his upright chest, reducing his middle to an empty, cauterized gap. I could see the other recovering through the nearly circular wound, as if I was looking at a picture of pain through a frame of charred meat.

To my disgust the survivor rammed his head through his dead compatriot, his neck now ringed with the corpse I had made. He barked and snapped at me. The stupidity of this attack strategy was made apparent as the body, whose ability to stand had been taken from it by death, collapsed to the marble floor, pulling the living pony down by applying its incredible weight onto his neck.

He kicked out desperately, trying to pull his head free of its morbid collar, to no avail. His barks turned to whimpers as I pushed the laser pistol against his imprisoned temple, pressing it hard against him for no other reason than to satisfy a disturbing urge to make him feel his fate, to appreciate his folly. The shot burned a neat hole directly through the side of his head, the heat and pressure popping out both of his eyes as it passed behind them. I could almost make out his pathetic, gray brain in the darkness, but couldn’t bring myself to stare for long. The familiar smell of burnt internals no longer made me retch, but they still forced me to gasp out for fresher, unsullied air.

The elevator arrived, having ignored my urgency to slowly crawl its ways up the mountain at its usual, relaxed pace. More savages were coming; they had overrun the monument and had enough of a force to spare a pursuit on me. Any that came would only make things easier for Ash and the Zebras; I consoled myself as I hammered the button for the church floor.

The doors slid closed, again with the docile speed only appropriate for a time of peace long passed. A singular savage dove his way in between them just as they were reaching their closing culmination. For a blissful moment I thought that they would crush him, divide him in half and tear the life from his scarred body. But ‘safety first’! The doors stalled at the sensation of a body between them, allowing the bastard passage into the small, circular vehicle. The intense light of the monument was hidden behind the steel curtains, leaving only blue-tinged fluorescents, cold compared to the warm gold that was summoning the savages to this great fight for Celestia’s landing, a claim that none of the combatants had any want for.

One of which now stood ready to pounce again, across from me, he inconsiderately crushed the children’s bones under his hooves as we paced around each other. I had holstered my pistol so I pulled the knife from my vest with my magic, preparing for his inevitable tackle.

“I’m going to kill your entire family.” I taunted him, hoping to get a reaction, an indication of a soul or even a consciousness higher than that of the beast before me. His eyes stayed wide in feral fury, no fear on his snarling face, no consideration for my words. “Does your Stable have a ventilation system?” I asked, getting an idea. The animal was less willing to attack a slow target, an opponent that stood its ground, intimidation by body language provided for what words couldn’t. Thanks Colt’s Life.

“I’m going to burn it all.” A plan formed in my mind, a vicious, genocidal, and yet merciful plan. “You hear that, I’m going to cook your Stable.” If there was going to be a time for these savages to redeem themselves, it would have to be now. A part of me wished that he would react, spare some emotion for the very real threats that I was taunting him with, but he stared on in his blind, animal rage. “Come on!” I yelled, frustrated at the magnificent failure that was Stable 34. “Don’t you care!?”

He didn’t. The blank-flanked old buck didn’t express a thing, or he didn’t even understand my words, either way, he was too far gone for salvation. If sudden movements were the only thing that could penetrate his instinctual mind…

I swung the knife down to my side, floating it hilt to the floor, its blade now pointing up beside my belly.
It dove at me, seeing the glint of the fluorescents on my weapon it pounced, crushing the bones of fillies and colts and it propelled itself forward. Just before its assault of hooves and teeth landed, I dug the combat knife into its heart, smoothly sliding it through ribs at just the right angle to sink into the most vital of vital organs. The fury left its cold eyes, and I let it collapse at my side, wrenching the weapon out.

The rest of the descent was strangely quiet. The corpse was bleeding profusely at first, but even the wet cascade of blood became silent after a while, leaving me alone with the bodies strewn around me. They were children, the savages, very dangerous children who could never grow up.

It wasn’t hard to see what I had to do. I wouldn’t let them starve; I had seen enough of their disregard for each other to know that the Stable would become a damned hotbed of cannibalism and desperate violence if the food source and exits were taken away. I would kill them, burn them in a wild fire spread by gas through the ventilation system. I wasn’t sure what my escape plan was, or how I could get gas pumping through the entire Stable, but I knew where I stood on the issue: Beautiful, clean, violent Mercy. A Genocide that would save the ones it killed from such a grim alternative was justifiable enough for me.

The elevator reached the church, opening to reveal an abbey lit with comparable magnificence to the monument far above. Ash had lit the way. I trotted out, down the horizontal plane of the cross-shaped room, taking time again to look at the eight windows. Even in the light Celestia’s and the yellow one looked brighter than the rest, while Luna’s somehow retained its cold, consuming darkness.

I retraced my steps down the aisle; fake candlelight emanating from some unknown, artificial source guiding me to the slope into former darkness of the entryway. The pillars stretched high along the descending walls, to a ceiling that was shadowed even in this new light.

I found myself unable to tear my gaze away from the path ahead of me, low and undisturbed by the usual curiosity for investigation. I didn’t want to look at the statues again, they had been grim, horrific even, in the darkness and I didn’t want to know if they had changed through enlightenment. If I saw them now, there would be no denying what they depicted; I couldn’t dispute the sadness, the violence of these effigies by deferring to the darkness. I would give them my unknowing doubt, to preserve my hope that they depicted happier day, and not an eternal pattern of war, as I truly suspected.

I knew the path, and navigating it blind was not a challenge, anything to avoid seeing those statues in the light, to avoid them in their honesty. A dying colt, a war-torn soldier, warring tribes, were things I did not want to remember the old world by, not what I wanted to know of it, especially not after my crippling exposure in the Border Patrol Station. The floor was interesting enough for me, though I couldn’t truly appreciate what effort Ash had put in to light my way. The Zebras must have further plans for this place.

The entrance, now the exit, was no longer a singular source of light in a corridor of darkness, but a void of black ending this corridor of revealing light. Zion proper was where I was most likely to lose my way.

Head down, I trotted out onto the dusted snow, watching as the marble became gradually carpeted underneath it. I dialed to my Pip-buck’s map, checking the location of the newly-marked ‘Stable 34’.
It lay west, towards the base of the natural pass up to the monument. It would have been faster to go that way, were it not for the horde compacted within the mountain crags leading up the escarpment. I set off along the relatively flat land, as it rose sharply to become the looming mountain face on my right.

I could hear the violence above me, faintly, almost indistinguishably. The occasional burst of concussive magic or explosive shrapnel signaled the Zebra’s defense against the roars and haunting whinnies of the savages. The monument’s light stretched into the dark sky above it, cutting up into the darkness like a beacon, drawing the animals to it in their primal fervor.

There had to be a lot of power being pumped into those lights, I thought, where was it all coming from?
A question for another time. I lit up my horn, my own little light, using the magical power imbued in me.
My pace peaked and slowed, rising and falling from an occasional, desperate sprint to an exhausted saunter. I knew I was pushing myself to hard, but the softly sounding battle raging above me pressed me onwards in a hurry. My actions would not stop the fighting in the mountains, but this mission was only made possible by them, to miss this opportunity would be nothing short of a disgraceful waste.

Win or lose, the last few savages would hopefully have nothing more to come home to than a charred, hollow grave. Fire was impersonal, I wouldn’t have to watch many die, if any at all, there had to be a way to spread it across the entire Stable. I didn’t know what I would do if there wasn’t… leave them to starve? Lock the Stable and hope they couldn’t break their way out until they all died of furious hunger, their own or their cannibalistic kin’s? I would not dwell on it…. Not until it was unavoidable.

The golden tower of light was now behind me, the monument’s haze no longer visible behind black peaks and precipices. The pass would begin somewhere amidst the rocky rise, indiscernible to my unaccustomed eyes. A surface was a surface to me, it should be smooth and dauntless, a border should be impenetrable and consistent, not riddled with byways and substitutes for traversal. The Stable had been knowable, repeating patterns of gray steel and sliding doors, but I couldn’t fathom the random unpredictability of a mountain range, or even of nature itself.

A part of me was looking forward to reentering a Stable, as I had by proxy through the memory orbs, but this time it would be real, physical and actual. This part was weighed down by the fear of what I would find, an abomination of the technology I once knew as my home, a primitive, unkempt, dangerous hive, discernible as a Stable only because of what it had once been advertised as.

Down this way, Mt. Zion rose up in front of me, creating a tiny valley in between itself and the rest of the escarpment, the Stable was apparently at the end of this narrow gap.

Trees, grass and exposed earth gave way to rocky collapse and hard, packed land. I now walked over gray stone, serrated and jagged as it tapered into itself. It dipped at the crux of the valley, subsiding into a dark overhand created by the mountains themselves. I dimmed my glowing horn, not wanting to draw the attention of the ghosts I felt leering around me.

Corpses, truly animal, of bird and beast I never would have expected to see surviving in the wasteland, all blackened and stained either by mutation or murder. They had been hunting, some of the bodies looked sickeningly old, rotted beyond their life’s condition and dipped in pools of congealed, black, blood.

Some were skinned part-way, untidily and jaggedly ripped apart for the warmth and nourishment their reagents could provide. None looked fully taken advantage of, wasteful; an abundance of corpses only yielded a little sustenance to the impatient, simple savages. They would undoubtedly be unable to survive by hunting even if I didn’t enclose them in their Stable, as it was the only thing keeping them alive and, hopefully, the thing that would be able to kill them.

A light flickered at the end of the dank, cluttered passage; it revealed a cog-shaped opening in the shadows, leading to what appeared to be a rusty metallic room, dim and stained. Not an air-lock, I realized as I got closer, they hadn’t bothered with that feature. This Stable opened directly out into the world, no sanitization or precaution taken against what awaited outside. My horn went out, gold light replaced by the metallic red of the chamber ahead.

I tripped and stumbled my way over the last stretch of rock and bone, too large to be pony and too brittle to be fresh. A question that would never be answered, though it needn’t ever be.
The Stable door had rolled to the side, into the mountain, and I now found myself stepping over the threshold between rock and metal once again. It didn’t feel like a return, or a reunion, already this place seemed disturbingly off, unmaintained and quiet. Empty?

No.
My E.F.S disagreed, strongly. The deeper I got into the chamber, the more bars appeared, all red and flinching. It claimed that I was walking over the hostiles, passing them by as I entered a conjoining hallway, which would lead to the Atrium if the Stables shared more in design than they did in their purpose. There were dozens, so many that they quickly overlapped and became a consistent, singular band of hostile red across my radar. They congregated, no; they lay scattered in the levels below.

This wasn’t familiar, this wasn’t a place to draw nostalgic comfort from, it was the replica of my first home, but it was not even its remotest twin. Everything was just wrong enough; just skewed enough to destroy what my mind might have insisted was home, turning it into a nightmarish mockery.

The underlying cold gray with yellow stripes was consumed by the rusty, dim lighting and bloody, dirty stains. It was a Stable, though had been coated in filth and neglect until it was barely recognizable.

The Atrium was horrendous. Bodies, some pony, hung from the walkways above, turning the hall into a dripping abattoir. It looked as if the savages were waiting for this meat to rot, almost as if they preferred it that way. Most disturbing was the fact that I wasn’t alone. A pair of roughly shaved mares lay reposed in one corner, picking at a body, a zebra body, judging from the distinctly darker stripes. The mares themselves were smooth, unscarred, at least not as badly or symbolically as the bucks were, their coats were mangy and wild but they still retained more of the similarity to me than their mutilated brothers and fathers. Their mates, I realized, with a wince. One looked pregnant…

I stepped out of the hallway into the wide room, the widest room that I would encounter down here, appreciating them for the simple beings they were. There were no alarms here, no security; selfish concern would keep these mares from calling to their kin, if I didn’t present a threat.

Their faces pulled back into snarls, the pregnant one’s eyes were burning with maternal instinct, their sharp teeth were revealed in all their bloody decay. Thought they didn’t rise, I gave them a wide berth and hugged the opposing wall of the Atrium, just passing by. As I slipped into the opposing doorway they turned their attention back to their huge, unethical meal, a full zebra’s worth of sin.

The bars meant nothing, I realized, these males were hostile by nature, they were attackers. But the mares were defensive, just as vicious but more reserved in the protection of their own. As long as I kept up this slow, respectful pace, I wouldn’t disturb them enough to warrant an attack. Would they come to one another’s aid if it came to that? Could one wrong move, one fight, lead to an entire Stable of females setting upon me in violent retaliation? I would likely not survive if I strived to answer that question.

After a time, passing more and more disturbingly familiar, and simultaneously alien architecture, I reached an elevator. It didn’t seem to be functioning; the door was open to the dark chamber within, the long vertical hallway, lined with too few cables to realistically lift an elevator with any guarantee of safety. However, a floor listing on the wall adjacent gave me some guidance.

1st Floor: Main Entrance
2nd Floor: Common Areas
3rd Floor: Maintenance

This was my Stable, the feeling nagged at me, biting at my resolve. It almost made me swoon, as the truth of this failure seeping into me. This could just as easily have been us, even without the incest, opening the Stable could have resulted in this death, this descent into another part of the wasteland.
I continued reading to draw the line, to differentiate this place from where I had been born.

4th Floor: Orchard, Oxygen Recycling.

That was it. Both solutions: access to the ventilation system and the Stable’s food production. My course of action wouldn’t be clear until I ventured down to the lowest level of the Stable, the belly of this monster. Oxygen recycling first, a merciful cleansing would be preferable to a cruel deprivation. This functionality had been stored in the Maintenance section of my Stable; I was familiar with the construct, but unsure of how difficult it would be to hack the system to allow flammable gas to be pumped vigorously through it. I couldn’t imagine any reason they would have made it easy, nopony was that stupid.

I peered cautiously over the lip into the elevator shaft, just barely poking my eyes over the abyss. The vehicle lay resting far below, visible only for the light coming from each of the similarly open doors, two visible, the last occluded by the elevator itself. Possibly a way to get back up here faster, I noted. The fastest way to get down would be to jump, but crawling back up to the medical bay in the common area to repair my crippled body didn’t sound appealing, or at all necessary.

I would have to use the nearby stairwell.

This was a journey I was used to, and nostalgia flooded my every sense. These walls, this shape, this descent, I had passed it all before. The rust was all that kept me from sprinting through the halls to find Cross, Clearheart or Chips, or the Overmare… Rust and reality.

I crept lightly down the stairs, radar still clogged with hostile markers, taking each step as slowly and carefully as I could restrain myself to. These measures had been well worth it, I realized, as I reached the next floor. The Common area remained a residential hub still, brimming and lively with dozens of mares. Their ragged bodies were scarred and tired; they were birthers, used for nothing more than breeding. Animalistic societies sometimes employed females for food preparation or grooming, but it was clear that these mares existed to be impregnated; they were preserved so that they, in turn, could preserve the Stable. There was nothing to discourage my rising fear that they had never left this tomb, never seen the sky, cloudy as it was, or felt the air of Equestria’s open expanses.

Most of them reclined against walls or lay curled up on the stained floor, some paced the halls aimlessly while others shared what basic interactions they could, nipping at each other playfully or grooming one another gently. Some fought; some were as still as corpses, but all shared the same blank-eyed, blank-flanked emptiness that drove me on, away from my pity and towards the one mercy I could give them.

I paced myself, walking tentatively past rooms that bristled due to the writhing creatures. This Stable was wider, more spacious. The rooms were clearly residential; overturned bedding and shattered dressers made that clear, but they were the size of my own bedroom twice over. Even the hallway made me feel small, as the walls were just a little too far away on either side as I followed my instinctual path to the medical bay. This Stable had been ready for the population expansion, but not for the genetic decline that followed it. They hadn’t planned for the citizen’s hormonal, excited carelessness.

The medical bay! The familiar white peaked out through the dim dirt, confirming my reliance on the similarity of this Stable to my own. The long window that stretched towards the door revealed a grim, sundered version of the place in which I had watched my mother die. It was larger, of course, much larger, like the genuine hospital wings I had seen in Today’s Physician, the magazine that I had studied vigorously as I aspired to find my special talent within the field of medicine, to no avail.

I would, however, get to use what medical skill I had for a genuinely useful reason, at long last. When I returned to the monument there would be injuries, casualties would need no more aid than the grave, but I could help the injured with the supplies I scavenged from this wing. The Zebras alchemic magic was all well and good for reliving memories or enchanting weapons, but nothing beat good old Equestrian tech for healing. They could take their herbs and stick them in a celebratory peace pipe when I returned with genuine medicine.

The wing was a mess, almost all the beds had been tipped onto their sides, their sheets stripped and mattresses ripped open, releasing their moldy stuffing onto the grimy tile, as if they had been dissected. IV props and curtain racks lay scattered, lost to their respective beds, making the room harder to traverse by barring smooth or silent passage through the shifted, disarrayed clutter.

I picked through the disorder, finding a small variety of pills and potions. They claimed sanitization and healing, so I levitated them into my saddlebags. My Pip-Buck recognized them immediately, citing them as Mint-als, Med-X and brands of rubbing alcohol. My search was aided by the white, flickering fluorescents that had been missing from the rest of this Stable. They were weak, but comforting compared to the aversive dim that had loomed along my way thus far.

The walls were adorned with posters, few of which I could read in the near darkness. I clambered over an upside down bed frame to reach one on an illuminated section of wall.

MINT-ALS!
It declared, as the comical caricature of a grinning zebra, dressed in a doctor’s garb, complete with stethoscope and head-reflector. He held up a small case, declaring the same name.
FEELING FOGGY?
GET A LITTLE OF THAT NATURAL, ZEBRA CLARITY!
ASK YOUR DOCTOR ABOUT THEM TODAY!
AND DON”T FORGET TO THANK THE ZEBRAS!

It hammered the point home, Mint-als were a Zebra drug, apparently useful enough to warrant abstract appreciation. This propaganda was the polar opposite of what I had seen in the Border Security Station, maybe it had even come from before the war, before the animosity between our two races. The Zebras were being painted as benevolent allies, not dangerous insurgents. Though it was clear which portrayal had won out in the end.

The supply closet at the back of the room was unlocked, I knew because its door was ripped off of its hinges, so I dug around within it, risking illumination by magic as substitute for the shattered light bulb above. Medical Braces, Surgical Tubing, Gauze, the closet was a cornucopia of medical supplies, it held more than I could possibly carry in its multiple crates and containers so I only took what was loose.
Making my way out of the large wing, I noticed the head desk standing upright and undisturbed near the main entrance. At the sight of a buck traipsing down the hallway beyond I froze, then slid my way silently over to the desk, crouching underneath it. The bucks were warriors, and they were most likely violently territorial, their presence should have been something I had expected, something I had prepared for.

I recited the action of drawing each of my pistols one by one, while still curled up underneath the chief of medicine’s desk. I would need to be ready if I ran into a buck in the hallways; I had taken the initial reaction of the two mares in the Atrium with too much faith, in fact there was nothing concrete that indicated I had any semblance of safety at all. My survival thus far could be solely accounted to luck.

Leaving the guns stowed I clambered out from underneath the wooden desk, sliding the drawers open as I went for one last scrounge. In one was a holotape, buried under a mess of papers and trivial objects. I slid it into my saddlebags for later, safer, listening. The other drawer held what looked like an inhaler, a clear capsule filled with orange liquid attached to the mouthpiece. Underneath the device was a note.

Acres

I’ve successfully synthesized a product that will meet your request.
It’s a consumable stimulant derived from an old recipe that I found tucked away in the storeroom.
It should give you the boost you need the next time you work the orchard, its father supplicant was known to act as an accelerator, giving the user a faster perception of time and events around them.

You’ll feel like the fastest thing in the world and, from your perspective, you will be.

Remember, while under its influence take things slow. Otherwise you’ll look like a blur of impossibly erratic energy to anypony watching. Just be careful, you of all ponies know how much your coworkers obsess over tradition, and ‘natural, hard work’. In any case, this’ll make bucking fruit a walk in the park; you’ll get your quota done in half the time easily, a third if you risk getting caught.

I’m not sure of any side-effects, or even if this has successfully distilled, so I’d like a full report on the experience. This could do great things for our food production and, judging by our current birth rates, we’ll really need to work overtime until the kids are old enough to pull their weight.
This may be our best shot. Maybe after we’ve perfected it you and your team can use it without hindrance, then the harvest will no doubt be complete in mere minutes.

The note wasn’t signed, but It didn’t sound like Acres had been a medical doctor, more likely this letter was never delivered and had remained in the desk of its writer. I took it, and the device that it advertised. Sounded like something worth keeping. My Pip-buck called it ‘Synthesized Dash Prototype’.

I huddled into the corner; my curiosity peaked by the doctor’s words about his quite agenda, and the premonition of the new, damaged generation. My E.F.S was bright as ever, consistently insisting that this Stable was really not a good place to be, but I slid over to the Data screen and played the log anyway.

A soft scuffle sounded through the dimmed speakers, not a fight but rather the clumsy juggling of a tape as it was activated and slid from hoof to table.

Damn it all, I forgot to check the date…

I think it’s a Wednesday… Wednesday night, a few months after the first discrepancy in the birthing, you’ll remember that surely, yes, that’ll have to do.

The voice was old, an intelligent sounding buck who I would have automatically pegged as a doctor, or a man of science, even If I had found this tape in the restrooms or cafeteria.
Your becoming senile, Olio, logs and reminders never used to be of concern to you, now they dictate almost all of your actions! He laughed, a hint of forlorn sadness surfacing for a brief moment in between.

You know that you wrote a reminder so that you wouldn’t forget to make this log? Evidence that this is too important not to document, to risk forgetting.

You’ve come to a conclusion about the children, the… damaged ones. It’s a genetic throwback, Celestia I hope it’s a throwback, to your earlier days in this Stable. Remember how wild they all were back then, how inhibitions stayed to burn in the balefire that we escaped? Well there were ramifications, clearly, or something went wrong with how they populated this place, with who they chose.

You’ve seen your friends from those days become grandparents, to these problem children. It was their foolishness that caused this, it wasn’t noticeable in their own offspring but apparently it has gone on, either by repetition or inheritance. I hope for inheritance, but the disgusting possibility of repetition seems more likely with this lot.

Families aren’t this small, is one way to explain it, to justify it. Here a family is one room, four or maybe five members at the maximum, they are all they know as relatives, they are all they consider family. Everypony else is a friend to them… but friendship isn’t the problem.

I’m avoiding admitting it… the fact that this disturbs me so should solidify its place in my memory, but its knowledge I must preserve, so I can prevent this from continuing.

We need to organize a talk with these kids, not the babies obviously, but the youth of this Stable. Somewhere along the line the gene pool has become mixed, indiscernible almost. We’ll have to enforce testing to determine who is allowed to procreate with who, to make sure they aren’t too closely linked.
It won’t be a popular law, but that’s what it must be, law. Otherwise we are entering a downward spiral, and things will only get worse from here.

So, in case you forget:

Deliver the test matter to Acres when you build up the courage to, remember that even if you get caught you can justify fabrication of illicit materials with your good intentions. So do it.

Confirm the inbreeding; nip it in the bud by founding some sort of ‘planned parenthood’ methodology. You need to convince them to be careful, no matter how little they think for the future.

Convince the parents to… try again. These genetics need to be purged from the Stable, or at least prevented from propagating. Sterilizing the children is the most agreeable, moral course of action, though removing them is the safest. So, lastly…

Remember what matters more.
The log cut out to more scuffles as the aged buck fumbled to switch it off. He sounded like an especially clumsy earth pony based on the closing struggle.

I pushed the thought that anything bad had happened to the doctor away, replacing it with reassurances that he must have just forgotten. I preferred to imagine his fate being a blissful, neutral retirement, having neglected his controversial requirement, rather than a vigilant lynching due to the harsh truth he spoke.
I kept the log, better not to leave all that may be left of Doctor Olio here in the abomination of his clinic.

The Dash was ‘illicit material’, huh? So were guns back then, I shrugged. Whatever illegality the substance had held could surely not outweigh the benefits it claimed to bestow. I would keep it, and the note, as memorial to another of the doctor’s unrealized aspirations. Perhaps they had brought ruin to each other. After all, how much worth could the Stable have given the words of a narcotics distributor?

Slinking out of the medical wing I found myself facing a wall of sullied steel, almost immediately obstructing my path. That wasn’t supposed to be there. Maintenance was down the stairs from here, the stairs that were at the end of the hallway, the hallway that had been replaced with a wall, an ugly wall at that. I felt the strange urge to clean it; ‘medical should be kept sanitary!’ had once been the tagline for a short-lived janitorial career of mine.

The elevator! Of course, the stairs were stacked along the elevator shaft, an obvious structural design that I had overlooked by assuming this Stable would be exactly like my own.
Realizing where I needed to go, I retraced my hoofsteps, backtracking towards the elevator. I passed the same silently occupied rooms that I had before, making good time on my way, until I felt an urge.

If the way to the Maintenance floor was so different… maybe other things were different too. Aside from the obvious exceptions of the elevator and the orchard floor, I had assumed I would know this Stable like the back of my hoof, but now that assumption was being challenged. The need to confirm or deny it was prompting me, nagging at me like a filly with a denied request that she couldn’t stop trying to attain.
I should go to the classrooms, that would decide the issue for me, I compromised with myself.

One little detour wouldn’t hurt anypony.
I had already got so many medical supplies that, even if it did, I would be able to help!
I needed this, needed to be heading anywhere but the Oxygen Recycling room… anywhere but the fire.

Better to spend more time here amongst the mares before I condemned them all to death.
Not that their animalistic repose, primal fighting, or obliviousness to their own abuse would sway me.

For a moment, as I drew near to the classroom hallway, I was sure that one had noticed me.
The Others obviously knew that I was there, but this mare had been different, the way her dead gaze had followed me. The way her shiny, wet eyes blinked at me through the rusty haze. She was expressionless, her lips locked into a tight seal, her ears neither perking nor drooping in the slightest.
But she was the only one who saw me for what I was… an intruder.

Before I could take a second glance at her, she had disappeared, becoming another indistinct head in the sporadic sea of shaven, scarred conformity. I didn’t know whether I had imagined her or not.
The uncertainty was worse than being able to reassure myself, so I hurried into the empty hallway making up the walls to the classrooms around me.
The mural wasn’t there… because it was somewhere else, somewhere better, I reminded myself.

This room was larger; more than a dozen empty chairs lined the singular class. A few weren’t empty: a few held bones, bones that slumped to unspecific heaps as well as bones that sat at attention, listening to a lecture from a teacher long passed, on a subject long rendered irrelevant.

The room was incredibly neat, preserved compared to the chaos that had once been the medical wing. I honestly preferred the discord. This eternal perfection was far more disturbing. Better for the dead children to have been broken, than to have sat at their desks staring eternally at the same empty space.

A projector was aimed at the open wall that was partially covered by a wide chalkboard, the implications of equations and letters written and erased decades prior still persisted under the chalky dust. I trotted up to the small machine, a red light blinking softly; perhaps this device had been enough to deter the savages. Though I was unsure of what led me to believe that they would fear such a thing.
I poked it.

A flickering screen of permeable gray covered, but didn’t obstruct, the chalkboard. Specks of dirt and dust on passing film raced and danced within the intangible frame, creating temporary stains and runes on the surface beneath it. The board was reduced to a haze of scratches, indiscernible symbols both numeric and alphabetic, and dust. The constantly shifting gray reminded me of the Enclave’s cloud cover.

One of the threes expanded into a clear, black, magnified version of itself in the middle of the screen. With a stall and a beep it turned into a two, and then cut the screen to black.

Securely soft music began to play, patriot trumpets and horns as a silhouette of the Equestrian flag clicked onto the screen, this was a slide projector and the image persisted, vibrating slightly. The Princesses, or Goddesses if you feel so inclined, fly in a tight circle around a minimalistic representation of the sun and the moon.

I had never realized how simplistic these representations were, how palely they compared to the actual astral bodies that orbited the world. Now that I had seen the real moon and sun, these cartoonish renditions were oddly insulting, pathetic caricatures attempting an impossible replication.

The music continued as the slide slid to reveal another: Canterlot, another black silhouette against a mountainside. Equestria, the slide announced, the letters appearing one by one in an arching, thick font. Next was a small group of ponies, a unicorn, an earth pony and a Pegasus, cartoonish and beady-eyed, bodies simplified into smooth curving lines. Citizens of our great Country, the sub-heading remained as the image changed to three zebras. Their stripes set them apart; the gray and black sepia tinted slides seemed more suited for zebras than for ponies, displaying their simple palette much more accurately than our own diverse, pastel variance.

The following slide was a callous image of explosions across a hand-drawn map of Equestria, no doubt representing the last day. The childishness almost dulled its implications, the perception of the countries death reduced to an infant’s aloofness, censoring all the suffering and destruction by taking what had happened in a lighter, almost comical stride. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the caption: Whoops! Had appeared, taking all remaining seriousness away from the horrible event.

Now the Stable was shown, Stable 34, Your new Home! It declared, showing the great, cog shaped door followed by various shots of the structure within. The Atrium, Medical Wing and Classrooms I recognized, but the fourth slide showed a green field, riddled with trees bearing fruits that looked colorful even through the projectors sepia haze. That had to be the orchard.

But What about Equestria? What had to be an artist’s rendition of how a post-apocalyptic world would look constituted this slide. It paled in comparison to reality, a few dead trees and an empty sky was nothing compared to the sprawling corpse of a country that was outside, shadowed by the eternally shifting dark clouds above and dotted with burnt ruins and devolved savages.
What about the Future?

The Stable door was open, unleashing a flood of the cartoonish ponies out into the rocky terrain, the rotting animal corpses had been left out, the blood that now stained those rocks hadn’t been predicted when this optimistic presentation had been designed. Everything was clean, no radiation, no death.

The ponies looked surprised, and delighted, by something, the question of what was answered in the next image. Our Zebra Friends! Another trio of zebras, haloed by a radiant light that solidified the image intended for them, as saviors, allies. The New Equestria! The Stable ponies followed the foreign caricatures through the reconstructed world. Old cities had been recreated, the architecture was foreign, and Zebra design now dominated what had once been Equestrian, curves rather than angular steel, aesthetic runes and symbols instead of our stark street signs or posters.

Our New Government! Regal zebras, a King and Queen replacing the royal sisterhood of the past, stood on a balcony overlooking New Canterlot. Out New Friends! Ponies and Zebras dancing in circles around great bonfires fueled by alchemic magic, masks and strange ornaments decorated the scene. Idyllic, but impossible. This place set out to educate its inhabitants to a false expectation. This slideshow was designed to prepare them for an unlikely eventuality, Zebra Victory followed by immediate Forgiveness, reconciliation and the rebirth of Equestria as a unified utopia.

A joke when compared to how things had really come to pass. Both sides were wiped out, in two hundred years only more destruction had ensued outside of this Stable, the door had opened to zebras, as planned, but only allowed the fire of war to spark once again.

When Exiting the Stable, Remember:
The tinny music picked up as the stylized words appeared one by one, swinging their way onto the screen in a sudden change from the slideshow preceding it. This wasn’t exclusively a slide projector; the video had just aimed to emulate that simplistic style.
We all Have our own Magic:
A unicorn’s horn glowed at a hovering Pegasus, while nearby a smiling zebra conjured a beautiful show of smoke and fire in the air. I guess it would’ve been difficult to show an earth pony being visually magical. What does an affinity with earth look like?
And something that makes us Special:
A gaggle of fillies crowed around a small zebra, a rune had appeared on her flank, incomprehensible but obviously meant to emphasize with a cutie-mark. The images were cartoons, fabrications, so I still had doubts as to whether this was how it actually worked for them.
Stars and Stripes don’t Mix!
A lone zebra was comically shying away from an exposed night sky. His exaggerated fear at the twinkling lights above was a little insulting, depicting zebras as if they were incapable of even looking up into the night sky, as if they hid in their homes until the safety of daybreak.
But we can all get Along!
Pictures of interracial friendship, community and caring flashed by, almost as if they were trying to subliminally ingrain themselves into my mind but moved just a little too slowly to pass unnoticed. The interracial interaction that had actually occurred, was about to be concluded with a genocide. This presentation hadn’t only been wrong; it had displayed the complete opposite of reality.
Welcome our new Overlords!
The last image was a map of Equestria, except this time it had been entirely striped in black and white.

A Production of Stable-Tec The video signed off as the projector cut to black, the enthusiastic music dimming along with it until the room reverted to its usual, silent emptiness, ending the tour de force of propaganda and indoctrination. I gaped at the bland board, one eyelid twitching in my otherwise stunned reaction.

I didn’t pine for the future that the video had predicted; I didn’t wonder where we had gone wrong along the path to a unified country of ponies and zebras. That had been nonsense, complete fantasy, the only educational value it had shared came from the knowledge of the Zebra’s perception of the stars, and even that had surely been exaggerated into an overshot stereotype.

I thought my Stable had been given a futile task, an impossibility of a purpose, and the farce that had been behind this idea made me smile. Although the nagging pity towards the dead population, who had once been lead along by this lie, was ruining my enjoyment.

Why couldn’t I even manage a little Schadenfreude once in a while? Why, when I was on my way to literally cook hundred of ponies, could I still not take a little sadistic pleasure from the fact that my Stable had been a better place than this one? That it was still more honest despite the things I had been taught to believe there, that in a way, it still could’ve been the last light of Equestria.
At least compared to this bittersweet mess.

Because I was on my way to literally cook hundreds of ponies, I answered. The distraction was gone, the detour was over, there was nothing keeping me here, nothing to do except descend to the Oxygen Recycling system, and commit genocide.

** ** **

The Maintenance level was the reason my E.F.S had been reduced into a blind haze of red, unable to detect movement or direction thanks to the surrounding, all-consuming hostility. Bucks filled the halls, the walls were bloodier than they were rusty, deepening the dim red that had followed me since I had entered, save for the respite of the hospital wing.

They were active, unlike most of the mares above, they paced and pounced around each other, constantly fighting or moving just for the sake of keeping themselves occupied. I huddled against the frame of the stairwell, cowering and cautious. A mare would be unusual here, whether they were kin or not, they would be seen as an intruder. The bucks were free to roam the Stable, but it seemed the fairer sex was reserved to the Common Area, the breeding ground, that was where they expected somepony like me to be found, dull-eyed, docile and ready for impregnation.

I might’ve spared the mares if I had the choice to, though death was the best I could now give them; I just hoped it would be quick. Crouching low and hugging the wall, I rounded the short distance to the next set of stairs, the last set of stairs. I passed the elevator doors, which collapsed open into the empty shaft.

Seemingly undetected, I slid into the next doorway, breathing a sigh of relief as my tail whipped reflexively into cover as quickly as I could move it. The barks and howls stayed level, not cries of alarm but of simple savagery. I had made it, I hadn’t been discovered.
Bloodstains gave way to rust once again as I made my way to the bottom floor, the very last set of stairs I would have to walk disappearing behind me. The elevator was my plan of escape.

Inspecting it didn’t give me any indication that it still worked. The doors on this floor were intact and impossible to pry open, pressing the call button could do it, but I didn’t want to risk drawing any attention to myself until my horrific job here was done.

This level was simple, one hallway led to a door labeled: ‘Orchard’. Another led to ‘Oxygen Recycling.’
After pondering for a moment, I decided to indulge in one last distraction.
I trotted down the empty passage to the wrong door, the door that held the solution that we all knew would work. Their lifeline sheltered behind it; their one consistent provider, destroying it with the Celestial Flame would starve them, and ensure that one day, a slow downward spiral into cannibalism and desperation away… the savages of Zion would be gone.

The door slid open at my arrival, exposing me to light brighter than any I had ever seen in a Stable. For a moment I thought that I had somehow managed to wind up on the surface, with the sun beating down clear and unobstructed across foreign lands, forcing me to shield my eyes. But there was no heat behind the illumination, no chill of breeze or freshness of air; I could still taste the rust on it and feel the synthesized cold of steel rather than the natural cold of snow.

Green, that was what I now looked at… green. A rarity, in both Stable and Wasteland, apart from coats, manes and balefire residue. But there was no life here, the nature and growth that the color implied were artificial, and even to my unaccustomed eyes, looked fake.

The trees were more like statues, leaves like amethyst crystals dotted with the occasional dull bulb. The grass was a carpet, the sky was a ceiling, and the sun was electric. The life here was an imitation.

I ran my hooves against the soft floor, enjoying the gentle tickling of the material strands despite their falsity. I buried myself in it, sliding on my belly as I propelled myself forward with my hind legs, face submerged in the green, allowing my senses to be disappointed. There was no smell, no dew or soil to tantalize me, nothing to help me get lost in the illusion. It was an obvious lie, but still a soft one.

I ended up under a tree, after snaking my way around the orchard for a while, trying to attain the enlightenment of blissful ignorance, trying to lose myself in the façade.

Above were the leaves. Light didn’t cut through them; the false gold didn’t dance off them as they swayed in turn to a breeze that should’ve been. They were thickly locked onto the tree, serving only to obstruct the branches that bore strange fruit. Generic, dull, spheres extruding every so often.

Apples, peaches, plums and pears were all converted into the things these trees generated. This was the nutrient paste of this Stable, a substitute that tried to pass off as the optimistic imaginations we had of food, that tried to brighten up the experience of keeping yourself alive, rather than enjoying taste.

Stacks of the Stable Brand sachets and sacks lined the walls, most torn open and spilling over the orchard. There was enough to last, that was clear, and apparently the trees would keep producing on a loop. Harvesting was no more complicated than aiming a buck in the right direction, something even animals were capable of, evidently.

This place would burn like the rest of the Stable, vents cut through the ‘sky’ providing the oxygen required for whatever life that allowed this place to persist. Not the grass, or the leaves, but whatever mechanism within the trees allowed them to constantly produce a harvestable yield.

I hurried out, on all fours now, disappointed and persuaded through dissuasion. There was nothing left that was worth saving here. The orchard had potential, but the hundreds of ponies above outweighed its value with their stalwart defense. To harvest its fruit we would have to kill the savages, one by one, the usual way. Poisons or fire couldn’t be used, and the casualties from the invasion would number higher than any other force I had yet seen or heard of, apart from the promise of infinite raiders.

‘Oxygen Recycling’
The door slid open, though I didn’t stall to wait for it, barely clearing its edges in my haste. Machines blinked and whirred on all sides, complicated mechanisms, difficult to maintain, impossible to create, but easy to control. A terminal, that’s all I needed and that’s all I recognized of the technology within.

I had no interest in the pipes that wound along the walls, or the buttons lining up for attention at the helm of each machine. I embraced what I knew.

Hit the switch, light it up. The forgotten source of green, a color that I now realized had been more prevalent in my life than I had falsely remembered, shone on me, bathing me in the warmth of familiarity.
Security Screen, bypass it, call the numbers, symbols and letters to be judged, to be picked over and eliminated one by one. Only one sequence mattered, a password.

Back out!

Breaching this system would be difficult; precautions had been taken for good reason.
The trust of this password would have to fall to somepony sane and pure, somepony who could hold the power of this all-consuming fire and resist its summoning.
Or a pony who knew when it needed to be called.
The password was: HEPA HVAC CADR
Abbreviations for technical terms unfamiliar to me, but discerned by my scrutiny.
Twelve unit Places meant millions, perhaps billions of potential possibilities. I was glad I had risked persecution by learning how to hack through the Stable’s system, with elimination and a little guesswork.

STABLE-TEC OXYGEN RECYCLING
CONTROL TERMIANL
ACCESS APPROVED < WELCOME USER>

I scanned a couple of screens, searching for any indication of gas control.
A few of the pipes that lined the walls around me were labeled with the symbol that encouraged caution due to flammability, there had to be some way to redirect them.

GAS MAIN: LINES 3, 4, 7, 14
ORCHARD… closed
MAINTENANCE… open, see within
COMMON AREA… open, see within
MAIN ENTRANCE… closed

I selected the options for ‘see within’, revealing comprehensive lists of exactly where the gas was currently being pumped. Names like kitchen and central heating appeared, as expected.
I knew opening all the pipes wouldn’t do it; I would have to find a way to pump the gas in place of oxygen.

REDIRECTS
Perfect.
Here was a list of ever pipe, each associated with a source for the substance it carried.
Lines 3, 4, 7 and 14 all originated from a singular source, so this had to be where the gas was coming from. I instructed each and every line to draw from this pool, gas would be pumping through every single pipe, and even the water that ran through the Stable would be replaced with its own flammable doom.
REDIRECTING…
AUTHORITIVE CONFIRMATION REQUIRED

A prompt to fill in a password popped up onto the screen.
I typed in HEPA HVAC CADR.

CONFIRMED

Like I was going to forget the password in the two minutes it took me to get to this point.

REDIRECTING…
COMPLETE

I could almost hear it happening, the soft flow of water being pumped through a few of the pipes cut off, now replaced with the steady hiss of the creeping gas as it invaded each and every pathway.
Soon it would fill the Stable, ready for ignition, ready to begin the cleansing.

My heart clenched, this was it, adrenaline pumped through me as I sat still before the murderous technology. I would run, to the door, and then light it with Celestial Flame.
It would be that easy, I could even use the Dash to ensure I put some distance between myself and the flames. I wouldn’t have to fire a shot, I wouldn’t even have to run, I’d just break a bottle…
to end countless lives.

I walked blank-faced and quite, following my path of entry, not thinking or even giving attention to the hallway I walked along, to the elevator I ignored, to the doorway I entered, or to the stairs I climbed.
I wanted to get out and forget this place, cremate it from existence as well as my mind.
But I couldn’t…

The way was obstructed, steel and concrete lay shattered and bent across my path, forming a wall, barring me from my escape. This was it. This was my punishment; I would be trapped here until some fool on the upper level caused the killing spark, or until the air was replaced with only inconsumable kindling.
Somehow, by karma or fate, I was destined, doomed to be buried along with this Stable, a victim of my own genocide. Another casualty of Equestria’s failed preservation.

I almost accepted this; I almost sat back and embraced this moment as my last. Until I saw the gun.
My gun… my tri-beam laser rifle, lay discarded beside a broken, battered skeleton.
Conjurations? Hallucinations?
No, I levitated it, looked along its sleek, angular black body. It was perfect, details I couldn’t possibly have remembered from the magazines, flaws beyond my juvenile imagining, made it real.

The skeleton I could have generated, I had seen enough of them in the last two days to create one from memory, and my medical knowledge meant that I could even name most of the bones as my mind constructed them. But this gun was something that I had never seen in the physical world or even in anything more that a two-dimensional picture. This wasn’t the same stairwell that I had descended earlier. The bones had been zebra, cornered in their last moments by an unprecedented obstruction, killed by enemies who didn’t even have the sense to take his gun.

My daze was broken, the weight of the decision that I had just committed to lifted by the reality ahead of me. I had done a good thing, I would leave this Stable with medical supplies, a back-up plan and a prize I had harbored desire for for all my life. Now it was mine, and with the Dash ready for emergency use, I had nothing to fear, not time-constraints or the savages critically under armed with simple bone and rock.
I retraced my steps out of the dead-end stairway, strapping the rifle to my side.

Their hive was brimming, I heard disgruntled roars and frantic pacing from above me, they could smell the change in the air, and they could tell that something had gone wrong, that there had been an intrusion. Pressing the call button for the elevator, I smiled, relishing my near victory for the first time.

The doors opened immediately, the vehicle had been resting at this level so had only needed a prompt to open itself for use. Stepping into it, I regarded the damage. Tiles of metal had fallen away from the small room’s roof, while the walls were pristine compared to the rest of this bloodied, rusty Stable. The buttons for each floor, labeled with their respective trademarks, seemed intact.
I ordered a straight trip to the Main Entrance, my exit from this kiln.

To my great delight the machine began to move, slowly it chugged into life as the ancient cables pulled taught, straining against the weight of the steel carrier. I didn’t care, I was getting out, the cables would hold against my weight, or any other, because I was getting out.

We were rising, sliding vertically through the shaft and gaining speed. But the velocity reached an apex and crested, before beginning to slow once again.

The elevator was being called; it was stopped, on the Maintenance floor, on the warrior’s floor. I crammed myself into the corner beside the opening doors, hoping to avoid detection by the level full of violent animal bucks. I counted on them being as oblivious as they were stupid, but the pony, who boarded my escape route, while oblivious, was far from stupid.

I smashed against him as I brought myself to the controls, and then slammed my hoof against the button for the Main Entrance once again. I found myself looking out on a sea of enraged faces; awareness had dawned on the most primal level, telling them that the mare they were looking at didn’t belong.
The steel closed over their anger, shielding me just in time from their impending charge, I heard the front line collide, almost as one against the doors.

“What did you do?” hissed the only other pony in this place who could have possibly formulated words. “The air…” he could smell the change; feel the thickening chokehold close around his Stable’s neck.

“I vented the gas, pumped it through every pipe I could.” I explained numbly as he cowered in his favorite position of fetal defeat against the wall of the rising elevator, still recovering from my spontaneous surprise attack. “In a minute it’ll be spread throughout the entire Stable, and after that, all it’ll take is a spark…” The savages barked from below, from their perception I had hidden myself within a room just one door beyond their reach. They couldn’t figure out that we had escaped vertically away. Their collisions against the metal rang, clear and rhythmical, throughout the shaft beneath us.

His fear dissipated, replaced by neither anger nor sadness, but knowing acceptance.
“It needed to happen eventually.” He shrugged. The sleazy smile was far from oozing over his face again. “They would’ve held out on the battlefield… maybe forever. I honestly don’t think you could have beaten them that way. This’ll do it though… this’ll definitely do It.”

“Did you look?” I asked, “For any that were worth saving?” Any that could’ve been saved.

“I’ve been looking my whole life.” He sighed. “I even tried having kids, hoping that I’d pass on… something, anything that’d give me somepony that was more to me than a bully or an easy, one-way lay.”

“I’m sorry.” The irrational pity from earlier today was seeping over me.
He didn’t say anything.
We waited out the rest of the short journey in silence, torn asunder only by the violence breaking out below. It sounded like the mares had picked up on the panic of their mates, as roars and screams from their lighter voices joined the resounding cacophony. It was as if their voices were lifting us.

“Get out, I won’t stop you.” I said as we reached the top floor. He gave me a look, almost thankful, but mostly of alleviated fear and pain. With a slight nod he picked himself out of his own pity and accepted mine, trotting hastily out of the elevator and towards the Stable door. I waited for him to disappear.

His solitary white bar blinked out. It had only been visible during the brief time frame in which he had been close enough to avoid burial under the red overload on my E.F.S.

Stepping out into the hallway; I levitated the bottle of Celestial Flame to my side.
It was too dangerous to bother preserving, though a simple shot from any of my weapons would have triggered the blaze, I longed for the closure that getting rid of this incredibly powerful, sensitive tinder would bring. The elevator descended back down to its eternally favored position at the bottom of the dark shaft, leaving the stretch of open space dark and empty.

I set the bottle down gently on the brink, focusing my levitation on extracting the vial of Dash from my saddlebags. I floated the device to my lips, bracing for whatever flaws it may have developed over each decade spanning the time between its creation and consumption.

It trickled down my throat, softly, seeming to gradually slow as it went, dragging the world along with it. I dropped the empty inhaler as my vision began to pulse; it crawled through the air, my gaze beating it in the race to the floor that it would eventually come to crack against.

The air itself seemed to move slower in the vibrant pulse that was my existence, it felt like everything had been submerged in thick molasses and I was the only one immune to its effects. I was lighting compared to the drawl that was the world, I was the greatest, fastest thing in existence. Children would speak of me in hushed, reverent tones for generations to come; they would hear the legend of the light-speed mare and dream to become like me one day, to become a Goddess.

I wasn’t going to sit around and wait for the rest of everything to catch up with me, no! I had things to do, races to win, entire continents to traverse! But here was a challenge…

The bottle of Celestial Flame, I nudged it over the edge and it seemed to teeter precariously as if it was always just on the verge of regaining its balance. But it fell; it couldn’t handle gravity, the wimp.
So, fire… You think I’m scared of you?

“Let’s see who’s faster.” My words sliced through the thick atmosphere like a freaking missile, baby!
The bottle was taking its time getting to the bottom of the elevator shaft. I could probably run down the stairs to the orchard and get myself a nice apple to eat. Then I’d come back here, eat the shit out of it and digest that sucker like there’s no tomorrow. And the bottle still wouldn’t have reached the bottom of the dark abyss, that slow, good-for-nothing sack of crap!

Who the heck is this guy? Some muscle-headed buck trying to step up to the chopping-block, huh?
Who do you think you are following me up here, some kind of smart guy? Some kind of egghead?
What are you Chief of the freeeeaaakin’ savages or what?

Hold on a minute big guy, I’ll ram your skull up your ass in just a minute; I’ve got a fire to humiliate.

“That’s one beautiful fire.” I said, because I say whatever I want. “Seriously, I would hump the crap out of it if I didn’t have to beat it in this awesome race.” The huge savage exiting the stairwell didn’t seem to care. “Aw, go read a book Chief Egghead.” I dismissed the charging juggernaut.

The flames expanded into a… like an explosion or something, because of the gas in the air I guess. I had to admit that the Celestial Flame was some pretty powerful stuff; add in the thick flammable air that filled the Stable and you’ve got yourself a big-ass genocide! A reallllllly slow, big-ass genocide.

The heat rose like a pillar, I could see it displacing the air as the fire swallowed the darkness around it, rising in a plume on its way to the starting line.

I smiled at the Chief, who was getting closer by the hour. “I guess it needs some time to warm up.”
What the hell that was hilarious.

“Y’know this place reminds me of a hive…except instead of insects…. You’ve got incest!”
Oh my freaking God, I should be a stand-up comedian.
My cutie-mark should be a pony dying of laughter or some shit.

“You suck Chief.” Motherfucker didn’t even smile. “Heh… motherfucker.”

Sexy Fire was here! On your marks, get set… stop that… that hurts, Sexy Fire. Screw it let’s Go!
I’m a freight train, I’m a bullet, I AM TERMINAL VELOCITY!
Cool, I’m at the end of the hallway, looks like I won the race… obviously.

What the hell?

Sexy… how could you?! He’s a dirty savage! He’s an egghead! Why are you touching him like that?!

“We were supposed to race!” I yelled back at Traitorous Whore and her new piece of meat.
“I would have humped you!” I cried, like I shouted, not like I cried… not tears and that gay shit.
At least Chief looked like he was in pain; Traitorous Sexy Fire Whore obviously didn’t know how to handle a buck. Wait… was she always that fat?

“Hey Traitorous Fat Sexy Fat Fire…. Whatever! Were you always that fat?!” I asked politely. The bitch was spread across the entire hallway; I could barely even see Chief anymore, beneath all her nasty business. I missed him, he had been my rock. Now all I could see was Fat Whore.

She had spread across the entire Stable! The Genocide remember?! Oh shit, right!
I may not have won this race. WAIT A FUdgING MINUTE! I totally did.
I may have won this race, but I also wiped out a whole den of Yao Guai, as Ash had called them.
Mmmmmm… Ash.
I bet she tasted like cake… a sad cake.
“You hear that Fire!” Fire was getting awfully close. “I’ve got a NEW! BOO! so AH don’t NEEED YOU!”

“In fact…” I didn’t need to yell now that she was so nearby. “You two might be related.”

Whoops, better back it up. I turned my head to look at my milkshake as I reversed out of the Stable.

My milkshake brings all the mares to the yard.
And they’re like…It’s better than yours.
Damn right! It’s better than yours.
I could’ve humped you, but you were a whore.

Lala-lalala
Warm it up!

Yeah… That’s right, you had better run, tramp!

Chief?! You’re alive!
My Milkshake has resurrected you!

Footnote: Level Up!
Perk Added: Merciful Killer: You deal twice as much damage to foes beneath 25% health.

A SUPER SPECIAL MESSAGE:
We’ve just about hit 1000 views and 150,000 words, baby!
I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing…
But thanks anyway!
At least I know that, even though I’ve spent a lot of my time on this, plenty of other people have wasted some of theirs too.
I think that’s what makes it all worth it.
Also: As of October 12th 2012, the city of Point du Sable has been renamed to Calvary.

Dedicated to Kkat and Jesus…
Though I’ve never seen the two of them in the same place at once.
Just saying…

Chapter 13: Fix You

Fallout Equestria: Sola Gratia
Chapter 13: Fix You
“The cathedral sees to my needs. So I might see to the needs of others. Now let me see your injury.”

The whites of its eyes had cauterized, the very fluid constituting each ocular portal had boiled over, had been seared into deprivation of every sense except pain. It was flesh, muscle and even bone, shards of bloody white revealing themselves through the dark crisp that covered this beast, even as the charred skin broke off in its exerted run. Still slow…

You were never invited to this race Chief, how could you possibly hope to beat the master of fire?
The master of speeeed… Don’t think I can’t see that you’re improving; you’ve been doing squats haven’t you?
But it’ll take a lot more than the very exposed muscles you’ve got to step up to me.
You know they used to call me ‘Terminal Velocity’ back in my Stable.
Or was that in your Stable? How long ago was that?

It was breaking through the thick air, cutting through one layer of the invisible barrier that was time with every passing second. Its muscles pumped around the stripped skeleton, tendons of deep reds and browns contracting across an ivory frame. Every twitch, every tear was extended into a torturously slow display of what had to be incredible agony. A passable experience for him, despite how painful, was stretched out by my newfound relationship with time.

You’ve got a little crush on me, don’t you Chief? I wiggled my tail at him, flanks exposed and inviting. I saw what happened between you and that fat slut yesterday… yesterday.
She didn’t know how to handle a big… strong… haaaandsome buck like you.
I do, see, I’ve studied anatomy extensively. And I wouldn’t mind studying your… extensive anatomy.

The terrible, gelatinous decay that made up its eyes still expressed anger, a hunger.
I could see our breath in the cold air that seeped down from the mountains around us. We were underneath the clouds together; I had tempted the beast into the peak of frenzy during the hours between our exiting of the Stable. No… not hours, minutes surely. Perhaps seconds?

I’m just screwing with you Chief. I didn’t even like you that much when you had skin, now you look like jerky. Jerky is delicious, though. Though you’ll need to have about 20% more of it… know what I mean?
You’re getting awfully close again. I skipped away from the floating savage, his hooves suspended in the peak of a lunge that appeared as a slow dive through my awesome master-of-time-and-space eyes.
He was still heading towards me. What the shit? Did he jump again?
I could hear his roar, his muzzle was torn open into a cry of desperate pain and hate, but only now could I hear the horrible sound that emanated from it.
Please, I’ve heard that line a thousand times. Hell, I’ve used that line. You’ll have to do b-…

In the second that his hooves touched me, the entire force of his pounce was transferred into me.
A shockwave reiterated through my body, sending me crashing down across the rock.
I slid past the last of the rotten corpses lining the entrance to the Stable, sending up creeping dust and debris at a leisurely pace as my body dragged itself across the ground.

The impossibly dark clouds above were steadily accelerating, crashing and swirling with mounting speed.
I could smell the winter air, the festering animals laying dead around me, and the charred corpses below.
A roar of incredible anguish and anger persisting, steadily echoing throughout the valley as well as the metal chambers beneath it. The rock was cold, the breeze chilling, and I thought I could taste Milkshake.
Massive hooves were crushing my rib-cage, the creature’s chest heaving above my face as the horrible, earless, bald serpent that was his head reared above me in triumph, He smelled of hot death, burnt flesh and hair. His body was crushing me, the weight concentrated on my chest, though a heated passion emanated from elsewhere. The Savages’ Chief… this mass of exposed bone and muscle, this embodiment of primal vengeance and pain… was going to rape me.

A mare had challenged him. His pack’s scent was occluded by the cold smoke seeping from his hive, but he would still have to make an example of this weaker being. For his own honor, he pressed me down.

My horn ached as my magic grasped desperately for the rifle strapped to my side, the weapon that was creating an opposing pain to the beast’s crushing hooves by pressing into my soft side. Everything ached, but he had yet to begin his humiliation, he was staring into my panicked eyes with his own charred bulbs. I could feel his heavy breath, hot like his pulsing body, as it suffocated me.

I beat the side of his face with the gun, smashing it against the steadily emerging skull again and again. I was too afraid to take aim, too desperate to formulate a plan, too lost to understand what was happening. The cracks sounded clear, I could see the creature’s muzzle breaking under the barrage, but he still pushed himself closer. He wasn’t dissuaded by the pain; it was all that drove him.

I strained my focus, swinging the thick barrel of the tri-beam laser rifle to press against his temple. A triplicate of red energy tore through his primitive mind. No skin remained to contain the tendons and loose flesh that made up his face, as it seemed to simultaneously melt and rip apart. The grinning skull breaking into white shrapnel pelted my face along with a spray of warm red mist. His entire body went limp; thankfully I could only base this on the hooves pressing to my chest, and nothing more.

I was waking up, not from a dream… but an insanity.
Moments ago I had been standing on the brink of the Stable’s elevator shaft, now I was crushed, ribs most likely slicing into my lungs as these filthy pillars of keratin drove into them.
In between was nothing but a rush, a fantastic memory of omnipotence and ability. In those moments I had been, in my eyes, the most powerful entity on earth. My recall told me that this impossibility was a completely honest account, and that I had truly become a God for those countless hours.
An awesome, arrogant ass of a God.

I slid out from beneath the corpse, glancing at my E.F.S as I trotted back to the cog-shaped door.
Empty, the red sea of hostility had disappeared completely, leaving only clean, complete clarity.
The smell of gas had all but disappeared out of the Stable’s smoky air, replaced with the scent of a cataclysmic, heated rot. I was standing at the helm of my Genocide, taking in the apocalypse that I had brought upon this place by way of cleansing fire.

A fire that I had somehow escaped… I peered down the hallway to the darkness beyond, the steel walls were burnt black, the red rust altogether consumed in the massive pillar of flame.
It wasn’t a great distance, but the chief had apparently been just at my heels the entire time.
I had been faster than that behemoth, faster than Celestial Flame passing through a flammable vacuum.
That kind of power couldn’t come without repercussions, I told the mounting anticipation in my mind.
Doctor Olio had feared for the side-effects, he had been nothing if not tentatively afraid.

But I felt fine, I had succeeded, Dash hadn’t been responsible for my liberating of Zion from the savages, but it had allowed me to survive it. Without it I could’ve burnt to a crisp in the heat of my own happy massacre, leaving the chief to slowly die of his enormous injury, leaving Zion with an uncelebrated martyr.
I would leave it to fate, I decided, not putting myself out to look for anymore Dash, but accepting it as it came. Yes, that seemed fair. But the pulse at the back of my mind, like a foreign stowaway, scared me.

Now the real saviors of Zion were eroding away on Celestia’s Landing, while I pined for a new frightening drug. Ash and the small regiment of Zebra warriors had had a horde of savages barraging them last I had seen, they would need the medicine I had harvested from the ravaged medical wing of the dead Stable. Caliber was sent to that warzone too, along with every able-bodied Zebra willing to die for their home.

I hurriedly exited into the cold, winter night once again. I had been running for my own life before, now I was running for theirs. Pelting my way over the mountain stone I quickly found myself on soft, oddly comforting earth. Previously I had taken refuge in the sanctity of orderly, cold metal, but now the loose, ashy gray ground beneath me provided that same semblance of safety. The snow dusted landscape of our new Equestria was what I longed for, not the two technological prisons that I had been banished from and had purged of all life respectively.

I wound around the old pines bordering the escarpment and the valley it created. I didn’t bother to look for the mountain pass, as I was heading for the cathedral. Celestia’s Landing had been marked by my Pip-buck as the entrance into the hall of statues, the way to the church, rather than the monument itself.

My horn was aglow; I cut through the night like a bullet of gold, a particle of energy, as I sprinted over the black earth, beneath a black mountain. Moonlight lit up the clouds, distinguishing each from those around it, making their respective paths of self-destructive collision clear for all to see. Their darkness was mild, almost beautiful, compared to Mt. Zion, which stood as an imposing infinity, a statuesque void.
The monument still lit up the knife-like precipices around it, its beacon rising towards the point where cloud ended and an almost starry sky began. It was behind me now. My muscles ached from exertion, I couldn’t breathe, every intake reduced to a frail wheeze drawing fuel into my potentially pierced lung.

The marble doorway, I swung into it, bathing the archaic effigies and depictions of great historical celebrations or tragedies in arcane gold. Royal Unicorns, Militant Pegasus and Humble Earth ponies fell away into the darkness behind me. The lights had been switched off, reducing the hallway to the eternity of black that it had been when I had first traversed it.

I navigated by way of familiar statues, the crying mother first, feeble colt grasped desperately in her hooves, then the war torn stallion soldier, rearing up in glorious abandon. I felt the ground rise, sloping up on its way to the great church ahead. Light emanated from above, dim and flickering. It cast unsteady shadows onto the pillar-lined walls at my side, and invisible shadows into the darkness behind me.

Corpse fires beneath each stained glass window, embers licking up at them from blackened bodies. White, orange and purple on one side, dim but for the dancing glow of the cremations beneath them. Pink and Blue experience the same, yellow glowed by its own accord, though that hadn’t stopped a small stacking of the dead to have been set alight beneath it. At first I thought Celestia’s window had been similarly defaced as for a brief moment I had assumed that the dark, still figures beneath it were corpses destined to become kindling. I quickly realized that they were the injured; their visible stripes setting them apart from the charred figures engulfed in flame along each wall, whose own had been burnt away.

I hurried down the aisle; their moans were soft, reserved, and almost polite. The room smelled more like smoke than death, allowing me to forget the mass cremation at both my sides. Those bodies weren’t here for convenience… they had been dragged, a few at a time into the elevator, what looked like just over a dozen of them, because they weren’t simple corpses, they were fallen comrades.
I pulled my coat off from beneath my saddlebags, tossing it onto the throne at the end of the aisle.
Left in my brown vest, lined with scripture, over a white shirt, sleeves rolled up and collar limp, I levitated a potion over to the nearest Zebra. His injuries were general, no deep wounds but a plethora of severe cuts and bruises. My horn glowed, first due to illumination, then levitation, and finally restoration magic.

“L-leave me, let me die with honor.” He was worse off than I had first estimated, his words laced with blood. If he didn’t drink the potion then I could do nothing for his internal wounds. He would die.

“Drink the potion.” I ordered in a calm, controlled voice.

“I don’t need your pony corruption.” He glared at me through pained eyes. “Leave me to my wounds, unicorn. Your kind wouldn’t understand the claim I must adhere to.”

“Honor?” I raised an eyebrow, humoring him. “Is it really more honorable to lie here, wasting my time and giving up your own, even though drinking this potion will save your life?” I levitated it to his tight lips. “I’m not leaving until you drink this, and there are others who are likely to be critically injured, in more need than you are.” His external wounds and bruises had all disappeared; anypony looking at him would’ve assumed him as the picture of health.

“Go to them, I can already hear the ca-“ I shoved the bottle into his honorable mouth, forcing him to suckle at it like a baby would formula. His eyes glazed over as the inordinate pain wracking his insides soothed under the smooth flow of magical, invasive healing.

I waited until the bottle was half full, then pulled it from his muzzle and held it at my side. “Anypony… anybody in critical condition?” He nodded, gesturing to the base of the great window with a hoof. His alleviated state seemed to have silenced his protest, making him rethink how honorable his totally unnecessary death would be. “Alright, when you feel you’re strong enough please bring me your chief.”

He stood immediately, of course, pulling himself up with forced grace. “We are not tribals, we do not have a chief.” His eyes were thankful beyond the façade of cultural pride. “We are military, we are Zebra, and so we follow a Decurion.” Nodding dismissively I hurried over to the injured lying against the wall. There were more wounded soldiers than there were dead ones. Hopefully there were more healthy survivors than the latter or the former.

“What do you feel?” My horn glowed, patching over a bleeding gash in her neck, suppressing the tide of red warmth that persisted beneath the cheaply stitched, leather rag.

“L-leave me, let me die with honor.” I almost rolled my eyes, sliding her broken back leg into a medical brace. The even flow of bleeding had stemmed off after I had rubbed a salve of healing potion against it, if she didn’t have any internal injuries then I could move on. I could tell that she was feeling better.

“Still hear the ancestors calling you?” she shook her head and I smiled despite myself. The starry-eyed claim to honor had left her as quickly as it had left the buck; they were obviously not used to such capable medicine. “You don’t have any healers?” She shook her head again, this time inciting fear rather than amusement; hopefully my supplies could hold out. “Alright, your neck wound wasn’t too deep; you’ll be able to speak once the blood clears itself out.” I left her to recuperate her voice.

I hunched over the next mare, whose leg was felled halfway through. It looked like a tree-trunk on the brink of collapse, bone unbroken but exposed drastically, surrounded by only one hemisphere of flesh.
“Shepard?” she uttered, not protesting as I pressed my horn up against the wound as closely as I dared. Her willingness to remain crippled paled in comparison to her comrade’s willingness to die. “Savages?” This was the first and only zebra I had spoken to up on the monument earlier. Her blue-tinged rifle lay to the side, glowing as amethyst as her eyes. The short Mohawk on her head was tussled and stained.

I wrapped her leg in gauze then placed a medical brace over it to be safe. I wouldn’t be able to fully tend to many more cripples. “They’re all dead.”

“Impossible, that you survived… you lie.” Her words cut, even though I knew the undeniable truth behind my own. “If you truly had made it to the orchard, it would have been with an entire hive at your hooves.”

“No, I made it down undetected… well, unthreatened anyway. Then I vented gas throughout the entire Stable, ignited it with Celestial flame.” I explained quickly, trying to justify the time wasted staying here by magically repairing the minor cuts on her body.

“We’ve… never thought to try the gas.” They didn’t know Stables. I moved over to a buck nearby, though he wasn’t in as much trouble as I would’ve liked… That was an oddly cruel thought, I berated myself.

“I grew up in a Stable; I had the plan in mind before I even knew that it was possible. Though it’s unlikely any Stable would exist without an oxygen recycling system.” I called back to her, still curt by protocol.

“What about the mares?” She stood tentatively. “Reports by one of the only insurgents who ever survived told of entire planes of mares and bucks alike. No offense, but we were born to walk as ghosts, trained to act as shadows. I would think one of our own would have had more success than a pony ever could.”

“They must’ve seen her as one of their own.” Caliber! I callously jerked the last drops of healing potion down this reluctant buck’s throat and spun around. We were wrapped in a hug before I had even completed my turn. Her body was warm and strong. The Chief’s had been burning… seared and dominating, his strength had been a source for pain, opposite to the comfort that Caliber’s provided.
“Sounds like you’ve been through a lot.” She stroked my dusted mane, accustomed to my neediness.

“How did you get out?” The Zebra intruded, somehow still skeptical... No: cautious, she had to be sure that her home was safe. I couldn’t blame her for that, so I pulled away from my Caliber and obliged.

“I vented the gas from the lowest floor, then took the elevator all the way back up to the entrance.”

“The elevator has no power, it can only be reactivated from the Maintenance section.” She retorted. “We’ve accrued this knowledge over decades; over countless casualties… don’t insult them.”

“Cool it, Zalika.” Caliber put a name to the beautifully exotic face. “She wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Bookstack…” I realized. “I think I can explain: Just after I entered the elevator it was called to the Maintenance level, by Bookstack, the sentient buck you watched us talking to. The only buck who could’ve figured out that the gas in the air meant that it was well past time to evacuate.”

An almost apologetic look crossed her face. “That… is a possibility…” she speculated for a moment, eyes cast down to her fragile leg. “Then after you killed him, you rode the elevator to the exit, dropped the Celestial Flame down the shaft as it lowered, and ran, leaving the entire hive to burn?”

“Yes… except, I let the buck go.” I hadn’t known at the time that without him I wouldn’t have had such a smooth escape, perhaps no escape at all. Pssh, you can escape the surface of the sun with a healthy dose of Dash pumping through your system, the Dash-enthusiast part of my mind reminded me.

“Can’t say I would’ve done the same.” Caliber shrugged, her pity didn’t equate to mercy. I shifted over to yet another injured mare, ignoring her pleas for a glorious, futile death as I focused on Caliber and Zalika.

“Me neither.” The Zebra had watched our conversation from an undisclosed, covert viewpoint and still despised the sleazebag. “Shepard, I am truly sorry that I questioned you.” I could almost feel the grateful relief welling up inside of her; she now knew that her home was safe, that the corpses burning on either side of the room were truly martyrs of Zion’s liberation, not another failed attempt at it.

“I understand that you had to be sure.” I tied off a mare’s arm, stopping blood flow to her wounds. About half a dozen zebras left to go, and I still needed to speak to the Decurion. “Good work on the monument, how bad was the fight?” I hoped that there wasn’t another graveyard on the structure’s face.

“Fourteen casualties.” She sighed. “These are all the wounded that could be saved, they brought us down here to shelter us from the cold, and separate us from the gore above. Though the savage’s casualties total at above one hundred, quadrupled if you count those that you burnt in the Stable.”

“Only one survivor compared to our several dozen.” Caliber beamed, referring to Bookstack’s authorized escape. “Tribe’s still going strong; they’ll recover easily now that the savages are gone.”

“Not a tribe.” Came the powerful, heavily accented voice of a buck. “A squadron, a family, but not a tribe.” The voice was larger than the zebra it came from. The Decurion was solid, extensive muscles wound compact and tamed into a lithe body. He was only a head taller than me, with his sleek Mohawk constituting most of that superiority. He wore little, save for the battle-saddle holding a glowing red rifle, setting off his green eyes. I regretted not being able to see this wide range of enchantments in action.
“You’ve pulled some of my troops from the brink of death, Shepard.” he glanced at Zalika. “They may not be thankful, but I extend my own gratitude as substitute.”

Ignoring the obvious restrictions that came with showing respect to this buck I trotted over to my next patient. These injuries wouldn’t wait for curtsies and formal introductions. “I’ve been looking forward to a chance to heal somepony.” My horn glowed arcane as I ran it over this Zebra’s battered body, stab wounds too severe for my unassisted magic. I floated the penultimate healing potion to him.

“Drink it, soldier.” The Decurion cooed, seemingly amused at his people’s attitude towards my Equestrian medicine. “We’ll take this country’s generosity when it is given by a friend.”

“Is it true that you don’t have any doctors?” I asked as the potion tapered away into its rapidly healing subject. “No, wait sorry, let me ask that again in a minute. More importantly; where’s Ash?”

Caliber smiled, immediately comforting me. “I knew that girl was shy, but she’s taken it to a whole ‘nother level since you’ve been gone. She’s in the… Con-fessio-nal? I think that’s what she called it. Anyway.” The mercenary rubbed her chin. “She got stabbed through the vest so she had to redress herself.”

“Stabbed through the chest!?” I turned to her in urgency.

“Stabbed through the vest.” She giggled. “Nearly cut her bandages loose, but she has replacements.”
“Oh… that’s good.” Strange more like it, though nudity had never been a qualm for me. Who knew how long she had been encased in those bandages. I guess, after a time, anypony would feel exposed without them. “You look alright, at least.” I changed the subject.

“Better off than any Zebra who wasn’t on the brink of death, masochistic, glory-hounds won’t accept Stimpacks otherwise.” She nodded to an empty syringe on the floor, it looked like a means to deliver healing potion directly into a pony’s bloodstream. Using it would have let me save some of the life-giving substance by dosing out smaller, more controlled amounts. “For folks who insist that they aren’t a tribe…” Caliber rolled her rich brown eyes, and I smiled despite the abundance of stripes nearby.

The Decurion was muttering to Zalika, no doubt getting an account of what I had done in the Stable. I desperately wanted to ask him why the Zebra’s had developed this abhorring standpoint on medicine, but I continued work on the last few patients as Zalika rounded off her report. Two internal bleeders left, I extracted the last of the healing potion into the empty Stimpack and dosed it out equally to both of them. Closing off any more wounds with gauze, bandages and magic, I hurried over to my penultimate patient.

I levitated the last medical brace, to find two broken limbs before me.
The real problem was that they belonged to two different zebras, my last two patients.

“Without moving your legs, can you please make sure that they are beyond immediate repair?” I worded out the sentence carefully, rehearsed from Doctor Cross’ own curt bedside manner.

One of the zebras had to move his leg, obviously. He cried out in agony as bone ground against the brittle shards of its former fellow. However the other mare followed instructions, cautiously feeling out her limb and evaluated the damage.

“It is broken,” she admitted, as if it was her own fault. “Though I would rather not be subject to your unnatural reparations. Give him the glow.”

“Is that what you’re all so scared of? Unicorn magic?” I began to carefully strap the buck’s leg into the brace as I spoke. “How can something that we’re born with possibly be unnatural?”

“It is a gift undeserved by simple beings.” The brace tightened by my telekinetic hold. “Such as us.” She added, quickly amending her statement so as not to offend. “The same goes for your Pegasus and their wings, the earth is our plane, nature is our survival. Flight and magic are privileges that should be earned; they should be reserved for those who are worthy. We should have neither wing nor horn on our birth.”

“Testify,” Caliber smiled and waved a hoof in the air, mockingly playing along with the Zebra’s tirade.

“You earth ponies aren’t exempt.” She turned her head meekly. “You do not learn to commune with the earth, you do not develop your own proudly held fortitude… you inherit it.”

“So… what? Anybody who isn’t a zebra is doing something wrong just by being born?” Caliber picked up the discussion, allowing me to focus my energies on the writhing buck.

“Zebras who are unwilling to learn, to grow, are just as bad. And by extension Ponies who are open-minded, aware of their gifts, who work above and beyond them: those ponies are worthy of praise.” The mare was left alone, lying at our hooves as the buck limped away to check on his other, less engaged, comrades. The brace held well, but its limping departure signaled the end of my medical supplies.
“Who’s to say we aren’t like that?” Caliber retorted. The aggression that she had expressed towards DJ Pon3 at the MASEBS tower was slowly resurfacing, bubbling, to our races defense.

“You may be.” She admitted, surprising the fiery-eyed, fiery-maned mare, cooling her. “You may likely be, based on your willingness to help us. But while your kindnesses on the battlefield are appreciated by all of Zion, your kindnesses here are seen as alien insults, a cheap escape from the death and pain we have suffered in defense our home.” It was almost as if they felt indebted to the valley, and pained in return.

“Some of you would have died, most of you here in fact.” I pointed out, gesturing to the dozen Zebras now up on their hooves and healthy. “If you’d stuck by that belief.”

“It is better to be a martyr, than a coward.” She hissed. “I can only wish that my injuries were great enough to claim me as tribute. Unfortunately, my pain is all I can give. So please, leave me, my anguish is an unworthy offering compared to what those who fell have given. I must bear the brunt of it.”

Caliber crooked her head to the Decurion, prompting me to ignore my futile instincts to heal the mare. Despite the expended supplies, I could have at least dulled her pain magically. But it was more than obvious that that would be taking something away from her, no matter how ridiculous that seemed.
So I trotted away, bothered by an ingrained desire to complete the set, to have healed them all.

“No wonder these guys raised so much hell during the war.” Caliber said. “Imagine armies of stripy zealots, all eager to die for their country’s honor.” I giggled, to which she raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry,” I recovered. “Imagining ‘stripy zealots was’ funny for some reason.”

“That’s racist.” She smiled, indicating that even if it was, she wouldn’t care.

“I just pictured stripy troops coming out of stripy houses on stripy tanks, with stripy wives and stripy children waiting for them at home, taking care of the stripy dog.” I couldn’t help but to smile at the childish imagery that I was conjuring: little stick figures colored in crayon dancing across a page instead of the reality of hardened troops going off to war, leaving a genuinely concerned family behind, to pray and hope for their safe return. “Stripy.” I preferred my version.

“We’d actually be killed if you had said that any louder.” She laughed.

Proving her point, the Decurion turned away from Zalika to regard us. He wasn’t pounding my naively discriminating face into a bloody pulp, so he must not have heard any of my drivel.

“Sounds like it could only have been a pony that ensured Zion’s salvation.” He said grimly, seeming disappointed at the fact. “Maybe if we had realized that earlier, we could have had peace long ago.” Zalika placed a hoof on his shoulder, reflecting the familiarity that overlooked their military culture. “Still I am indebted to you, as even if we had known, it wouldn’t have been easy to find one such as yourself. One who was willing to help.” I gave him the respectful curtsy that I should’ve earlier.

“You’ve more than paid off that debt.” Caliber assured. “As much as I’d like to say that I’m a shinin’ pillar of selflessness, we specifically came here to get your contribution to our cause.”

“I have a feeling that if you’d simply stumbled upon our plight, with no motivations of your own, you would have done the same.” His green eyes met my gold. “Shepard.”
“So it’s not doctors your people dislike, its Equestrian medicine?” I asked, quickly changing the subject from my new mare-do-well persona and alias. I enjoyed the appreciation and renown, but the crackling corpses and leering survivors were making it hard to bask in glory, no matter how deserved it might be.

“Yes, we lost the knowledge to heal from natural reagents long ago; any other method is questionably dishonorable. What you garner in life should determine what you get in fair return, that is our doctrine. It was the system our ancestors lived by and has become even more important in these trying times, to abandon it would be heresy, to spurn it in clear conscience would be an insult to our fathers.”

“Speaking of, where did you come from?” Caliber asked bluntly, “You certainly don’t sound like the Equestrian zebras, how many generations have your kind been in Zion?”

“Since the war exactly.” he regarded us with a newfound respect. “You are interested in our history?”

We nodded, like two fillies preparing to hear a recount from their grandfather’s stretching, storied past. We settled down in front of him, he had asked because it was undoubtedly, like an elder’s tale, long and engaging. Zalika positioned herself beside the Decurion, keeping a guarded distance out of reverence for a superior officer. In a more casual setting, she would likely by nuzzled against him, as daughter or wife.

“First, I must admit that we were never taught to engage your kind as kin, never allowed to think of you as anything higher than enemy or annoyances. Sharing our technology, our history, with a pony would be equivalent to insulting a parent, or defaming our flag. This is what we are told by orders from an ancient time, in fact, the mission that brought our founders here was one of the furthest intention from peace.” He admitted, trusting our acceptance of his kind to keep us from fearing this truth. “It was an act of war that brought our ancestors to your Equestria, a heinous act of war. They were insurgents, operatives of stealth invasion; their assignment was to cross the heavily guarded border of your country.”

I felt a pang of sadness knowing that Fern had ultimately failed at her life’s ambition, but it was partially sated in knowing that the Zebras couldn’t have succeeded in theirs either, considering they had become entrenched in Zion for these last two-hundred years.

“They were carrying a weapon, a balefire bomb.” Caliber’s ears perked up. “Though it was never set off, we no longer posses it.” He looked at her as he said this, relaxing or disappointing her, I couldn’t tell which. “They travelled for months, skirting the entire eastern border, ignoring the temptation of simply traversing the lake and the Great Plain to head for Calvary. They wanted to spend as little time as possible in the pony’s land, by way of its weakest entry-point. So they came to the northern mountains, undoubtedly exhausted and detached from their home by an eternity of land and sea. They had nothing but their ancient orders to go by, their mission drove them over the legendary mountain of Zion. The one place your own military never anticipated, it was known as an impossibility to them, a way that could not be traversed by any but the eternal ursas and their mortal daughters.”

Ursas were bears, weren’t they?

“No physical border exists on the other side of the mountain; the rock itself was expected to serve as deterrent enough. But we persevered, the ghosts of the north, which is what we were to be known as. The name that our people would remember us by, for we knew that out mission was suicidal, all that mattered is that we died in the right place.” He chuckled, hiding dishonor. “We didn’t die, nor did we ever reach our destination; our last success was breaching the ‘impregnable’ womb of Equestria. So we hold onto that victory, we live off this land because it is no longer held by the enemy we sought to destroy. That enemy is dead, but we remember the extent of our success in fighting It.”

“Why didn’t you continue to your target?” I already knew the answer.

“Apocalypse,” Ash sat beside me as he spoke the word, silently and suddenly, a gesture of quiet respect to the Decurion and his people’s story. “The very day that the sky closed, we had already entered Zion.”

“Why did that stop you?” I nudged Ash softly in the pause, acknowledging her. Her bandages were fresh, pristinely wrapped around her mid-section, swirling out from beneath her black vest. My coat was still sitting in the throne behind us, I longed for its warmth, to share or, failing that, to use myself.

“We were on the monument. Celestia’s Landing, otherwise known as the window on the world. That name, while arrogant, is admittedly apt. We watched as your sky city fell, and then we watched the clouds sweep over the land. Finally we saw your capital’s shield break, effectively watching as your Princesses died, and our mission became obsolete.” He sighed. “We thought that we had won, even as we watched your own missiles tear over the horizon, bearing down on our home… we thought that we had won.”

“So you waited,” I guessed. “Just like the Stable you bunkered down against the fallout and waited for your people to begin their occupation of the country.”

“Bunkered down?” He clearly didn’t like the term. “No, we waited on the monument. The ash and radiation tore across the land before us; we saw it reach every visible echelon until finally it subsided. But Zion, Zion was barely touched, so we descended into the valley, and there we stayed. Even after we realized that there was nothing left, that we had lost a home. We made a new one. We have been here, surviving, as long as any of your Stables. Without the sheets of steel or the cleansing magic of their talismans they are nothing, we have proved our worth time and time again, simply by surviving. This is why we refute your Equestrian, Stable, medicine.” He explained, aggression seeping into his voice at the Stable’s mention. “We did not bunker down, we are warriors, not fortunate cowards.”

“I am from a Stable, sir.” I announced with something near pride; adhering to what few shreds of down-home patriotism I had left.

“Who do you think is better suited for survival, you or your friends?” He retorted, thankfully with a pleasantly amused tone. “Can you even start a campfire?”

“No, but I just used my experience as a fortunate coward,” I replicated his derogatory term. “To start the fire that killed over three hundred of your valley’s savages.” I pointed out. “Anypony, from any Stable, would have been more capable at solving your problem than you have been for these last two hundred years.” Don’t say that! They kicked you out, remember? Screw them! ...Right?

He laughed, thank the Goddesses, he laughed! “I will give credit where credit is due, Shepard.” Caliber shot me a proud look, Ash a nervously relieved one. “Though you must see that you are extraordinary. The Stable’s may instill a heightened sense of right and wrong, but when the victim of this indoctrination is not strong or lucky enough when their shelter is taken from them, they are likely to die on the soonest exposure to the cold truth of the real world.”

“Well, I can say with certainty that Grace survived on strength.” Caliber threw in with proud zeal, as if presenting a daughter’s accomplishments. “I’d like to take credit for keeping her alive when she first got out, but from what I’ve seen, she can handle herself finer than a lot of experienced wastelanders.”
If she couldn’t take credit, then Charon could. I would’ve been captured by raiders within the first hour of my wasteland experience were it not for him. I was the lucky kind of Stable-Dweller, even now, without Caliber I would likely starve to death or get trapped in some shallow hole.

The Decurion saw the ashamed look in my eyes. “Take no offense in my words, whether by luck or strength - perhaps both - you have allowed for the liberation of Zion. All of you. I only meant to distinguish my people from those we have come to know as Stable-born.” He explained. “To us the connotations of that term are based on the violent, overgrown children that have plagued us. Maybe now our perception can change to see more than cowards within those underground vaults.”

“You must hate the Enclave.” Ash offered, trying to get us back onto level ground. Something about this Zebra’s pride and adherence to his people’s strict beliefs made us all feel uneasy, as if he would set upon us in a patriotic rage at any moment. He didn’t seem very violent, despite the rifle, just passionate.

“Hate? No.” he shook his head. “They are nothing to us, like all cowards and traitors. They aren’t worth the emotion, they aren’t worth anything.” Zalika nodded, her mouth shut tight as if bound by firm order. “The Savages were a threat, an enemy; they had some semblance of drive, of significance. The Pegasus are lower than that, they are insignificant despite the roof they hold over us, despite their technology and pride. True embodiments of all the qualities we refute, in fact, they serve as a good example of what an absolute abandon of honor looks like. They’re useful for that, at least.”

“Know anything about the Steel Rangers?” I asked, fearing a similar response.

He shook his head. “I know of the role their order played in the war. I’ve been trained to fight them through ancient techniques and warnings from our ancestors, but I expect they’ve changed along with their country. They held the border once, so I know them as the most feared infantry unit in the Equestrian army. But I have no idea what could motivate them now that their military is dead.”

That sounded…good? They sounded capable, at least, though that also meant we had all the more reason to be cautious in approaching them.

“But considering the power they held, I can only assume the worst. Power corrupts.” He added decisively. “Although, knowing what you intend to do, I agree that it still may be worth seeking their aid.”

“Sounds like you’ll keep your promise.” Caliber, our acting liaison, affirmed. They must have come to some agreement conditioned on my success in the Stable.

“Yes, we have no reason to spurn you.” Wonderful, somehow I had made progress in this vague quest. “We’ll send a messenger south, a courier, to confer with Damascus.”

“You know Damascus?” I interjected. It would’ve been presumptuous to assume that he had had some association with them because of the zebra in the orbs, but I did. I didn’t feel like much of a racist, but it seemed like I was turning out to be one. Oh well.

“My people did, too long ago for me to trust him myself.” He nodded, eyes shut. “I would not trust anyone who has suffered for that long, though I can put aside my qualms and compromise in my debt to you.”

The Zebras milled around the elevator, crippled mare suspended in a makeshift stretcher. They weren’t leaving yet, but were making it very obvious that they wanted to. We weren’t going to be a part of any celebrations they had planned; I could feel the animosity that had grown over the centuries of combat between our two countries. We wouldn’t be welcome in their home, nor were they comfortable in our church. “I hope one day it’ll take less than obligation for our peoples to be allies.” I said, hoping to leave on a high note in this inconsistently pleasant conversation.

“There’s too much between us.” He rejected, having admitted and accepted this fact long ago. “We’ll never forget what we’ve done to each other, not while we both inhabit the evidence.” Nodding to Zalika he stepped away, rejoining his troops at the base of the elevator, ferrying them on their way to burn the corpses that covered the monument above. “But Zion is grateful.” He bade, stepping into the crammed elevator, which somehow compacted away in reverence to give him an aura of clear space.

“You two related?” Caliber asked Zalika, again drawing from a familiarity that I hadn’t yet developed.

“I’m his daughter.” I would’ve guessed wife, the buck hadn’t looked old enough to have had children. “Hopefully, now that the savages are gone, that’ll matter more than being his first class legionnaire.”

“Why did your people hold onto that military culture at all?” Ash asked. “Why didn’t it fall away in the time between your arrival here and the savage’s release?”

“We had little knowledge of alchemy, of history or our roots. We were the generation of war, young soldiers who knew their country as a participant in global conflict, to be defended, not appreciated. The Military was our heritage, weapons and enchantments became our alchemy and our orders became our history.” The glowing rifle was strapped to her side once again, pulsing an amethyst aura. “In those fifty years we bore the brunt of the apocalypse’s fallout, and rank was the best way to preserve control.”

Fern’s ranks had fallen apart during that hellish time; she had been stranded in her old outpost desperately calling for her troops, to no avail. She had been ghoulified by the radiation, turned feral by the isolation and killed by our intrusion. She had been freed by our influence, doomed by Caliber and buried by Ash who had both been prompted on by me, but I didn’t regret it.

“You don’t know anything about the buffalo, do you?” Caliber pressed, already setting a course for the next faction we sought to rally. I could only imagine how chaotically things would be going without her.

“All I can tell you is that they’ve never come to Zion.” She shrugged, her comrades disappearing fractionally by elevator trips. “Not a single one, despite their migrant nature.”

“My congregation encountered the buffalo on occasion.” Ash reassured. “Just South-East of here, in the heart of the Great Plains. I couldn’t tell you where exactly, except that they’re well beyond the lakes.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, never recognizing any of the places that were referred to.

“It means you all have a long, dangerous journey ahead of you.” Zalika bode. “Skirting the Northern Plain to Calvary’s is almost as perilous as traversing the city’s own sprawl… and less predictable.”

“It’s said that New Calvary is huge.” Caliber explained, reacting to my puzzled look. “It includes every township and suburbia that has sprouted out of it, so it technically stretches for miles around what you’d think of as the actual city. Almost fills the entire southern Plain, apparently” Calvary was marked on my Pip-buck as a distant, singular point, not giving any indication towards the expansive developments that really constituted it. “When we finally head to it we’ll be passing factories and townships mostly, shanty towns, then afterwards we’d need to cut through the suburban areas to get to the city.”

“I’ve hear the caravans take the underground, from a Starline station, I think.” Ash added. “And by take I’m sure they mean to walk along it. Slaver trains are the only ones that actually run anymore.” The Station popped up, right on the edges of the Southern Plain, Far East of Calvary’s marker. “Though, this is all under the assumption that we succeed with the Buffalos, and by succeed I mean…”

“Don’t die.” Caliber concluded. “There’s no point planning under the assumption that we do.” She thought for a moment. “Except for Ash.”

“You two don’t believe in the after?” Caliber and I shook our heads, her fervently against my more guarded response to Zalika’s question. “All the more reason for you to take these.”

She pulled a rack of salves from her tight satchel. Their colors burned with the same stellar distinction as her gun, some with a similar amethyst hue. Gold, white and blue. She slid the golden vial into my saddlebags, followed by a rolled up piece of parchment.

“Gold for you, blue for her,” she nodded to Caliber. “White for her.” She slid the sparkling white salve into Ash’s own satchel. “The recipe on the parchment is for the gold salves, they can be made with reagents not localized in Zion. The others, unfortunately, cannot. So conserve them.”

“What determines who uses which?” Caliber pried, jiggling the amethyst vial into her saddlebag.

“Amethyst is concussive, a rifle enchantment like my own.” She nodded to her battle-saddle. “White is an electrical effect, best used with a scatter shot weapon, like your shotgun.” Ash almost smiled at the gift. “Gold is explosive on standard weaponry but, more interestingly, very effective on energy weapons.”
She hadn’t seen the tri-beam laser rifle, as it waited along with my coat on the throne, but chose well.

“What do you mean effective?” I asked. The Zebra was grinning, making it clear how much she enjoyed seeing others bolstered by her people’s hard-earned magic. The runes spinning in a tight circle around her rifle reinforced the feeling of power these salves had.

“It’ll be more fun if you figure that out for yourself.”

** ** **

Wolves, that’s what these were.
Run of the mill, natural, Equestrian wolves.
No radioactive growths, no flaying skin or revealed muscle and bone, nothing to distinguish them from their ancestors. As if the war, the death and destruction that had consumed everything else, had spared them to live on as they always had.

Hunters of the night, driven by a pack mentality and inherent instinct.
All that had changed, was the desperation they now lived by, the hunger that pushed them to reckless abandon. Their family could be spared, but anything else that drew breath, that pumped warm blood within itself, blood to be unleashed in spurting torrents by a tear at the jugular, was food.
Right now, that was us.

Ash, seeing no logic in electrocuting the already frail creatures, hailed simple buckshot at the pouncing beasts. Caliber, seeing the opportunity provided when they had run at us, compacted as a tight unit, had sent a concussive shot hurtling into their path. The dark blue runes danced on her rifle, now inactive at her side, too dangerous to fire at such close proximity. The corona of force, born from her first shot at the charging canines, had knocked their first line into disarray and unconsciousness, but now the second charge was upon us, nipping at our sides and lunging at our throats.

She tackled them as they dove through the air, knife clenched tight in her teeth, only the salivated hilt left unstained by blood. She used her strength to overpower them, forcing them down and cutting their throats. Ash, almost dancing with the wolves, fired her own weapon with reserved caution as she gracefully spun under and around the streaks of black and white fur.

What was I doing? Well, in the church I had neglected to reattach my gear over my father’s coat, so it had remained packed beneath it for the extent of our journey through Eastern Zion. So my saddlebags, containing my pistols and the salves, were difficult to open and my rifle was still caught in its holster, unable to maneuver the correct way due to the heavy coat’s obstruction.

So I was dancing with myself really, the Wolves kind enough to focus on the source of the stabbings and buckshot rather than the mare caught up in her own outfit. My awkward flailing, magic fruitlessly tugging at my Tri-beam laser rifle, hadn’t yet stricken fear into their primal hearts.

Finally, I changed strategy. Opting to take the coat off first, instead of continuing this pointless war with it, a peaceful resolution. I threw the brown article to the ground and then, finally able to access my saddle bags, I pulled the golden vial out, bathing it in my similarly colored magic.
For lack of a better, gentler application, I smashed the small glass container against my new laser rifle, unleashing the shimmering alchemy upon it. It seeped into the dark weapon, its light spreading within it only to extrude as ancient runes to adorn the gun along its barrel. They burned with unjustified intensity in angular shapes, lines and sharp cuts dissimilar to the Zebras’ generally smooth, sloping cutie-marks.
Tri-beam bristled with newfound energy, begging for me to pull the trigger.

I slid into S.A.T.S, using the technology of fortunate cowards to gain an advantage.
A pang of guilt shot through me as I stared at the immobile of wolves and mares, suspended in the air of a frozen eternity. Only four enemies left, nopony was in real danger, my friends too strong or fast to be pinned or even severely hurt by the starving, weakened animals. Caliber had killed, or knocked out, three already, Ash two, It wouldn’t hurt to tough this one out.

I slipped out of S.A.T.S, and the world immediately clicked back into action unleashing the stalled force behind every dive, lunge, pounce or twirl. The dance went on.

I steadied tri-beam in my telekinetic hold, still blissfully exempt from the wolves’ assault.
One triplicate of crimson energy, laced with hues of gold, burnt a gaping hole through the mid-section of a wolf, the wound cauterized immediately, but the corpse stayed whole. My next shot went wide, at least, a third of it did. Two of the beams struck Ash’s wolf, stalling it for long just long enough to leave it vulnerable to a barrage of buckshot. Only a pair left.

Caliber tackled one, dragging it down out of its leaping arch and onto the solid earth. She would finish it.
The last dove at me, finally acting in recognition to our battle. The beams hit it dead on, three to the chest, sending wrinkles of pain pulsing across its face. The wolf seemed to stay suspended, the fall that would conclude its failed pounce slowing to a gentle crawl towards the earth.
Its body began to dematerialize, burning in a shining energy rather than dissolving under a wave of it. Feathers of gold drifted off of the corpse as it slowly eroded into a simplistic auricle frame of its former self. It appeared as a brilliant silhouette, growing gradually smaller as the elegant flecks of energized flesh and fur flew away from it to dissolve away into the air. It was as if the wolf had exploded into nothing but pure energy, at a miniscule fraction of the appropriate speed. The feathers tapered off into the air around it, leaving a void of early morning darkness where the beautiful, fatal display had taken place.
The corpse simply didn’t exist for long enough to reach the ground.

MY E.F.S revealed that one of the other ‘corpses’ Caliber had made with her energized shot of concussion lived on in its hostility. I spared another triplicate into its slowly heaving body, ensuring that it would never wake to avenge its pack. The corpse lit up in another golden glow then flaked into the winter wind, leaving only a small trail of sparkling embers in its wake. Not as magnificent a death as the former, but the dancing feathers of light against the night still made for an impressive show.

“So it makes regular weapons explosive, and energy weapons… prettier?” Caliber speculated, sliding her knife back into its holster. “Maybe you made the wrong choice as to which gun to use it on.”

“Says the mare who couldn’t fire her gun for fear of knocking us all unconscious.” I pointed out.

“We probably should have asked for instructions on how to deactivate them.” Ash blended much more successfully into the night compared to the almost neon armaments strapped to Caliber and I. Foreign runes spun around the black rifles, putting on a veritable light show for anypony watching us through the darkness. Thankfully mine were more discreet, especially compared to the arcane light now emanating from my horn, which was already making us the least stealthy things in all of Zion. “Now you’ll probably be better off using them up as quickly as possible. Zalika had to recharge several times during the battle against the savages, so it shouldn’t take long.”

“Doesn’t sound like you care for them, Ash.” I said, leading again on our walk east, sending blinking light through the stripped black pines rising around us all the while.

“We were doing fine without them and, apart from yours; they seem more hindering than helpful.” What she was really saying was that mine was effectively pointless and that Caliber’s had been nothing but a crutch, forcing her to use her knife to avoid any friendly fire.

“I think we got ripped off.” Caliber grumbled. “Roped in by that ‘ancient alchemy of our ancestors’ spiel.”

“I doubt the Zebras would go to that much trouble to trick us.” Ash countered softly. Her voice was light as she refuted Caliber’s irrational suspicion of a deep conspiracy. “You’re not saying that they’ve been using that fantastical story to draw travelers in, to get them to fight the savages in exchange for these over-hyped, underperforming enchantments.”

“Yeeeaah.” Caliber rubbed her chin in feigned realization. “Those conniving con-mares probably made up the whole thing, why, I don’t think they were even Zebras at all!”

“Oooh, it must have been the changelings.” Ash giggled.

“Or Discord!” I threw in, having read about the storybook villain in… well a storybook.

“Probably both!” she announced. “Girls, we’ve just been had by Equestria’s two greatest enemies!”

“I would have thought that the Zebras were Equestria’s greatest enemies.” They did kill pretty much everypony, after all. That’s got to get them a higher place in the rankings than making it rain chocolate.

“Exactly.” Caliber tapped her nose. “The circle is complete.”

“This is starting to make so little sense that it makes sense.” Ash whispered to me, with genuine concern.

“Alright, rein it in Caliber; you’re shifting our very foundations of reality.” I ordered, smiling. “Let’s not make things any more complicated than they already are.”

“We’ll see… Just remember: if the changelings do double cross us, there are only two options you can take when dealing with your own clone…” I hoped to Celestia this whole thing was a charade. As much as we were enjoying it now, I certainly didn’t need a crazy conspiracy-mare attacking anything that she suspected of being a covert changeling. “You can kill it or have sex with it.” Or worse, humping anything that looked remotely like her.

“Kill.” Ash blurted out, wanting to quickly make sure that everypony knew where she stood on the issue. “Kill, kill, kill!”

Caliber smiled at the young mare’s desperate assurances. “What would you do Grace?”

“What am I wearing?”

“Hah! That’s the spirit!” It was incredibly obvious what Caliber would do if given the opportunity. “We’ll give those changelings something to remember us by!” we hoof-bumped, awkwardly, as we walked.

“Goddesses, I would be surprised to hear that you haven’t broken any mirrors by charging into them for some inter-Caliber fornication.” Ash remarked, making us all giggle as school-fillies would when sharing a joke that they didn’t fully understand.

We needed to laugh, the looming pines rose around us like charred bones jutting from the shadowed earth. My light was both a comfort and a burden, always threatening to call the beasts from beyond the extent of our vision to come charging down upon us. The clouds tore with their usual ferocity, subtle cracks revealing pale moonlight as it barely seeped through the ever-changing gaps. Despite the silence, the smallness created by the limited aura of visible world, everything felt alive. Electricity raced through the air and through our blood by way of tense fear and guarded anticipation.

“We should set up camp.” Caliber interrupted the whispering silence; her words cutting through the atmosphere like… a missile? A freaking missile!
Why was that image in my head? I could come up with a better analogy than that, surely.
Cut through the atmosphere like a… mother would her child.
That doesn’t even make any sense.
And I’ve used it before, what the hell?
Like school fillies would when sharing a j-
Dammit! Get it together mare!

“Grace?” Her word cut through the atmosphere. “We should make camp, agreed?” she tried again.

“Yeah, definitely. Let’s do it!” I responded with half-hearted enthusiasm. “Good plan, Cal.”

“When’s the last time you got any sleep?” Ash asked meekly, picking up on my internal distress.

“I’m fine, heck I’m excited!” I was still berating myself for failing to come up with a suitable metaphor. “Can’t wait to camp! Let’s just pick up the pace then, huh? Go faster… gogogo!”

“Let me call first watch now.” Caliber said as she looked at me with both concern for me and for herself. “So you can sleep through whatever this is as soon as possible.”

It’s just one miss, you can’t win them all, I told myself. “Yeah, okay.” But why was it so difficult, why was that missile analogy dominating all the others? “Let’s get to a… hill, where we can see our surroundings well enough to get fair warning.”

“Good thinking.” Ash chimed in, whether her praise was genuine or not remained undisclosed. “How about me and Caliber split up, look around some, while you stay here as a beacon to regroup at.”

Caliber nodded in agreement, bounding into the darkness before I could protest.
“What’s the matter?” Ash kept her distance as she tried to break my concentration.

“Nothing, I’m fine.” Cut through the atmosphere like a ship’s searchlights as it approached the rocky shore. Was that true? Did ships have that?
Like a lighthouse. Okay, yeah, I knew what lighthouses were for. A lighthouse on a cloudy day.
Clouds had nothing to do with lighthouses.
Were there lighthouses for airships?
Good question, why don’t you ask if there are rocks in the sky too?
This was a disaster.
I looked at Ash in desperation, her puzzled expression giving me no inspiration.
Her cutie-mark…
Cut through the atmosphere like the flickering light of a dying star.
Was that good? And why did I care? Were falling stars dying?
No, they weren’t technically stars at all. But Ash’s Cutie-mark? Her cutie-mark is wrong!
Like a meteorite burning through the atmosphere.
Cut through the atmosphere like a meteorite burning through the atmosphere?
You’re a freaking genius.

“Grace… your eyes.” Ash stepped closer, which I really didn’t have time for right now.
In fact I needed all my focus for this Goddess damned analogy, so lights off everypony.
My magic cut out, breaking the restraint I had held against the pressing void that sought to consume us. As the arcane gold dissipated, the night set upon us, drowning us in its cold loneliness. The surrounding darkness unleashed like a cascade of icy water, drenching us in its own endless sorrow.
Boom! Poetry!
Who cares about the atmosphere and what cuts through it?!
When you’ve got quality junior-high-school creative writing like that for yo’ ass!

“Caliber!” her voice still sounded gentle and soft as she rose it to a desperate cry.
“Something’s wrong with her!”

Maybe that savage could have fucked some inspiration into you.
You know he never would have caught us if we’d been ourselves, and not trapped, restrained by that pathetic lump of a body. Stable made us soft, kept us weak, but now you know how to be better.
How to be fast.

Get off the floor, I screamed at myself.
Get on your hooves and start running, because there’s absolutely no reason why you shouldn’t.
There’s nothing stopping you from running all the way around the world, until you end up right back here. Just put the mission on hold, get your adrenaline pumping.
Like it was when we were free. You can do it without Dash; you did it when that buck was on top of you.
You were fast, he was going to rape you, but despite his strength you beat him.
Because you were faster, that was enough to make you better.
Be that mare again, because she was cool! She was awesome! She was radical!

They’re holding you down?

“Grace, what the fuck!? What are you doing?” Caliber is stronger than you; show her that speed is the only thing that matters.

“Goddesses, look at her eyes Cal!” This egghead? This egghead is holding you down?
Break her, break her sad little neck. It’s the fastest way to kill somepony, if only you weren’t so pathetic.

I’m not going to break her neck, I yelled, disgusted at what this new part of me was demanding.
Don’t you want to win?
I did want to win.
Then get some Dash, or break her neck.
Those are the only ways you can make up for your weakness.
I don’t have any Dash…
THEN BREAK HER NECK!

“Get an orb!” The strong one is saying.
They’re holding my arms down, I can’t break her neck.
Liar! You couldn’t even do it if she was the one being held down! Even if you had complete control you’d still be weak. You can’t even think of a better analogy than the one Dash gave you!

“Okay, here.” The small one is saying. The weak one. She’s got a white orb.
That’s you. You are the weak one.
One is weak, the other is weaker, but you are weakest.

“No, it has to be the gold one!”
You’re being held down by one mare! One mare! While the other roots through your belongings!

“What does it matter!?” She asked, singing through her unbroken neck.

“It matters!” The mare who is better than me said. The mare who knows more, the mare who is really in charge. Who led you to the zebras? Who led you to MASEBS? You are a follower.
Every mare is better than you, every buck, and every foal, and everything…
I’m a good pony. I’m doing a good thing. It doesn’t matter whether I’m really in charge or not.
You don’t even know what Damascus is planning, you just blindly follow his orders, follow his mercenary.
You can’t follow me into the orb.
No. I’m the best part of you.
You can’t hurt my friends while I’m gone.
No. They aren’t your friends.
You’ll be waiting for me.
Yes. Coward.
<-=======ooO Ooo=======->

“Aisha.” I whispered, embracing the cold sting of the wind and the hot sear it induced across my body.

“Yes?” She was so beautiful. Every zebra was beautiful, as every pony could be if we respected our bodies as they did. What distinguished her was the way she had aged; her youth seemingly eternal in her eyes and even on her face. It had persisted, unchanging despite the passing of years, of decades.

“What did you change?” The recollector sat omnipresent on my head, as it always did.
It was a part of my body, a part of me.

“It is no longer extracting,” she explained, her accent recognizable now, if lighter than that of the Zionists’. “This memory is being recorded; it will exist both in the orb that is produced, as well as in your mind.”

“What is the point of this?” This wasn’t why I was here; extraction was all that mattered, all that was worth my time. I wasn’t here to replicate memories. I was here to forget.

“I’m worried.” Aisha admitted, her galactic eyes dampening to unnecessary emotion. “During our talks, when we were checking that we had left no traces behind… you’re changing Damascus.”

“That is the point.” I stated calmly. “I have nothing that I’m not willing to lose.”

“Your Faith?” My ears perked up, my eyes, blue as the altitude… no, the atmosphere. Cut through the…
I am Damascus, I am Damascus, I am Damascus, I am Damascus, I am Damascus, I am Damascus.

“You’ve already lost pieces of your history with it, fragments of speeches and fractional moments that you used your Faith to live by. We need to take precautions, to make sure that if you lose too much of it, we have a back-up that we can use without having to restore all your memories in the process.”

I nodded. “You know exactly how to sell me on an idea.” I smiled, feeling wasteful warmth towards Aisha. “If anything needs to stay intact, it’s this. Just tell me what I need to do.” Damasc-

Just tell me what I need to do. And I’ll do it…
What can I do? Just point me in the right direction.
I want to get to work.
Make the wasteland a safer place…

I said.

“The process is identical to that of extraction.” Aisha explained, once again tinkering with a smoky brew. “Just remember the appropriate memory, never let your focus falter, and it will be recorded over the layered planes of consciousness.”
“Watching it will restore all my memories of the Faith?” I asked, arching a seared brow. This body…

“Choose the right memory.” She pushed the bottle towards my flayed hooves. “One that represents a perfect moment in time, one that you could never conceive forgetting, that bears the weight of all you believe. The orb will forever preserve that revelation, to be vividly relieved if you do lose your way.”

“The Goddesses’ Call.” I whispered, my stare emptied as I looked at the Zebra, as if my focus had shifted into my own mind, odd. “It set me on the journey that defined, that justified, my existence. The path that self-replicated into an infinity, along the never ending approach to the ascension that I have been denied.”

Aisha nodded at my visible appreciation for the memory, a shard of my life that I couldn’t yet access.
But before I could delve into the mystery of the detachment that barred me from my own mind, the bottle was being drained into my mouth. The fluid crawled its way down my throat with an unsettling uncertainty, as if the entirety of my system had become numb to its influence.
The discrepancy soon melded into the numbness that submerged my other active senses, calling the dark void of unconsciousness to occlude my perception and drag me down into its bleak emptiness.

---------------------------------------------

My life rolled away before me, memories pulled themselves away, almost automatically, as they sought to reveal their pivotal sister. I was remembering things with impossible clarity, fragments that I couldn’t recall by natural thought raced by, drawing us ever nearer to the Goddesses’ Call.
Which was, in itself, an unknown to me.

The reel slowed, flickering away from the familiarity of the gray, cold tones of the Stable and dancing over the diverse, decrepit pale of the Wasteland. Night and Day blended together in a pulsing strobe of black and white, simplified to shades of gray as the seemingly infinite cloud cover shielded the world from the rays of sunlight both direct and moonstruck.

The ground was dusty, earthier than the North, a palette of faded browns and sporadic soils, the blanket of powder snow completely absent, if ever present at all. I walked in a healthy body, a body that bore scars from battles that cut deep and rich, but still blemished against the purity of an otherwise intact light tan coat. Most notable, was the fact that it didn’t burn in the sharp pain of unfaltering searing that I had somehow grown accustomed to. My hair was red, crimson and copper laced by the monochrome tinges of ageing that shot through my tell-tale tail. Celestia Rising, calling the sun to join her over Equestria, simplified into the golden cross that adorned my newly toned flank.

My companions were at my sides, though I had no E.F.S to truly discern their hostility.
A Steel Ranger? No, he couldn’t be, I hadn’t know anything about Steel Rangers when talking to the girl.
The armor’s emblem had been scraped away, the metal left bare save for the scars of its individuality. This buck was too aggressive, too unpredictable to belong to any order.
His steps were heavy, as if he was attacking the very earth that he traversed in a persistent rage.
His breaths were akin to grunts and snorts, like a bull rearing against the restraints that bound it.
We were not friends, not familiar. He flanked me as a guard, in obligatory proximity, adhering to orders.

The other was a mare, pale green, sharp locks of overloaded black, beautiful in the most unpleasant way.
Attractive, a more accurate word, a lack of innocence and the naturally rich face of a working night-mare.
No make-up, except for the dirt and blood she had picked up on our hard road, and yet her features were still defined, pronounced beyond the semblance of virgin beauty.
Even looking at her sent ebbing shivers through my body, stemming from the draw of forbidden appeal.
We were more familiar, though not in the way that my more primal urges would have us.
Her eyes were startlingly green, electric and alert, indicating complexity behind the sensual overcharge.

They were well armed, the brute with weapons as heavy and powerful as his gait, the concubine with saddled knives and a holstered pistol. I had a rifle, aged and adorned with scratched wood, loaded with 12.7 mm rounds, an excess of which wrapped over my chest in a belt.

The land was barren, stricken of all life and distinction save for rising ruins of concrete and metal tapering off into the distance. Clouds, light in tone but dense in presence, stretched towards every corner of the sky. It wasn’t cold, I wore nothing but a battle-saddle yet couldn’t muster a reflexive shiver.
We were not in the North. We were persisting in the scarred landscape of Equestria, to be sure, in another of its many dirty echelons. This memory existed far away, and long ago.

The ground seemed to shake, suddenly but with a consistent intensity.
Was the coming attack the reason this moment had been pertinent? Were the tremors my revelation?
Eroded rock and collections of dust skittered and bounced in these brief moments of foreshadowing.
Our party froze, adhering to the calling instinct for a brace against the unstable earth.
Safeties clicked off, grenades slid into the chambers of the machinated suit of armor while the light-hoofed mare, blind to the hostile approach but wary all the same, spurred in a desperate scan of the area.
The buck was ready for the bars he saw ahead, their physical actualities invisible because of the packed earth that they burrowed through. My stance indicated readiness, and though my body was brave, my panicked mind still spun in confusion and terror at the tunneling unknown.

The tremors slipped away, disappearing deeper into the earth, as the creatures arrived directly below us.

“Clear the breach!” I shouted, prompting the sultry mare to dive away on my own evasive course. The Steel Pony only took a few steps back, unable to move as freely as we could. However he wasn’t running, neither were we, our haste was motivated by our knowledge of what the buck’s guns were capable of, and our inherent desire to avoid the same fate that our attackers had awaiting them.

As the first emerged from the ground, driving out of the earth like a drill of fur and leather wildly clawing at the open air, the Steel Pony pelted out an overpowering barrage of small, but incredibly reactive, apple grenades. Each hit with its own burst of heat, light and compact shrapnel. The rhythmic explosions manufacturing silence in every other aspect of the world, drowning out the canine’s uncountable suffering.

More were bursting forth, three kinsman to the first, immediately shielding themselves against the heated fury of heavy weaponry. The mare and I unleashed our own onslaught, the millimeter-measured bullets pathetic in comparison to the repeated detonations that they flew wildly into.
She fired the pistol, her lips wrapped around its hilt as her tongue pulled repeatedly at the trigger, bright eyes squinting with every drowned report. I bit my own bit, and though the noise and impact of my rifle was easily overlooked in the hail of grenades, I could feel the gun’s power as it pulled against my side.

They are dogs - Was my first assumption - colossal, mutated dogs.
Their snouts short but vicious, indicated by rows of gnarled teeth, revealed as the creatures snarled.
Their bodies were long and powerful, lean and sinewy like an unnaturally bipedal wolf.
Diamond Dogs, my mind offered, the territorial residents of Splendid Valley.
That memory had been clear, Stable knowledge accrued over years of secluded reading… alone.
The Damascus façade was beginning to fade. I never had a Rose, never a Marie… just Grace alone.

Two of the creatures had fallen under our fire, but the seemingly infinite supply of grenades, the well of explosive distraction and destruction, had run dry. Two left, visible through the settling dust and smoke as towering visages of canine superiority, claws long and sharp, and eyes furiously hungry.

The mare leapt towards them, putting herself ahead of the Steel Pony who clumsily attempted to gain control of his alternate armaments. The suit was not his own, he had learned to use it through trial and error, rarely having to resort to anything more than the veritable carpet bombing he had just unleashed. Now the agile mare was all that kept the hellish beasts from taking advantage of his ignorance.
She danced and dove, evading fell swipes of claw and red bursts of energy.
One of the dogs held a comically small laser pistol in his monstrous grip; he fired it desperately at the pale green flurry that accosted his partner. I felt myself aiming…

Child…

The voice exploded into Damascus’ mind, simultaneously crooning and screaming as it injected into his consciousness, freezing him in place.
This was not my body, this was not my mind, and this was not the voice in my head.
The ramblings of a Dash-addled, drug deprived echo were nothing compared to this invader, this terrifying insurgent into our shared experience. This was another being, not a hallucination, but a third.

I can feel you…
Through earth and steel… conviction…

Whatever Damascus was thinking was inciting the same reaction that I was paralyzed by and, despite my detachment to his body, I felt just as immobilized as he was.
The compact battle before us no longer mattered, the battered mare, the charging buck, we no longer cared for them. As all that was, all that could ever be, had wrapped itself around his mind.

You know who I am…

Though I occupied them; I could not see what was happening in Damascus’ thoughts. I didn’t know whether or not he could communicate with this saccharine, horrible voice. Whether it had engaged him, as my own Cravings for Dash had seemingly conversed with me outside of this sanctimonious orb.

I am the Goddess…
The light of the world…I am everything that has ever been, and all that will ever be.
I know what you believe of me… I see your Faith… I would call upon it.

There was an underlying malice to the smooth, softly booming voice.
It was dark, boastful, proud… It was not the voice that I would have given to Celestia.

You will obey…

It commanded, to which Damascus nodded, shifting the dismal scene before us up and down.
His eyes were wide, his face set in an expression of awe, of absolute devotion seemingly being validated.
The voice was beyond the definition of ‘mare’, and despite my suspicions… it was godly.
The earthly mare before us was crying out, begging for our help, the Diamond Dog batting her from side to side like a cat would a ball of yarn, bruising her deeply with every swipe, crushing her.

We can bring Unity to our lost world…
Unity…
You can be together again, under me, you can be whole.

The mare was thrown against a rocky extrusion, scarred and bloody, her body limp with exhaustion and agony. A cataclysm of bullets buried themselves into the monster looming over her, making the creature yelp in dying abandon as it was perforated by the Steel Pony’s activated Gatling gun.

Be the first to enter unity…
Be my first…disciple…
One is all that is necessary, to begin the rebirth.
One is all that our great destiny has stalled so long for…

“Command me.” He whispered, voice quivering with indefinite emotion.
The crippled mare lay, twitching and twisted on the rocky pile, reaching weakly for her satchel.
Steel Pony fired wildly at the final Diamond Dog, but it was far more agile than he, diving and ducking with canine grace as it slowly approached him by way of wild evasion.

Come to the resting place…
The place all must speak of as the grave of the Goddess…
There we can begin…
Unity…
To spread our influence eternally and infinitely…

“Damascus!” The mare screamed, bloody and begging, her voice chocked and desperate as the two imposing figures, one of flesh and fury, the other of machine and nerve, reached the pinnacle of their conflict. We didn’t stir, but stared on through blank devotion and unchangeable history.

One…

The Diamond Dog tore through the air, its claw cutting the air along its descent.
An execution…
The Steel Helmet fell to the earth, helm segregated by the sharp impact of the creatures swipe.
Its metal casing obscured the empty eyed face within, though blood trickled from its apertures.
The body swayed in the shadow of its decapitator, eventually collapsing, lifeless, into the dirt.

Unity

That was not the voice of Celestia… that was the voice of those Abominations to her image.
A scream tore through the fallen silence, static and mechanical, emotionless, expressing itself by the power of its pitch. The voice’s influence fled from Damascus’ mind, unraveling black tentacles retreating back into the grave from which they came, releasing him from his credence.

The mare was clutching a device between her hooves; it blinked in vibrant crimson flashes, meek in comparison to the high screech that it was emitting. The Dog clutched its ears, whimpers and yelps censored by the omnipresent drone. It ran for the plains of dust and ruin that it had once burrowed beneath, scampering desperately as it tried to escape the scream, amplified by its own canine nature.

Damascus cooled, the world around us becoming tangible once again as time resumed from its illusionary pause. There was nothing that gave away any emotion expended on the beheaded buck, no semblance of grief or guilt as we hurried towards the crippled mare. Even for her, he didn’t emit a single implication of pity; all was consumed by the revelation, by Faith.
We scooped her onto our back, adrenaline pumping from neither the past battle or genuine concern.

The device skittered out of her hooves, rolling down towards the bleak radioactive field to scream until its mechanized lungs were empty. Damascus opted to collect the mare’s satchel rather than retrieve the Diamond Dogs’ boon; he grabbed the leather bag with unnatural, earth pony dexterity and hurried back over the corpse of their fallen companion.

No remorse, no burial, not even a prayer for the brutish thief.
We ran, soft mare bouncing gently on our back, until the scream had faded to a low whine behind us. North, the mountains confirmed, back the way we had originally come, away from the Diamond Dogs.
Whatever had drawn Damascus and his party here was now forgotten, replaced by the burning excitement of a pony who believed that he had just spoken to his Goddess, his creator.

“You- you bastard…” The mare winced, voice wheezing and jolting with her carriers every bound. I could feel her warm blood on our back, a steady trickle, not critical. Her wounds were bruises and broken bones, she had been pawed and severely battered, but she would survive.
Damascus didn’t respond. Our eyes were set ahead to the capital range breaching over a distant horizon, focus and ambition drowning out our every concern or emotion, driving us North.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked meekly, not strong enough to pursue an argument.

“I’ll leave you with a doctor.” He promised, developing his own plan away from my ability to survey it.

“Leave me?” It was uncertain whether she was too wrecked to act surprised or concerned, or if she simply didn’t have those reactions to offer to his answer.

“Yes,”

“Where are you going?” His answers were curt, their very nature reflecting the absence of Damascus’ commitment to this interaction, his concern was invested within his own thoughts, reflecting on the spiritual revelation that he had just experienced… The ploy he had just been manipulated by.

“Canterlot.”

Existence stopped, and the world was immediately plunged into the blackness of mental defocus as the Damascus that I truly inhabited, body scarred and decades older, cut his recall, closing the memory.

<-=======ooO Ooo=======->

I was clean.
My mane, no longer blast back into a blood-stained mess, bounced in short tousled waves of gold above my face, the curled layers were soft and light, a welcome departure from the grimy clumps of dust and gore. My Coat, my own and not my father’s, was pristine and comfortable, exposed to the brisk young air.

A river babbled gently, deeper into the fading morning darkness, the sound of it was an odd extremity from the wasteland’s usually catatonic silence. It had undoubtedly cleansed me, its recently melted chill lacing my body in the simplest of purifications.

I also felt empty, physically refreshed though disturbingly light, as if gravity had released its hold by a marginal fraction. The sky was brightening to the misty white haze of dawn, growing more and more occluded by the second as the low, mocking clouds of the mountains obstructed those of the sky.

I called out to the voice, that dark resurrection of Dash, delving into the depths of my repressed memories of it to verify its presence. My internal cries were met with silence, no trace of the Dash-addled derivation of my personality. It was as ifs voice had been purged, scared off, by that of the Goddess, whose own had then been stricken away like a Diamond Dog submitting to that screaming machine.

Comparatively, it was amateur, non-sentient and driven within the realms of my own control, whereas the Goddess had been something truly terrifying, though still able to abuse Damascus’ Faith to control him.

She was undoubtedly an alicorn, the resemblances both in tone and personality, while subtle through her divine act, were striking. Though she had had telepathy, whereas the lost alicorns had yelled their every thought as eager announcements to the world. Perhaps the Goddess had devolved in the decades between the memory and present day, leaving her own kind as confused shadows.
I would ask Damascus what he had found in Canterlot, and the DJ more about the southern alicorn myth.

“Graish!” Ash mumbled excitedly, mouth closed around my drying outfit. She dropped the clothes hurriedly at the base of an impossibly tall, stripped black pine, and scampered over to me.

“’Morning.” I laughed, relieved just by the sight of her, and rolled up off of the stiff grass. Grass that was very much like that I had found within Stable 34, turned artificial and dry post mortem. The trees stretched immense and dense, branches crossing over one another like a mass of naked, anorexic limbs.

“Are you alright?” she asked, getting remarkably close for somepony whose neck I had recently threatened to break.

Except… I hadn’t done that audibly, I realized, in fact: I hadn’t said anything in my withdrawn breakdown. All the violence, the ferocious decent of it, had been internal. Meaning that my friends had no idea of the severity at which my mind split apart, and how close I had come to hurting them.

“I feel fantastic!” I grinned cheaply. It was true, but I still felt ill at ease knowing what I knew, and what she didn’t. “What happened?”

She smiled back, happy to see that whatever they did to fix me had worked. “Well it wasn’t pretty… but Caliber said we had to purge your system.” My smile drooped. “Hence: River.” She admitted tentatively.

“How bad was it?” Considering how light I felt, I didn’t really have to ask.

“It was… messy.” She tried to maintain her pleased expression as she stumbled the words out. “Mostly… um, well thankfully it was mostly… most of it came up.”

Most of it? I winced, that wasn’t the best way to solidify your relationships with ponies you just met.
“I’m so sorry?” I offered, unsure of the protocol after… purging all over yourself and your clothes.
“So…so sorry.” Some intrinsic instinct of absolute shame was coming over me, reminding me again and again of what I had done, what I had made ponies watch me do.

“Zebra…medicine… is powerful stuff.” Oh Goddesses did they give me a laxative? “They developed it to extrude poisonous materials from the body, and Caliber said that you looked to be in withdrawal or rebound, I think… after you had that seizure.” A seizure? That’s how they had interpreted my attempts at violently murdering them? For a disturbing instant, I almost felt ashamed that they hadn’t recognized my attack for what it was, instead attributing my wild flailing to a reflexive medical condition.

“Where is Caliber?” I asked, decidedly thankful that my aggression had passed unnoticed by both mares.

“Getting water from the river.” She handed me my fresh white collared shirt and I tugged it over my revived mane, sweeping my bangs up to the side after I had the article on.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you refused to drink that particular water.” I grimaced, still shuddering at the implied show that I had put on. I was glad for my shirt, as now was not the time that I wanted to be any more exposed that I already felt. I rolled up the soft sleeves, bunching them at the middle of my front legs tightly. The soft material was dry, warming me against the familiar cold of the North I had now rejoined.

“It’s probably the cleanest water in the wasteland… regardless.” The uncomfortable regret went both ways, apparently. “It melts straight down from the thicker snow on top of the mountain range.”
The stars were disappearing to daylight behind the great looming monuments to the world’s history, which stood tall all around us. We were in a nook, a quasi-valley, from which the river flowed.
“I haven’t had truly fresh water in over ten years.”

“I can’t imagine what that’s like.” I admitted, wishing I hadn’t used the water as my waste disposal site all the more. “I didn’t even know what it was like to be anywhere near filthy until a few days ago.”
Being clean was, for now, the greatest feeling ever conceived by anypony ever.
And having my mind fresh, cleansed despite the ghost of embarrassing procedure, was almost as good.

“You look like one of those mares on the billboards.” Ash said softly, rubbing her arm and looking down. “Your mane I mean.” Her own, a lavender curtain of thick waves, fell over her face as she stared intently at the empty space underhoof. “But not the ones for Gomorrah!” she added, urgently reassuring.

“Thanks Ash” I couldn’t remember a single physical compliment that hadn’t come from maternal obligation, or juvenile, venomous perversion. While my mother had repeatedly chastised filly-me for being ‘messy’ or ‘unkempt’ – permanently instilling a need to keep myself tidy - some of my crueler peers, in the years after her death and our innocence, were painfully blunt about the best uses they could imagine for an orphaned daughter of the damned. Their compliments were not the kind that made you feel beautiful.

Not like this… but now I wasn’t sure whether or not I should compliment her back.
“Your… bandages look good.” I offered pathetically. It wasn’t that it was difficult to find anything pretty about Ash, far from it in fact, it was just that I had never really given a compliment either.
Aside from that ‘heaving bosom’ thing, of course… if that even counts.

“Thanks.” She said, arching an eyebrow and nudging the brown vest, lined with golden scripture, over.
Alright, so it wasn’t the best compliment in Equestria.
I took the chance to pass the awkward silence by wriggling into it, adjusting it constantly to make sure it was just so, though really it was mostly to seem as busy as possible while the moment passed.
Interesting! This area was very heavily forested, I observed, distracting myself.
Clusters of flaking, blackened vegetation dotted the landscape, which was otherwise cut apart, lined by the many immense pine trees on their way towards the clouds.

The river was just visible; a higher bank of it further north raised aside the slow, dark flow.
Caliber was traipsing along, jovially swinging around the barky pillars and hopping over the extruding rock. She looked like the iconic picture of a mare enjoying Equestrian Nature, with a few post-apocalyptic alterations. Most notably: that the terrain she romped through was dead, beautiful, but dead all the same.

Though I felt the cleansing aspects of my ‘bath’, I couldn’t see the effect it had had on my appearance. Caliber, however, looked pristine. Evidently she too had bathed in the cool waters of Zion, and had become all the more appealing to look at as a result. It was as if her entire palette had become brighter and despite her persistent black eye and scarring, the mare was radiant.

For a moment she regarded me with the same stark, surprised expression that Ash had had before complimenting me. Now was not my most honorable hour, and the attention was unsettling.
Her brow furrowed as she remembered the pivotal interrogation she still had to give me.
“I’m glad to see that you’re alright.” She started off lightly, still frowning. “I’ve never seen a rebound as severe as that before… must have been some powerful stuff.”

“It was Dash!” I blurted out, as if I was passing blame to a younger sibling for my own atrocities.

She was visibly relieved, but didn’t drop her investigative line of questioning. “When did you take it?”

“This morning.” I knew that full disclosure was the best way to atone for my inadvertent mistake.
“In the Stable, I needed a boost to escape the fire.”

“What?!” The intense scrutiny left her eyes, replaced by wide disbelief. “One day?”
She stroked her chin in thought; Ash evidently shared the confused sentiment.
“That’s… I have to say that’s unusual, Grace.” Ash nodded. “Not saying I don’t believe you, it’s just…”

“You must be mistaken.” Ash drew the conclusion they had both been working towards. “There are barely any narcotics that could manifest such symptoms that quickly. It’s especially impossible that any of the ones manufactured before the war could have those kinds of effects in just under a dozen hours.”

“Well, I’m only calling it ‘Dash’ because that’s what my Pip-buck labeled it as.” I waved the device. “And it certainly wasn’t made before the war; some scientist in the Stable synthesized it based on an old recipe. He was going to test it, but apparently never got the chance to.”

Caliber laughed as relief and amused belief danced across her clean, bruised face all at once.
“So you figured you’d just take a big ol’ swig of a totally experimental substance! Good gravy girl! Just ‘cause you’ve got a mane like an old-world sex symbol doesn’t mean you have to go out like one!”
She apparently found this allusion very amusing, but I didn’t get it. I would have to look out for billboards.

“You never thought that it wasn’t a good idea?” Ash smiled, and though she had hidden her original suspicions, she now shared in Caliber’s happy enlightenment.

I shook my head. Were there other ways to outrun a raging gasoline fire and a savage rapist?

“That’s a load off my mind.” Caliber grinned. “Just let me know if you feel anything like that again, though we should be alright now that it’s all out of your system.” She began to unpack the electric hot-plate from her pack, pulling out a pair of tin cans, with delicious implications. “For a second there I thought Damascus had sent me on some kind of wild, junkie babysitting assignment.”

“About that…” I ignored the aspirations of my empty stomach, to pursue an admittedly valid point that Dash had brought up. “What did Damascus send you to do?”

She shrugged and stabbed one of the cans, roughly tearing the lid away in jagged shards. “Follow the plan.” Ash seemed very concerned about the sharp shards of tin, watching closely as Caliber tore them away with reckless disregard for their potential addition as a fatal seasoning.
“Follow my instincts.” She began work on the other tin. “Follow your orders.”

“What is the plan exactly?” Ash peered into the cans, scanning them for lethal shrapnel.

Caliber looked at me, as if she genuinely believed that I had been aware of my leadership this whole time. “Um…” Dash had been wrong; the mare didn’t have any more of an idea than I did. I felt bad for doubting her, and for what little skittering suspicion had crept into the back of my mind, motivating that doubt.
“I guess were heading into the Great Plain t’talk to the Buffalo, then on to Calvary and her Rangers.
“It doesn’t get much more complicated than that in the Wasteland.” She admitted. “You’re missing the routine of it, the organization of the Stable?” I nodded, realizing that she was right.
Meal plans, assemblies, sermons, assigned working hours and even a set age for retirement.
That had been my ritual, my life. Now everything seemed chaotic in comparison.
“You’ll need to get used to relaxing once in a while, not having an appointment to go along with everything that you do.” She ignited the hot-pan.

“You do need some kind of ritual.” Ash assured. “Everypony does, it’s the only thing that can tie the days together, keep some order in our lives.”

“It’s called impulse.” She gripped the tins in her mouth and poured the contents of each out onto the reddening pan. “Eat when you’re hungry, drink when you’re thirsty, and drink again after that if you’re off contract. If you can’t afford either and need some buck to pay your tab, then you get to strutting, Simple.”

“I wouldn’t have pegged you as the submissively flirtatious type.” Ash remarked.

“It’s all survival.” She frowned. “Though I can’t say that I haven’t fallen for the tactic myself. You pay for a mare’s tab when you get hot to trot, even if you know the play.”

“Oh…” Ash fumbled awkwardly with the pork and beans as she distributed them into three small plates. “I- I didn’t realize that you… Ah- that you were a… homosexual.” She said the word cautiously, as if she wasn’t sure if it was a slur or not. As far as I’d learned from the Stable: it wasn’t.

“It’s called impulse.” Caliber grinned. “Simple as any other.” She gestured at her food as if it explained.
“So I’m thinking your straight?” The difference hadn’t even occurred to me until I saw her unease.

“That depends… are you heterophobic?” She seemed very interested in her Pork and Beans, though she could only stare intently at them for so long under Caliber’s patient pressure. “Yes, though I believe… well, I think procreation is the only reason you ever really need to… ‘Pay for somepony’s tab’.”

“That’s an awfully limited condition.” Caliber chewed.

“No! I mean… I have no problem with other ponies… doing it recreationally, or anything! I just can’t see any appeal in… doing it, any need, apart from reproduction.” She stammered, eventually taking refuge through a mouthful of the taste sensation that was breakfast.

Their conversation was interesting, but I couldn’t bother to take part in it in between the sloppy love affair that I was currently conducting with food.
Who needed this business? Pork and Beans would always be there for me, always.

“Are you kidding?” Caliber laughed. “Reproduction is the only drawback to doing it. Not that it’s a problem for mares like us!” She offered her hoof and I instinctively bumped it, unsure of exactly what I had agreed to. My focus continued to drown in the sensory overload that had made a mockery of my restraint.
“You should do it because it feels good. Sex is recreation.” She concluded.

“Sure, for you. It’s supposed to feel good so that ponies will instinctively want to do it, its evolution.” Ash eyes widened. “Not that mares like you are a problem! I’m fine with anything you want to do, just don’t feel obligated to invite me! There’s just no logical reason you should be… doing whatever it is you do.”

“It’s not about what’s logical, we eat food because it tastes good, we have sex because it feels good.” The red-head retorted, driving their pleasantly friendly argument, if awkward on one side, onwards.

“Eating food keeps us alive, reproducing keeps our species alive. I just don’t see any reason to bother with it at all. It seems so messy.” She glanced at me, perhaps to reference my bean dabbled face as an illustrated definition of the word. “To me… in my own opinion… primarily: sex is procreation.”

“Recreation!” Caliber smiled, enjoying the younger mare’s cautious distress.

“Okay… I mean, that’s just fine… But if it’s all right with you, I prefer to reserve it for procreation.”

“Recreation!” Caliber retorted with childish glee.

“Yes, I see your point…” she deliberated.

“Come on!” Caliber giggled. “It’s no fun if you keep trying to formulate your fancy sentences.”

“What do you mean?”

“Recreation!” She barked in response.

“Um… procreation.”

“Recreation!”

“Procreation.”

“RECREATION!” Caliber boomed, giggling all the while.

“PRO-ah!-Procreation!”

“Reeeeecreation!” Caliber threw her hooves up in the air like an old world cheerleader.

“Procreation!” she almost managed to yell.

“What ever happened to love!?” I demanded through a mouthful of beans.

They both turned to stare at me, Ash with a look of amused distaste that let me know how ridiculous my sentiment was, and Caliber with a subtle smile bordering on pity.
I sat back on my flanks, empty plate resting on my full, rounded stomach, balanced precariously.
My hooves tapped together over my gluttonous body, awkwardly measuring the silence with every click.

“That’s still a thing, right?”
Ash and Caliber exchanged a small smile, deciding simultaneously that there was now a very distinct loser for their debate. They had reconciled at the presentation of my, immediately failed, perspective.

“How about I clean up your face, okay sweetheart?” Caliber cooed. “You’ve got yourself into a bit of a messy-wessy, haven’t you? Haven’t you? That’s right!” Ash stifled a laugh as Caliber began to dab at my face with a clean rag, wiping away the saucy Pork and Beans.
“Now you can be pretty again, my little Gracie.” She ruffled my permanently ruffled mane.

They laughed together, lying back against the ecru grass to really drive home the degree of my humiliation as they rolled, their high, curt giggles chirping out like the morning birds once would’ve.
The mist had come, blanketing the peaks of black mountains, lowering the roof of the world onto Zion.
Black rock cutting into its virgin white haze, anchoring it, locking it over the valley, a comforting blanket against the harsh collisions and cuts of the dark northern clouds above.

I suddenly realized that I was inordinately happy.
Clean, the sauce stricken from my face by Caliber’s maternal mockery, mane and coat purified by icy river water, the waters that had also served to purify my mind, carrying the extruded remnants of Dash away. The heavenly ritual of breakfast had left me feeling surprisingly light, as the satisfaction elated me.
Now my friends, for they were truly my friends, giggled jovially in one of the last vestiges of life left in Equestria, the river softly laughing along with them as it flowed by on its eternal course.

“Grace…” Ash whispered, their hysteria now calmed. “Come and see.” She beckoned me over, her mane laying about her in a wild corona of lavender waves. I lay back in between the two mares, warmly brushing against Caliber’s body as I settled in and looked up to the sky.

We stared up at the thin web of black branches, persisting frames to the leaves long lost, as they bristled together in the breeze. Upon one, almost indiscernible against the brightening white mist behind it, was a bird. A living, healthy bird, one who was neither mutilated nor mutated to any degree of either punishment. It looked down on us, briefly, as it flickered and flounced on its narrow stage, panicking.
Or dancing…

The foreigner was from an otherworldly place, a place exempt from the death and poison that riddled our long unshaped Equestria. The dancer was a native, a symbol of survival and the remnants of hope left in our home, a preserver, a reminder. The bird brought both faith and abandon, the harbinger of redemption as well as a sign of the times; truth and regret bundled into a single frail, impossibly pure embodiment.
She was a bittersweet portrait of mitigation, an archetype of life.

Who promptly defecated on my face.

Footnote: Level Up!
Perk Added: Apostle: You’ve seen enough of the wasteland to come into the odd relationship you now maintain with it. Your ideals have survived, you’re once naïve hope now has a justified standing, and it stands as fact to you, driving you upon your blind journey.

What do you mean you did that yourself?

So what? It’s not like you just automatically became a better doctor on your first day out. These perks aren’t freaking genie wishes.
I can so use your character development to generate a perk.
Fine…
Chemist: Chems, food and stimpacks last twice as long. Happy now? You gluttonous junkie.

Chapter 14: Rivers and Roads

Fallout Equestria: Sola Gratia
Chapter 14: Rivers and Roads
“Hey, local, shouldn't you be banging rocks together or something?”

Sweet mother this is good.
I burbled incoherently from my submerged lips as cold water doused my muzzle, the flow of the river barely stalled by my intrusive lapping.
The bird mess was clear and away, disappearing into the torrent of dark, and yet crystal clear water.
Now I greedily drowned myself in the fresh chill, letting its force crash into me, refreshing.

“How bad could Stable paste have been?” Caliber giggled, watching as I kissed at the babbling brook.
Food and water, words that now meant things to be desired rather than place-holders on a schedule.
I had felt guilty for my gluttony when submitting to the temptation of our dwindling supplies, but this river was infinite. I could drink or drown a million times over before it ran dry.

I pulled away, whipping my dampened face back and forth to loosen the water’s adhesive hold on me.
“Sorry…” I panted, still recovering from starved lungs. “There’ll only ever be one first.” This was apt; my reunion with Pork and Beans had been a lot more civil than our initial, passionate meeting had been.

“Well, it’s not like you won’t be seeing it again.” She pointed out. “Plan is to follow along until we find ourselves at the lake, right?” Our breakfast things had been packed away, although, much to my chagrin, the empty tin cans still sat neatly beneath one of the reaching pines. There was no recycling in the wasteland, Caliber had dismissed, to my halfhearted protests.

“Right,” I peered down the stream as it arched and bent over and around the rocky landscape alongside it, twisting off into obscurity beyond my field of vision. It was much wider down the way, though its thick black body was dispensed by reflections of the misty sky above. “Let’s move out!”
Caliber rolled her eyes, grinning as her damp-faced commander began another brief seizure of authority.

My enthusiasm ebbed, as it always did, after a few minutes of exited charging. Plus, I was already winded. The mares behind me sounded impossibly composed, barely exerted as they slowed to my side.
Forget running, what’s our hurry anyway?

“So, when you did see the buffalo,” I began to ask Ash before pausing for effect… and for oxygen. “Where?” Was all I managed before hurriedly packing it in to hide my gasping lungs.

“Well my congregation was based near the lake, and we never saw any near home.” She answered, already apologetic for her lack of specifics. “I imagine that it would be best to head south from the water, into the heart of the Plain, but not so far that we meet the Middle Passage’s rail or highway.” I glanced at the Pip-buck’s map, getting no better indication of what to expect.

“And the radio tower?” Caliber asked, turning the tables on our usual dynamic. She was not familiar with the Plains, but my Pip-buck somehow was, making me the closest thing we had to a navigator.

“Right in the middle, along the highway.” So Buffalo-DJ-Road to the Southern Plain? It almost seemed like a plan. “Here” I offered my arm, and the map, over. Her polished mahogany eyes danced across the screen, absorbing the spatial data: formations, ranges, rivers and roads downloading into her mind.

“Got it.” She smiled, happy now to have some bearing.
The river ran wild and rocky, forcing me to put some distance between us to avoid slipping on the wet stone and tumbling into the dark charge. Though that would make for a much faster way to travel, surely?
I peered over into the wash, gauging the speed at which the debris and subtle ripples passed by.

“I know it does not look like it.” Ash interjected, somehow starting up a conversation with my thoughts.
“But there are likely to be just as many rocks inside the river as there are on its banks. If you fell in: you’d be battered and bruised within a mile. Dead just beyond that.”

I realized that I had been swerving towards it, following some primal call to jump in and ride the cool surge in hopes of an impossibly easy and convenient short-cut. I put some bark sentinels between myself and the suicidal byway, rejoining the logically land-bearing mares a more comfortable distance away.
“Thanks for the warning.”

The branches were getting thicker, both in terms of girth and foliage.
Could it be that those deeper into Zion had been stricken bare by the coming of winter, rather than the apocalypse? Flashes of milky, misty white still dominated our perforated ceiling, but now it was joined with intermittent bands, both horizontal and vertical, of blackened green and beaten grays.

“Are there any living trees left?” I submit to the wondering. My imagination had painted a pretty picture of them based on terminal words and literary promises, but the orchard in Stable 34 had been the closest I had ever come to the real thing, despite its artificial nature.

“It’s always winter in the north.” Ash answered, quelling my hopes to see the old-world glories sooner rather than later, crushing my secondary dreams with her restrained, kind voice.

“Everfree’s a forest of ‘em.” The souther-rather-than-norther mare promised. “It’s a fair distance down Canterlot way though, past Manehattan even. But word is the place’s a death trap, so it’s just as well that we won’t be heading there.”

Stop playing with my aspirations! “Oh well” I’d have to make do on these.
As I peered into the network of bark and leaves, a rustle made the winding, wooden web creak in unison.
I held up a hoof, catching Caliber softly across the chest.
My breathing, having finally recuperated, quickened as a sudden fearful adrenaline rush washed over me.
There had been a shadow, undoubtedly, breaking through the ivory mist and crossing over the ebony silhouettes of branches. It had been recognizable in the vague due to its swift cut of solitary movement.

“Wha-“Caliber began to ask.

We were pelted by a shower of natural shrapnel, splinters of tree and slices of leaf, harmless.
Nonetheless, I sheltered my eyes from the barrage under the comforting steel of my Pip-buck.
A drill emerged from the canopy, spinning out in an elegant descent, shrouded by the nature torn asunder by its passage. Grays and blacks melded at first, but as the tornado slowed the monochrome became stripes and the drill became an ambushing warrior.

I had only just begun to comprehend the intruder when he commenced his attack and, almost simultaneously, ended it. A discharged round sounded out, loud and echoing, followed by the familiar tear of hot steel through winter air, and the unfamiliar crack of fractured wood.

“Caeli!” Ash reflexively yelped the old language as she dove in evasion of a bullet that could’ve been anywhere and so, to us, was everywhere. Caliber just peered down at herself, blinking as one would when overcome with the shock of an impact, or surprised by the absence of pain.

I could’ve been dying, I could’ve been dead, but the hanging zebra buck had missed.
He had obviously not been aiming to hit all of us, but had failed to hit any of us.
The ambusher was slight, as he would’ve needed to be in order to pass over the jagged branches of the canopy without collapse. Fleethoofed and agile, to limits that only a zebra could reach.

He was suspended by the vestiges of a leather strap, caught on an unbroken branching of strong pine, swinging due to the kickback that his fallen rifle had transferred into him. The culprit’s tool lay, dull and discarded, on the hard grass of the clearing below him, and just ahead of us.

I swept it up in my magic, almost instinctively swinging the levitated weapon around to face its owner.
The buck was alive, hanging by his black, dorsal equipment rather than his striped neck, staring us down with a dauntless hate, despite the barrel(s) returning his glare. Caliber and Ash both stood ready, saddle bits inches away from their triggering jaws. We all braced ourselves to blow apart the hanging zebra, as he dangled like a sickeningly sentient, gray-scaled piñata.

“Do it.” He spat, with enough virulence to begin swinging gently once again. “I have already failed.”

“Failed to do what?” Surely we had done enough to earn the zebra’s trust, and if nothing else: we should at least be afforded the benefit of the doubt by now.

He looked dazed; the upside-down frown fell from his face, replaced by a look of genuine confusion.
“You can speak…?”

“Of course I can speak,” I giggled. “What did you think I was? Some kind of…” Some kind of savage.
He didn’t know. What else would he assume of a Pip-bucked pony waltzing callously through his beautiful Zion? It was not as if the Zebra’s shared a hive mind or even any network of communication at all, aside from couriers, flares and enlightened monuments.

“You thought we were savages.” Caliber confirmed, not even bothering to phrase it as a question.
The zebra remained silent, rocking in the breeze; the branches above creaked with every subtle swing. “They’re dead.” I lowered the runic rifle, setting it down gently on the grass. I would help its marksman do the same, once he confirmed that his urge to kill us was gone, to a reasonably safe extent at least.

“All of them.” Ash agreed, neither mentioned our credit in the genocide. The elimination of the savages would be enough for this Zionist to take in, without added claims to glory by self-professed pony-saviors.

Though he didn’t speak, his eyes were alight with an unexpected reaction: fear.
The irises, light gray like old snow, fleeted and flickered from side to side, revealing a newborn terror, seemingly from nowhere and persisting for no reason. This couldn’t be for us.

“Zion is safe.” Caliber pressed, pushing the words onto the valley’s captive, trying to incite some calm into his otherwise frantic panic. “We will let you down, and then you can go home to your kin, to peace.”

There was something terribly wrong.
I wrapped my telekinesis around the indiscernible tangle of branches above, shaking them desperately.

“Not yet.” Ash whispered discreetly into my ear. I ignored her, though my blind jostling wasn’t doing much towards freeing the zebra. He wasn’t scared of us; he was terrified, paralyzed even. A warrior, trapped by his own haphazard attack, would not bristle and whimper at the mercy of three pony mares. No way.

“Listen to the river.” He murmured, eyes staring out of the pines surrounding this semi-circular clearing, lost and empty in their anti-focus on the charging black death-trap.

I released my hold on the crackling wood, subsiding the sound of splintering friction and shifting leaves. All that remained was the rhythmic crashing of the deep water, collapsing over itself on a winding course to the calm of the great lake beyond. Moving one way… no, that wasn’t all.
There was resurgence, another rhythm, a counter-beat, a gradually growing discrepancy in the pattern.
It sounded like a deep cut was being made through the body of water, a blunt knife dragging itself against burbling resistance, ignoring the cries of protest to widen the slit, to peel the scab.

“It cuts a path through the water, bleeding its way over stone and sand… older even, than the ancient ruins that died within our land.” The zebra recited, meeting the rhythm of the wrong. The expression of life draining out of his face in opposition to the crimson color seeping into it. “Listen to the river, children, listen for its cries, flee to heed its gentle screams, for the river never lies.”

“Your getting to much blood flow to your brain, zebra.” Caliber waved off the buck’s eerie chant. “Just promise you won’t do anything crazy, and I’ll cut you down.”

“The earth holds no secrets, it is simplistic and stark, but the river hides its horrors beneath the waters dark.” I could only stare at the ode’s subject, as it continued to weep in warning cries. “Do not drink the water, do not dare to tempt the tides, for soon enough and after which, its secret will not hide.”

“What is its secret?” I uttered, barely conscious of my own words, encapsulated by the rhythmic pulsing of words and water. “What is coming?” Ash stared on with me, leaving Caliber alone in conscious mind.

“What is this, a poetry reading?” she whinnied. “Grace, Stop listening to him!.”

“A monster older than the valley, a liar older than its stone, though you may falter and you may tarry, you are only truly lost, if lost alone.” The water heaved and hissed, bulging at an apex of the churn. “Serpent, serpent come to us, serpent, serpent rise, free us from our rotting coils, and break our mortal ties.”

The river gave birth. A colossal tower of layered scale and peeling skin, in sickly hues of green and purple, rose from the seething rage of swelling water. The serpent’s body thrashed and coiled beneath the veil, tearing apart the natural order and catching the river in its controlled chaos. No pines stood between us and the monster, no rock or ruin to hide us from its hungry eyes.

“Run!” Caliber barked, the first to react, the first in a group of catalytic paralytics. We didn’t move, though the water rose and fell, suddenly calm and perfect, an improvement on the monotonous course it had once followed. The serpent seemed to smile, meeting our adoring stares with its own ancient eyes.
It was draconic, with the face of a serpentine horse, adorned with scales despite the ink-black, bristling mane rising along the back of its neck. Its teeth were rotting, though the canines distinguished themselves in vicious purity, dripping in a dark, venomous salivation. “Ash!? Anybody!?”

How beautiful it was. Water slid off its sleek scales, returning to its home amidst the churn below.
Its fingers clutched neatly at the air around its sides, scales clawed and extending as fingernails.
In places its body was dark, the deepest ebony, only challenged by the absolute nothing of night or death, whereas glints of purple and green occasionally revealed themselves against the white mist still swashing against the living tower. The structure began to fall, no, to bend, as the serpent’s head approached.

This ruin did not crack or break, it was flawless, a curling rock of perf-

I collapsed against the base of a pine, my eyes torn away from the rotting river serpent and the pulsating waters below it. My side ached, the familiar, dull throb that followed the firm buck of wasteland-hardened hooves against my Stable-soft body. Caliber repeated the shock awakening on Ash, sending her tumbling amidst the pillars of bark beyond the clearing, then scampered to avoid the collapsing tower driving itself into the honest earth behind her. Not a tower, I scorned myself, an attacker.
The soil was upturned, the ground torn apart by the scaled helm, passing like a train over dirt and rock.

“Now Run!” This time I heard her, but ignored her, instead raising my Tri-Beam laser rifle in a desperate charge towards the river. Though this was not the direction she, or I, truly wanted me to be running.

Whatever hold the serpent had had on me was broken, blind admiration was replaced by foolish aggression and complacency had given way to a disregard for what little survival instinct I had developed. The hypnotic swells of the black water no longer caused me to stall, and I successfully stared them down, never slowing in my war-charge.

“Can’t: Zebra!” Was all the explanation I offered, and, thankfully, all the explanation that was needed. Caliber sprinted after me, quickly catching up, and together we darted into the shadow of the serpent’s arching neck. Scales glimmered, massive as individual giants above us.
The monster began to rise, straightening out to regard the free radicals insulting it with their rebellion, pulling its attention away from the snared meal dangling just a clearing away.

Tri-beam had startlingly little effect, glancing off the creature’s polished scales as concentrated light would against a mirror. Still, I fired desperately, never missing due to my target’s close proximity and impossible size. Glimmering eyes, a snake’s eyes, locked onto us and the tower came collapsing again, we dove into the ditch formed by the serpent’s initial collision with the soft, grassy earth, narrowly avoiding the tremulous brunt of its second impact. A massive upheaval of dirt was cast into the air at another sweep by the scaled and snaking horse head, passing over us as we crouched low in the shallow excavation. Pines cried out as they collapsed under a dauntless force, widening the clearing even farther.

Ducking and diving wasn’t going to kill this thing and, to my despair, neither was Tri-beam.
As I skittered out of the ditch, ant-like to the serpent’s distant eyes, I saw Ash pulling the vial of electric enchantment from her bag, desperately fumbling with it in her clumsy, oral grip.
Caliber broke off to the other end of the clearing, giving our gargantuan opponent too many options to contend with. It had made me love it, made me worship it as if it were a monument rather than a monster, only to have lost my exaltation to retaliation. It came to reclaim me.

Claws dug into the earth, fingers of conjoined bone and cutting scale, long and brittle as trees, tore up more clouds of brown earth, only making it easier to avoid the serpent’s scrutiny in the dusty haze.

In the corner of my eye, through the new, dirtier mist: Ash began seizing. Her body lifted into the air by way of almost comical convulsions, then collapsed. A panic attack? She was still beneath the relative safety of the nearby canopy. Though her resting place could just as easily become another torn excavation under the monster’s searching hands. I would have to hold its attention.
Two invalids, two courses, to distract from now. The blissful haze of sundered earth was settling, and I needed a plan. I swerved in my pelting sprint and approached the river once again; seeking refuge in the only sanctity that I could see. Not beyond arm’s reach, but inaccessible within it.

As I ran the tower swayed, bending at the impact of arcane fire. Dark blue concussions billowed out of the creature’s sides, sending knife-edged scales flying loose and wild. Some dug themselves into the earth around me, while one took purchase into the soil just behind me, the shard missing my flank by a hair.

The mirror was breaking, fracturing under the compression of zebra enchantments rhythmically delivered by rifle round. I stood at the banks of the teeming black river; squinting as churning water splashed against the rock and itself as the serpent’s infinite, timeless form writhed beneath it.

The wholly, rounded thuds of Caliber’s assault eventually devolved into a series of meek clinks, as simple bullets lost their magical enhancements and came to meet metallic scale with no greater effect than the denial of deflection. The serpent arched again, this time bending high over me to burrow against the earth behind, where my only functional ally assumedly stood.

Entire hallway-lengths of glassy scale had been torn away, wrenched from their hold and scattered to drown in the river or bury themselves into the earth. Porous, raw flesh burned, exposed to cold air and biting winds. Strangely enough, and by way of lost memories: I knew what that felt like. Though there was no reason or responsibility for empathy. This was my opportunity. I saw it in the gaping wounds, those bleeding portals left behind by the peeling and tearing of skin and scale, raw exposed meat: to be cooked.

I unleashed an array of light and energy into the serpent’s exposed body. Triplicate after triplicate hit home in the almost unavoidable expanses of pulsing flesh, and each began to glow in my own arcane magic. Gold instead of blue, those now familiar feathers danced away into the wind, lonely at first, but soon becoming a massive movement of flaking energy. They almost looked like birds, in how the fleeted and flickered into the mist beyond, making up a migration of brilliant gold.

The creature bristled within its shell, panic pulsing through its body, realization coming with the pain. Gaps in between its scales lit up like the canyons of an imploding planet, searing in the flames of their supernova core. Thrashing and winding, the serpent’s body desperately retreated, section by scalding section receding into the steaming river. It sought refuge in the cold water, but the dissolve was faster.

The horse head hovered above me like a teetering idol, frozen in place as insurmountable agony coiled throughout its entire body. Claws frantically grasped at the scale prison holding the serpent, it pulled at its own casing, stripping itself even further in a pained attempt to escape the anguish coursing through it.
I didn’t move, not even as the draconic daggers fractured around me. I stood hypnotized once again, this time held captive by the beauty of the monster’s death, rather than its own façade of majesty.

The liar fell, an empty shell, hollow and smoking as it sank, like a ship engorged by water flooding in from a solitary breach. Ancient eyes long burned away left sockets fading into an empty gold, but they too drowned in the calming water. The serpent had been silent until its dying breath, and now hisses of scald and fire replaced the hissing of its hungry tongue. The tower was abandoned; lifeless it was left to sink into a dark, watery grave.

Scales bobbed away like newspaper boats, disappearing down the black charge, pulled away by the rejuvenating torrent. The blockade had fallen and the pulsing rhythm lay dead, leaving only a common babble to fill the silence. The air smelt of cooked flesh, sweet and rank all at once, laced with smoky ash.
The tremors of digging claws and a crashing helm had passed from the earth and into my limbs, rattling their bones and turning every muscle into a curdled gel. The dives and sprints had forced my body into an overblown, piston-pumped state of adrenaline that had now fallen apart, leaving me to pay my dues in a built-up mass of previously ignored pain and fatigue.

Caliber wrapped a hoof around me, allowing me to collapse against her warm body.
My breath plumed out in masses of steam, the heat of exertion fading away in the air of eternal winter.
I wanted to rest, to tumble into the river and replicate the gentle departure of the scales, products of a magnificently violent death. But Ash and the Zebra could too easily be dead; it was very likely, in fact.

“Let’s get Ash…” She had to be alive, the Zebra could be dead, but Ash had to be alive, I bargained.

“Alright.” She supported me as I straightened out, technically uninjured, but somehow crippled. My legs wobbled beneath me, almost giving out and surrendering my body to the river’s summons, but I recovered. Weak-kneed and soft-boned, I limped- with all my legs at once- back into the clearing.

It looked like an archaeological dig site, if precision tools and excited concern for the fossils below had been replaced with frenzied disregard and high explosives. Overturned soil lay in masses, seasoned with the remains of already dead grass. The standing corpses that had been trees now lay in collapse, stricken and charred. They looked more appropriate than their rooted, rotted kin, who still made up the clearing’s brink. Scales stuck out of the earth, fragmented monoliths, like great black teardrops.

Ash lay sprawled, to the very extent of the word. Her limbs had flailed to the very tipping point of displacement, twisted and bent in an ambiguous state of shattered solidity.
Her battle saddle had been tossed aside, it bristled with flickering white runes, which blinked and stalled like a dying fluorescent. Electricity… that had been Zalika’s promise for the collapsed mare’s vial.

“Don’t touch her.” I held Caliber back before she could offset one of the young mare’s precariously jerked limbs. “Ash…” she twisted her neck, eyes blinking open to the sound of my voice. “Is anything broken?”

“…” she moaned, not as somepony in great pain would, but as one being woken from a deep sleep.

“Here, I’m going to use a little anesthetic magic on you, okay?” My horn glowed as Ash’s body was wrapped in the extent of my horn’s soothing hold. “Now, if nothing is broken, you can try to stand.”

She did, each coiling extremity wound back into its original orientation as the mare set herself straight, the curling was unpleasant to watch, but surprisingly fluid and natural. Nothing had been broken.
Fumbling onto her hooves, Ash struggled against her tilting opinion of gravity, clumsily dancing like somepony who had just spun in a series of circles to reach that first juvenile high.
Caliber caught her before she could cause too much damage, letting the traipsing drunk find a hold against her sure solidity. My own bones, behaving like rubber as they had no right to do, cried out for the same foundation, which I found in a nearby tree trunk. Not as warm… but it would have to do.

“What happened?” I choked out, surprised by my own inability to speak. The smoke had sullied my lungs.

Ash gestured weakly towards her battle-saddle.”Throw it into the river.” She pleaded. “With your magic.”

“Wh-“I stopped myself, yielding to the pitifully desperate eye-contact we shared, two temporary cripples. The combat shotgun crackled and sparked, white bolts of mock electricity dancing around its otherwise Equestrian form. I hoisted it, finding that even the use of my telekinesis felt like an exertion, and quickly sent it rolling into the river. It disappeared into the depths with one final, ultimate spark, triggered on its contact with the water. The electric energy seemed to expend in that last corona, as one parting gesture to the mare that it had maliciously tortured.

“Foolish…” The Zebra buck limped over to us, wounds beyond those of shock or trauma clearly visible across his entire body. “How did you apply the enchantments… and where did you steal them from?” From the look of his injuries, the pine suspending him had been cast aside in one of the Serpent’s brash assaults against the land, sending him to bruise and bleed in a sequence of distant collisions.

I thought better than to surprise him with my healing magic, his rifle had not reappeared in its holster, but I wasn’t feeling up to the strain anyway. “We did not steal them, and I applied the enchantment just as she did.” Ash lifted her hoof in a limp, drowsy gesture, barely recognizable in direction or intention.

The buck turned to me; he kept one of his hooves bunched against his chest, not daring to let it meet the hard, rooted soil below. “I smashed a vial against this weapon, and my enchantment is working fine.” I bounced Tri-Beam against my side, too lethargic to lift its embellished black form in my magic.

“You smashed the-“He cut himself off, in too much physical pain to make his disgust as clear as he would’ve liked. “Only an Equestrian…”

“Yeah, well it’s not like she had time for proper procedure… there was a pretty big serpent just there.” Caliber drawled, firmly rooted as Ash’s prop. “And your little poem didn’t give us much warning.”

“Little Poem?” He bristled, much to his own discomfort. “That poem- urgh- has served and survived over generations!” Sitting back against an adjacent trunk he clutched at his unnaturally compact leg.
“It’s probably older than any single one of your Equestrian ditties.”

“We prefer not to write odes to things that’re only out to kill us.” Caliber retorted, the healthiest of this odd quartet arguing with the most decrepit, their stubbornness driving them on.
I floated out my stimpack, dispensing a dose of healing potion into it at a leisurely pace.

“That ode has always acted as warning to those smart enough to listen; unfortunately it falls short when recited to the likes of you loud-mouthed, hard-headed, close-minded-“

“You’d better rein it in, pal! None of us are in the best shape here, but I’d be happy to use this hard head of mine to make your claim to be so open minded a reality!” She barked, genuine anger lighting up the dark chestnuts of her eyes, roasting them in an open fire of defensive offense.
“You shot at us, and we saved your ass. So how about you try to remember who owes who!”

“You have no stake in Zion, I had every right to shoot you. Besides, it was your juvenile play-fare with the river that called the serpent; you saved me only due to the fact that you doomed me first!”

“Wha-?” I had to admit, that was a stretch. “It was your attempted murder that rang Smokey’s dinner bell!” Ash teetered, eyes half-closed, almost tipping away from her impassioned lean-to and slumping to the ground, before Caliber caught on. “And now it’s got most of us shaken down to the bone.”

“You ponies have no regard for anything but yourselves. Smokey,” he spat Caliber’s nickname for the charred beast. “Was magnificent, a creature of legend and age-old stories passed from soldier to soldier!”
“Now you’re defending the thing?” Caliber snorted. “What’s your problem with us?”
I gingerly set the stimpack down, only a slight reach away from the Zebra, hoping that he would take the hint without making as much of a fuss out of it as his kinsman had in the cathedral.

“You have no place in Zion! Savages or not!” He kicked the potion injector, wincing as he flailed, back over to my tree. I passed it over towards Ash, who was far too out of it to care.

“Yeah? Well we were just on our way out!” Caliber huffed, stomping a hoof and jolting Ash into focus. The frazzled mare reached down into the grass, nearly toppling again, and carefully began to inject herself with the restorative salve. She sighed in relief as her overcharged, organic circuitry repaired itself.

“Really!? You were just on your way out!?”

“Yeah! And you’re going to be in for a big surprise once you’ve limped back to your Decurion and he tells you who we are.” She assured, effectively ensuring that the zebra would ask about us.

“Oh, I’m sure.” Sarcasm wasn’t obvious through his accent, which seemed to be thickening patriotically, but I could tell that he wasn’t really sure, not really sure at all. “Now, I thought that you were leaving…”

“We are!” Caliber waved dismissively, though did little else.

“Okay, then go ahead, pony!” The equally immobile zebra taunted from his cripple’s post under the pine.

“We will!” From the looks of things (specifically: Ash standing limply in a droopy-eyed coma of comfortable healing, just stable against Caliber’s support, and me barely able to lift the drained stimpack, so much as myself, from the ground.) we weren’t.

“This is you leaving?” he arched a brow, as some semblance of a smile crept to his battered face.

“You bet!” Caliber could barely move, Ash anchored her to the spot in her own mission to fight gravity.
“…” They fumbled over each other for a few seconds, though the drugged mare was as unresponsive as a cadaver, spiting the duress of Caliber’s prideful prompts. After a clumsy wrestle: sobriety lost.
“…Why don’t you leave first?”

“My valley.” I didn’t think the Zebra would be able to get up and leave if he was in the heart of Canterlot. “I’m staying right here until you go.” He would end up going first, if he continued to refuse healing.

Finally Ash -Heavy as a sack of wet Sand- Ascella of Caeli’ Velum got the better of Caliber, and together they collapsed. The mares lay trapped, one on top of the other. My own anesthetic magic coupled with the bliss of healing potion left the red-head trapped under a very healthy, happy corpse.
“Little help here, Grace?”

“OoooOOOoooO!” I waved both hooves at the stacked mares, feigning magical assistance.
Seeing as that failed, I shrugged and settled back deeper against the trunk of my own pine. “I tried.”
My bones begged me not to move, already chastising me for my arduous mime, so I indulged them, giving in to the sweet, guiltless tides of lethargy. We had just killed a very big snake, after all.

Caliber grumbled meekly, accepting her destiny to serve as Ash’s cushion without consent.
“You win, Zebra… We’ll leave as soon as these two recover.”
Caliber waited for the third, solely legitimate cripple’s response. His gaze just fleeted away ashamedly.
“You can’t move either?” He didn’t respond, which was enough of an answer in itself.
“Fucking Awesome.”

-----------------------------------------

Though now a little less than comforting, the river burbled on behind us, the shuffling and reshuffling of the canopy of branches joined in the babble of wind and water to fill the silence of our fading animosity. The Zebra would have to yield to healing eventually, if only to alleviate my annoying insistence.
We had been kicking the, now replenished, stimpack back and forth in an exchange of feeble flails.
Having taking a hit of it myself, chasing it down with anesthetic magic: this game entertained me greatly.

I giggled. Silly zebra, you’ll die if you don’t inject yourself with that damned thing soon.
This time he didn’t kick it back, though didn’t pick up the restorer either, leaving it to lie just out of my reach, and out of the game. Cheater.

Ash was staring unintentionally up at the dispersing mist, rolled over onto her back, trapped like a turtle turned over on its shell. Anesthesia had taken her further still from coherent thought or action, degenerating her into more of a numb husk than even I was. I had probably given her more arcane befuddlement that was necessary, knocking her cathartic with the full extent of my magical calm.
It’s effect was decidedly pronounced, though she was still very conscious; I knew that my anesthetic ability had never been so effective before, barely causing anything more than a mild mist of defocus.

Though it brought on a marching headache, I coursed the dulling ebb into myself, exploring my own pained frame by torpid radar pulses of internal magics. Caliber may have been attuned to this kind of physical disarray, but the sear of muscular burnout was entirely new to me.

A brilliantly band of corn silk danced through the east-faring breeze, pirouetting and pivoting on every gust and swell, meandering on to some unimportant appointment. In the shadows of the verdure pines it honeyed, tawny at the loss of gray, late-morning light, only to shine out again beneath its returned effect.

A sister wyrm gracefully followed, twining and wreathing itself through our mock circle of friends.
The same colors, familiar colors, laced these next ripples. There were a surprising number of them, like the feathers of energy that had flaked from the river-serpent not an hour ago. These were dull in comparison, but not without their own humble charm. A hallucination perhaps? I had never known anesthetic to go to that extent, but did I look like a doctor?

By wasteland standards, sorta, yeah.

“Oh, Grace…” Caliber held her hoof over her mouth, as if she were in some kind of shocked remorse.

“Yeah baby?” I rolled my head limply to comply. Celestia, not this again, I berated my lightheaded disregard for retaining the inappropriate. Just don’t say anything about heaving bosoms this time, okay? “What can Doctor Love do for you?” My sober consciousness held her head in shame.

“Your beautiful tail…” she whispered. Hello! See, sobriety, sometimes you have to let loose.

“And yours…” I replied, sleazily trying to raise an eyebrow, which quickly degenerated into a facial spasm. “I bet it tastes like spiced wine and cinnamon.” I squinted, giving her my most intense, passionate look, matching the soulful smolder of somepony short-sighted.
The Zebra stared on in disquieted horror.

“I would be flattered…” She would be, wouldn’t she? You Casanova you. “But you’re drooling a little.”

“It only adds to the compliment.” Not a bad point, for a borderline vegetable. “Tall and tan and thin and lovely…” I hummed to myself, despite Caliber being almost none of those things. Medium height and beige and toned and lovely, didn’t have the same ring to it. “Lovely at least.” I amended.

She gave me a sly smile and concluded curtly. “Your tail.”
I peered back at the short arch, shorter even than Caliber’s own medium trimmed wave.
Jumping up in fright, I languished over the terrain, perspective spinning in each and every direction that I wasn’t heading towards. The anesthesia couldn’t dull the pained emotions of loss and inexplicable fear that drove me stumbling back into the clearing.

The corn silk! I realized with a start, was the remnant of my pride drifting away, lost to the impossibly expansive empty of the outside world. Toppling over to the only place I could hope to find some salvation, I found myself sprawled near the river bank, at the point from which I had all but combusted the serpent.

There, trapped under the nearest of the teardrop scales, pinned by the ebony dagger, was the corpse of my tail. Thin streamers flailed meekly from beneath the knife’s edge, crying out for their lost compatriots and their home, their purpose, their career adorning my flanks.

“Merciful Heavens!” I cried, pushing up as close as I could to the pane of obsidian glass.
It was gone, my drowsy eyes confirmed, but for a few holdouts, which were made strangers to me now.
“A castration! A desecration! Calamity?! Calamity! Why must you always befall me?!”
I flounced weakly, a fish out of water. Not so much beating the earth, but rather using it to beat myself.

I had never been glad for my appearance, never left my room with the knowledge that I would draw anything but cruel, physical interest or skepticism of my critical unemployment or sordid family history.
But I still cut my hair with care whenever it grew too long, when the bangs refused to sweep up and to the side; I always tried to look passably professional, despite my lack of profession. Mother left me this.
My tail had been an anchor; I had held it on occasion, like a teddy bear, as I lay untiring in an empty room devoid of any other companionship. Now I had lost it, leaving me to die alone in this steel prison.

The warmth of Caliber pulled me out of my throwback, drawing me away from home and, still divinely drugged, to the wasteland. She held me as she had, on already too many occasions before.

“Why does it have to be this way?” I wasn’t sobbing, not weeping this time, affording at least that one variance in my remorse for a severed tail, compared to my remorse for the ended world.
Get a hold of yourself, sobriety begged, reminding me that as far as casualties went: this had not been as great a tragedy as I was making it out to be. Ignoring her, I shivered, nuzzling against my cinnamon rock.

“Well…” This wasn’t the easiest breakdown I had faced Caliber with; as mine was not the most relatable dilemma. “You still have your mane, right?” She began stroking the golden loner.

““Woe!” I cried out in an almost sobering self-parody. “What is a mane? If not lesser partner to a tail?!”
“I… I really like your mane, if that helps…?” A puzzled look crossed her face as she struggled to solve the riddle of my ridiculous affliction. “In fact, I’ve never seen one so healthy and beautiful in all the wasteland.”

I wiped my dry eyes, as for some reason I expected myself to be crying, but my body was not as exaggeratedly upset as my giddied mind was. “You really mean that?”

“Sure do, Sugar.” She smiled, seeing the blossoming fruits of her successful therapy.

“Then we must go on!” I rose shakily to unnaturally malleable limbs. “As our lost countrymen, and as Damascus has done before us, we must persevere!” Damascus had a healthy mane too.

“I’m feeling alright, actually.” She admitted, denying my need to include her in this great struggle.

“Yes, this must be my fight; I would not want to burden you with it. I must overcome this obstacle by my own strength, by my own resolve! By any means necessary!” Yes! Go tell it on the mountain, baby!

“We haven’t lost ourselves yet..?” She remembered, halfheartedly raising a hoof in exaltation.

“And War never Changes, also!” A final cry of glorious resolve as I posed, chest out and rejuvenated but for the instability of my inebriated stance. “That’s important too… I think.”

This was it, the turning point.
I had survived, despite it all, I had survived.
Because that’s what we did, wasn’t it? Through war and fire, radiation and castration, we marched on.
Equestria had burned, but unlike the serpent of the river, it was more than a wasted, empty shell.
Reclaiming its former glory would not be easy, but neither had establishing it been. Nothing truly was.

So, bring forth you devils, bring on your peril.
Every barrage, each attack, only served to harden our coats and steel our nerves, making us stronger.
Preparing us for whatever final conflict would decide our nation’s rebirth, it would be our judgment.
This fight was not mine to win, and would likely fall to another, as this war would undoubtedly be long and I am only mortal. Where it all began, perhaps synonymous with time’s beginning, would remain a mystery.
Marred by timeless conflict, the good limped on, crippled. But this had been one fight… that it won.

…

You are a magnificent idiot.

…

Prude.

“That’s one for the archives.” Caliber giggled, snapping me back into my clouded reality. I made that speech out loud, right? I needed to, if I hadn’t already. But, I didn’t want to make them listen to it twice, there’s only ever one first, remember? Sobriety was begging to take the reins, her frustration fuelling a rapid reseizure of control, but the reliability of my physical body still lay in chaotic disarray.

“Thank You, Caliber.” I relaxed out of my heroic stance, gradually submerging back into sanity.

“You really need to build up a higher tolerance.” She smiled, propping me up as I continued to sway from side to unreliable side. “I can only imagine what alcohol would do to you.”

“Probably… a similar… effect.” I said, slowly swaying into some semblance of balance. “What you’re seeing right now is pretty much receptor-death, and the trade-off of mild confusion.” She waited.
“Maybe mild isn’t a strong enough word.” Damn straight, her smiling eyes agreed.

“Let’s get back to Ash.” She cooed, leading me along with her constantly supportive body.

“Would you put a couple of those scale fragments into my saddlebags?” I drawled, eyeing the obsidian shards with pulsing interest. The glassy structures had held their own against bullet and beam; it would be wasteful to leave them here. See? Inebriation, sometimes you have to be logical.
The mare obliged, sliding a few of the sizeable, but surprisingly light, ebony plates into my bag.

With that, most of the haze lifted from my mind, replaced in part by the refreshing chill of reality.
Caliber pulled off the cropped-tail look with ease, and though I would look unsettlingly amputated for a while, my tail would grow back. Besides, apart from the mostly unnamed zebra tribe, I had encountered a sum total of five ponies across my wasteland experience. Five ponies that were still alive, anyway.
Charon, Damascus, Woodstock, DJ Pon3, and Bookstack.
I doubted that any of them would shed a tear for my halved little hay-stack.

I leaned obnoxiously, almost inadvertently, against Caliber as she walked us out of the clearing, resting on her as if she were a moving countertop. At the mercenary’s jolting halt, I tumbled, falling forward. The hard-packed soil avenged its churned neighbor, taking out its empathetic anger against my face. Another bruise would rise up, blood bubbling to the surface of skin, once I pulled away from this humbling face-plant. If we’d learned anything today, it was that I had a very poor instinct for magical dosage.

“Of course.” Caliber sighed.

“Sorry,” I said through the taste of ashy grass, falsely assuming that she referred to my unavoidable collapse. I reached for the stimpack, discarded besides the evacuated pine, finally seeing that it was empty. I hurriedly stumbled to my submissive hooves, to confirm the empty needle’s dire implications.

“He couldn’t have carried her, even after the potion.” Caliber pawed at the earth, searching for a trail, which would forever remain invisible to me. “Must have roped her in, and if she’s anywhere near your level of indifference, he’ll just lead her along like livestock.”

As if to prove her point, I sat down, possibly the least initiative ever taken at the news of a kidnapped friend. Even my neck was starting to whine against the simple task of keeping my head aloft. This was not the best time for a high-speed pursuit, my bones chimed; this was the best time for rest.

“We’d better go after them.” She peered into the stretching forest, southwest, back the way we had come.

After a minute or two of crooked regard, I perked myself up, realizing that she was expecting a response. “Yes.” Was all that I bothered contributing. “That would be the right thing to do.” But not the easy thing.

“If we leave now, we can get to him before he backtracks us too much.” She prompted.

“Ah, excellent.” I agreed, nodding dumbly, suddenly becoming a sloth in the brief break from activity.
“Here’s the trail, clear as day. Looks like they’re both limping, and Ash may as well have been bushwhacking her way through this grass, it won’t be difficult to follow their path.”

“Boy, this is just getting easier by the second, isn’t it?” I mused, without even a fraction of sarcasm.

“Yep.”

I toppled, falling like a stack of books, pages sprawled and spines creased as they fanned across the floor. My body knew this place as a hospital bed, a restful refuge, and it forcibly embraced it.
“Just a second.” I wriggled a little, moving less than the grass blowing in the gentle breeze around me. “Just… one… second.” My flanks rose on shaking legs, leaving my face buried in the soil once again.

Finally I stood, triumph! Though I could still not find the motivation to walk.
Caliber watched the sad display, a little flicker of despair in her pitying eyes, as she realized how obnoxious this entire process was going to be. Ash wasn’t in danger, worst case scenario: The buck makes it to the tribe, who proceed to chastise him for kidnapping one of Zion’s forever unsung heroes. There was nothing at stake, but we had to go get her, if only to save ourselves time lost to this detour.
This was not going to be a daring rescue, but a menial chore. Caliber’s menial chore.

She fed a length of rope from her satchel, a tawny thread of solid girth but an omnipresent, weary fray. Thinking better than to lasso it around my neck, she hitched it close between our two gun-straps, her battle-saddle to Tri-beam’s holster. I stood within bucking distance behind her now, knit into the networked pair of a solitary leash. She would drag me if she had to, as splitting up was not an option while I drowned in this childish, near paralytic state of calm.

Caliber checked the rope, preparing for our pursuit of the other, similarly infantile mare.
She sighed a placid sigh, like a single mother incarcerated to a brimming shopping cart, steeling herself to collect the children who ran wild and wide in the supermarket. “Well, this about does It.”

“Does what?” I burbled, blowing bubbles out of my nose in an exercise of ladylike grace.

“I’m a babysitter.”

-----------------------------------------

The trip was an arduous jaunt; as my body struggled to keep up, Caliber struggled to counteract the rhythmically stalling weight. She was a tow-truck and I a decrepit car, sputtering in and out of life, but fortunately still staying upright, rolling along fairly smoothly on my wheels. If I collapsed, she would be hauling dead weight, so I made it my imperative goal to remain upright, the only contribution I could make to our ambling pursuit. I could only hope that the frail attempts that I made to help my operator, would put us at advantage over the less coordinate relationship of captor to captive held by Ash and the Zebra.

Though based on what little regard I had had for the anesthetic dosing, I was sure that I had doped myself up farther by now than I had Ash, making her a better competitor in this eight-legged race.
The Zebra, however, would still be in pain, despite the emptied stimpack.
Caliber over the Buck, Ash over me, it couldn’t have been fairer if it were an Olympic event.
Which it should be, I noted, as the odd aspects of strategy and strength played together to move us stumbling along. Or, even better: for the Sisterhooves Social, if the slight Zebra could pass as a mare.

The worst parts of the charge were when Caliber came to a skidding halt, gauging a sudden change in the trail ahead, and sending me tapering off to tempt the strength of both the rope and my own limbs.
In the most sudden of which, she shushed my bumbling yelps and perked her ears to the thinning forest ahead. We were approaching the same kind of sporadic pine spread that we had first seen in Zion, finally escaping from the clustered pillars of the abandoned river’s stretch.

Snow packed tight in clusters, leaving spans of empty dust and grass along the imaginary road ahead. This opening out came to my great relief, avoiding bruising brushes with the ice-cold, rock-hard tree trunks had been both a traumatizing and taxing task.

After a moment of silence, both around my head and within it, I picked up on the cause of Caliber’s pause. In the distance, a subtle mewling sounded out, bobbing and sporadic just as my own yelps of dragged compliance had been. It could only be Ash, which meant that we were gaining on them.

The caravan race kicked off, as the Zebra undoubtedly heard our considerably louder progression out into the clearer terrain. Caliber might’ve been able to see them, but I only had eyes for the twisting and dwindling landscape that I was subject to. I remembered reading somewhere that the best way to keep your balance was to stare at a solitary point, but those didn’t seem to exist for longer than a cantering second amidst our gallop. Dust and grass and snow flashed by, racing away as I fought to keep purchase on them, what trees surrounded us occasionally swung across my sight, often mercilessly close by.

“Zebra!” Caliber made our close pursuit definitively known. “Stop right there!”
He didn’t, and I felt the rope pull tighter still at my side. I would have to do more than stumble now. Over the course of the chase, I had started to regain full control of my limbs, in that I had avoided collapse for almost the entire thing. For this I felt content, but pushed myself into the semblance of a trot, legs crossing frantically over each other, to aid us on our way to the finish line.

With the closest trees a comfortable distance away, I finally regained my ability to look where I wanted to. A skill that would have been useful against the bark-battering I had endured in this junket’s dawn.

Ash followed the zebra with a cattle-like compliance, attached in convoy by torn leather and hard knots. It seemed as if her recovery had taken its course at polar opposites to mine. Physically she was fully functional, and almost frolicked in tow, gracefully recovering from every tug and trip. But her eyes stared blank and unblinking, as if she were walking in her sleep, mewling in a subconscious strain.

Her lavender hair turned her into a flurry of purple as her captor, who once again became a blurring drill picked up speed. The Zebra has recovered marvelously, Dr. Cross’ voice announced; the stimpack-delivery system seems to further exemplify the restorative effects of healing potion. I was glad that I had had the presence of mind to recollect the drained device.

“Grace!” Caliber called back, bridging the short, volatile distance between us as we tumbled out into a vast clearing of barren dirt. The tree-brink was far abounding, and the grass disappeared to dry, lowland. “Can you cut yourself loose? I think I can take him down before he gets out of this ditch.”

My magic was not complying, the jolts riddling my body distracting beyond focus. I jimmied the knife successfully out of its burrow beneath my coat, gripping it tightly in my mouth. The blade teased against my lips, the very brink of its sharp edge less than an inch away from dissecting my cheek.
I had done it on the alicorn; I could do it now, though murderous abandon was a different skill to a precision cut like this. I jerked my neck, blade cutting to the sky, sending the knife slicing upwards.
It cut through rope and skin, breaking my bonds and leaving a shallow cut over the arch of caliber’s flank, just above her cutie-mark. I tumbled into the wide riverbed, a stretch of light, once hydrated soil, meeting me in recurrent impacts. I settled, splashing into a softening slush of murky snow, finally reaching a gentle, if biting, end to the strained chase.

The riverbed was a stretching band of this low, soft silt, wider even, than the actual river just a caravan’s-race away. Caliber crossed it at an alarming pace, more than doubling her speed, free from her drowsy ballast. Dust rose at her hooves, plumes of the sandy beige left behind to slowly recollect itself.

An island, what would have been a miniscule islet without the great absence of water, rose out of the bed’s middle. A pair of tall pines and bunches of gray shrubbery occluded its small interior, and the Zebra rushed for its mock sanctity. The towhead was far too small to serve as a realistic hiding place, but with the bullet formerly known as Caliber biting at his heels, any refuge was better than an open chase.

He wouldn’t have made it had he too been freed of his passenger; Caliber had him before he even started up the rocky border of the archipelago. She tackled him, her light bound cutting off his own anchored one.
Ash jackknifed against the unified drivers, piling up with them in a dust-strewn, rolling conclusion.

The chill of the water, and perhaps the thrill of the chase, had fully awoken both my body and mind, restoring me to the semblance of civility and ability that I had once maintained. I vigorously shook off the snow-melt, loosening its hold on my coats and mane.

The dust settled ahead, and I hurried over to the compact of limbs and victory. The Zion Mountain rose, clear in the recession of mist and morning, in the distance to my right, imposing over the blue-tinged mountains opposite to it, and ahead. The two formed the opposing faces of the valley. This scar of drought, lined on each side by tall pines and dark rocks, ran wide through the middle of Zion.

Caliber recovered first, teetering onto her hooves, hardly allowing herself to be vulnerable for more than a flickering instant. Ash and the Zebra were still bound together, and lay wrapped in each other’s inadvertent, uncomfortable embrace, one muttering curses as the other mewled.

I cut their bonds with the knife, glancing at the scar on Caliber’s flank as I did it. It was a vivid red, but thin and shallow, a trivial dime-a-dozen wound against her experienced hide. Nothing to feel guilty about, she would assure me.

The pair fell apart, winding out into separate fetal positions, Ash out of instinct, her captor out of the necessity of a bruised body and ego. He had broken his code to administer the Equestrian healing, only to be hunted down and accosted by its original owners. Whatever his intentions had been, they would not be realized. I helped the disorientated mare up.

She blinked against the brightening day, finding herself free of both canopy and drugged cloud for the first time in hours. The icy waters of the snowmelt dribbled similarly from her shivering body. I thrashed my father’s coat out in the dry air, whipping it off, then up and down, with my telekinesis. After it was suitably dry, I set it across the pilgrim’s buckling shoulders, bracing her against the open air of this old river.

“Did you and Caliber….” Her eyes widened as she pieced together what little information she had. “Nevermind!” I peered at the suddenly frantic mare with amused confusion. “I’m totally fine with it!”

“What?” I laughed, watching as the mare in question roughly pulled the Zebra up and out of the dust.
“Last I remember…” she continued cautiously, whispering so as not to draw attention. “You two were talking about smelling each other’s tails… then you left…and now yours is gone!”

“Oh god, Ash!” I winced. “What do you think we’d do to each other?” Tail eating? I hoped to Celestia that that wasn’t someone’s thing. And yet the graying cotton candy tail of Pinkie Pie wiggled in my mind’s eye.

“I’m sorry… I just assumed.” She laughed nervously.

“No!” I paced away. “No, we didn’t do anything of the sort!” Would it really have been much worse a way to spend time than that implausibly real meltdown at my tail’s obsidian gravestone?
How would you have preferred to lose it? Pinkie Pie asked, nibbling at the pink cloud of her own puff.
“One of the serpent’s scales cut it off.”

“Serpent?” her ebon eyes glinted in remembrance of the similarly dark tower. “Goddesses…”

Caliber was rattling the Zebra, who took it with weak exhaustion. He wasn’t in a much better physical condition than I had been, and he had been the one leading his caravan.

“Cal.” The buck’s neck whipped at angles that were uncomfortable to behold. “Cal!” She broke off her intense stare with the space where her victim’s head would have been were it not so limply supported.
“Let’s just leave.” Zion, despite its beauty, which was apparent here in its heart more than it had been anywhere else, was starting to feel like an endless, inescapable prison of rock and pine. We had been on a course to leave for almost an entire day now, and had made little progress.

She dropped the buck, letting him collapse to the dust below in a billowing cloud of the eroded material.
“Fine, I suppose kidnapping Ash, and somehow figuring that it’s a good strategy, is a common enough mistake.” She climbed out of her straddle, and walked over to us, shaking off what looked like a limp.

“What happened?” Ash leapt between us with an uncharacteristic urgency. “To the serpent, I mean.” And immediately shriveled, eyes cast down to focus on rubbing her hooves together. “I don’t remember much after the electrocution.” I tallied how much Ash’s body had been through in the hours that preceded this one. Attempted murder, hypnosis, electrocution, an overdose cocktail of stimpack and arcane anesthetic, topped off with a drag race marked by bruising trees, cutting rock and the conclusion of a great collide.

“We killed the serpent, Grace overhealed everyone, then she gave her tail a moving eulogy and we chased down Captain Opportunity over there.” The Zebra winced as he dusted himself off.

“You are all clearly insane.” He countered. “And I knew that I could deal with the consequence of ingesting your Equestrian filth, after ensuring my escape from the clutches of a madmare…” He glared at me indicatively. “If you wish to call common survival instinct: ‘opportunistic’, then go ahead.”

“That’s fair enough.” I nodded, to which Ash looked a little hurt. “But why take her?” I added, smiling guiltily at the liberated captive. “That was just tempting fate.”

“I do not tempt fate, I track it. And I take great pride in my work”

“You’re a scout.” Caliber simplified. “Who got greedy, and couldn’t resist claiming a prize to take home to daddy Decurion. If you had been listening, you’d have known that we already met your boss.”

“The best liars are those who are truly mad, but manage to maintain a guise of sanity.” He eyed the composed mare skeptically. “One of your companions is a compliant husk, while the other has obviously given up on her sanctity of mind act. I think that you are just much better at upholding It.”

“I’m not crazy, and I’m not interested in your opinion.” I could hear her grinding her teeth under the buck’s haughty judgment. “I’d think that you’d want to scurry along now, considering your great failures so far.”

“They are the only reason that I am still here.” The two were almost circling each other, one fuming and the other looking on in cold knowing. “I’ve already broken my creed once today, for your pony medicine.”

“You’ll be begging to do it again if you don’t get out of here.” Ash and I looked on as the bristling fire and monochrome rock spun, at a crossroads of escalating threats and insults.

“Am I not afforded a chance to restore my honor from the one who took it from me?” He sneered, chiding.

“We don’t follow any of your codes or customs, so right now, you’re lucky enough to be afforded mercy.”

“I cannot accept that.” He set himself back into a pounce’s preparation. “This is Zion.” He dove at Caliber, driving his bruised body towards the mare with the meager force born of exerted muscles.
She side-stepped easily, letting her slight attacker pass without resistance.

“Please sir,” Ash mitigated, making me beam at her politeness. “Your valley is very beautiful, and your culture is both esteemed and rich, but we really need to be on our way.” The Zebra shot her a quizzical look as he rounded on Caliber again. “Sir!” she chirped. “It’s been very nice meeting you, but-“

“We’ve got a country to save!” Look at us, finishing each other’s sentences. Ash returned my grin with an agreeable look, indicating that that was not exactly what she was planning to say, but it’d do.

“I’m honestly going to shoot you.” Caliber assured, calmly reaching for the 45. “In de knee-capf.” She managed over the hilt of the automatic pistol. Her rifle would blow his leg apart, even without the now faded concussive enchantment; her threat was real, but still merciful.

The Zebra didn’t falter. “You’ll take our bullets, but not our medicine?” I gave him a sad smile as I hovered Tri-beam out of its holster. It would kill him, and while I knew that I didn’t have the will to do it, the zebra truly believe that I was a psychopathic maniac, more interested in comforting my own tail than my friend.

“Fight me!” he spat at Caliber. “You’re only proving the cowardice of your kind… hiding behind your technology, using it to cheat your way into an illusion of honor.”

“She knows that she’ll win.” Ash pointed out. “What honor is there in beating a broken foe?”

“More than there is in shooting an opponent offering a challenge, husk.” I holstered my rifle, worried that my growing annoyance at his stubbornness would translate into a telekinetic ‘slip’ over the trigger.

Ash stepped forward, breaking the lock that had fallen over our positions. The zebra watched as she brought her face in towards Caliber’s, nuzzling down onto the side of the pistol’s barrel, careful to avoid the chamber’s path. The mares’ cheeks rubbed up close as they briefly shared the weapon, like models in an overtly suggestive gun poster. Caliber released the pistol, and I couldn’t help but to cringe at the inevitable sheen of saliva transferred with it. Things could get nasty, without magic’s surgical detachment.
Her every movement gentle and slow, the lavender mare set the pistol down. It rested between hooves almost indiscernible as the extremities of two different races, due to the gray and dusty coating shrouding each. Both zebra and pony peered inquisitively at the gun, as if they were about to begin a deadly game of spin the bottle. Ash reared above them, rising onto hind hooves with a sudden push against the earth.

A hollow crack sounded out as she brought a hoof sailing down with every impulse of force that she could muster. For a terrifyingly lucid moment, I was sure that Caliber would collapse, skull fractured, to finally take her turn as the vulnerable invalid, and that Ash would laugh, pulling off a fleshy mask of ecru swatches to reveal the stripy truth beneath.

Instead, the more plausible, if comparatively mundane, eventuality played out. Though I couldn’t say that I was not surprised, or that I had been expecting the sneak attack.

The zebra collapsed onto his already quaking limbs, finally giving in to the exhaust that we had all been riddled with throughout this virulent day. He was out cold, lying limply in the dirt of the riverbed. The resonating crack had sounded out from either the breaking of bone or of keratin, perhaps both. Ash stood level again, eyes cast down onto the unconscious buck, rubbing her hoof.

Caliber and I gaped at the mare, taking in the sudden and practical end to the conflict.

“I just remembered that he kidnapped me.”

-----------------------------------------

The dry river run stretched on into the east, encroaching and expanding at random intervals of banked erosion. The pines around us ranged from the familiar spread of skeletal emptiness, to the canopied brushes of gray, white and green: bark, snow and foliage.

The mountains no longer stood as a narrow wall. The valley was now gaping, fading into the freedom of the Northern Plain, though we had not escaped it just yet. The distance to the mountain’s tapering conclusion, while miniscule against the stretch of lightening gray clouds above it, was enormous against our slow and steady hoofsteps. Its quantity eroded away as slowly as the softened soil beneath us had, and the promisingly empty horizon loomed an age away, over thinning pines and a winding dry heave.

Afternoon was peaking through the clouds in dull white rays, and I tried to keep a hastened pace in hopes of meeting the setting sun outside of the obstruction of rocks crying Zion.

Occasionally, implied islands rose as tumors in the heart of our passage, sometimes adorned with conifers or fallen timber, but often barren, long swept clean in this river’s final surge. I had to imagine that the water still tore on, now through sky instead of earth, constituting the darker, immortal clouds that raged above. It looked like rain was coming... though it never would, not in the North.

“We need to get you two coats.” I led our quaint progression, the middle and point of the tiny triangle that we formed against this dead canal. They still refused the comfort of my own, to my chagrin, but also, on some deeper, indulgent level, to my relief. This cold was raw, every drop in temperature pushing my virgin experience down another notch. The night would be unbearable, even from under my three layers of pseudo-protective material. The clothes were, after all, only ever used in the confines of a Stable.

“We should have skinned the zebra.” Caliber murmured, inciting a guarded laugh from his last assailant.

“He wasn’t dead.” I proclaimed my self-denying autopsy. The buck would probably die eventually, assuming he didn’t lap up the restorative gift that I had discreetly left at his side.

“Maybe if we had skinned him…” Ash seemed to like the idea very much, as the fabric of her shattered timeline had all but been pieced together. Neither of them opted to continue the coat discussion.

“I mean it; assuming it’s only going to get colder from here.” This got a confirming nod from the northerner. “We ought to look around.”

“For what, an outlet mall?” Caliber smirked, defaming her own sarcasm with a juvenile laugh. “Ash has lived in the north her entire life, and my cutie-mark story was set smack-dab in the middle of the Great Storm. You may recall that I wasn’t wearing a coat for the entire flashback.”

“What flashback? You told us the story.” We argued.

To which the mare regaled “Ah, but it was vivid wasn’t it?” her hoofsteps beat in rhythmic union with our own. “Besides, it looked like a flashback to me.”

“Of course it did, you lived it.” It seemed all our ‘you’s would be inclined from now on.

“Without a coat!” she concluded, somehow winning the argument. “I’ve never needed one before and I don’t need one now!”

“You’ve never been to the Northern Plain either.” Ash warned, giving me an ally in my quest for layers. “The buffalo are the only sentient things that can bear the brunt of a night’s chill. And they’re essentially walking tanks of insulation. Most anything else stands to lose much more important things than pride.”

“Frostbite can take an entire limb in some conditions!” I elaborated, finally drawing from accrued knowledge that I never dreamed I would have cause to call on. “And there have been some cases where entire ponies are encased in the permafrost, their blood, their breath, their very hearts frozen for all time.”

“I’m sure none of them were wearing coats… the suicidal fools!”

“Fair enough, but you get my point.” You don’t mess around with Mother Nature, Colt’s Life had made that very clear, drawing from the same pool of medical fact that I had already studied before reading it. Thinking back, I had a fairly good idea of how to construct and set a rabbit-snare, though we would need to catch a whole lot of them if we were going to put a pair of coats together.

“I’ll be fine.” She brushed us off again, hoping that we would surrender back into the rhythmic silence, broken apart only by our hooves scuffing against the crinkled earth.

“Once, it was so cold that the entire lake froze over.” Ash pressed. “I mean… I didn’t see it, but somepony told me about it. And you know what? I believed him.” Her eyes were wide and sparkled vividly beyond the black, as if she was telling a terrifying ghost story.

“Oh, oh! Hypothermia!” I said, as if answering a teacher’s question in class. “That’s a big one: very dangerous. Blue, puffy skin, immobility, amnesia, brain death… really, really awful stuff.”
“…” That last part seemed to sway her. “B-Brain death?”

“Oh yeah, right in the brain.” I nodded. “Any one minute a stallion could be walking along, maybe his wife is by his side. She says: ‘Nice night isn’t it?’ And then… then he goes: ‘Yeah, but it’s a little cold out.’ Then: Boom!” Ash and I threw our hooves into the air and collapsed, overdramatizing the condition.

“Boom?” The now trepidatious skeptic was getting reeled in by our gross medical inaccuracy.

“Brain death.” I whispered, eyes darting into the shadows cast by the distant, setting sun, as if Brain death itself lurked beyond every dark occlusion and corner, waiting to pounce!

She looked over at Ash. “So… about that outlet mall.”

We found the flattest rock that we could; our options open in and amidst a plethora of stones and pebbles stretching out for as long as the riverbed’s banks were defined. The Zebra had had an abundance of gear in the sum total of his satchel’s and pocket’s contents. I dissuaded the other mares from picking him clean, not wanting to leave the buck shivering, naked and bony, only to awake in a likely fallen night.

Most valuable, was the scrawled parchment map he had of Zion’s eastern mouth.
The diagram was military, arbitrary details like scale and bearing were jotted along with the loosely translated topography. While simpler in its display, it showed much more detail than the seemingly satellite map on my Pip-buck did. Celestia’s Landing was marked off near the top-left corner, as was the Stable, a ways below. No sign of a camp or settlement, meaning their home was either further west or omitted, to always be kept unrecorded. Caliber held the map spread out across the smooth stone.

“The furthest I ever strayed from home was on my Pilgrimage, but I hadn’t wandered far before that.” Ash excused, the northerner knew remarkably little of the Plain that we would soon come to enter. Her vague references didn’t trigger the birth of a single marker on my usually hot-to-plot Pip-buck.
“I’m afraid that the nearest reference I could guide us to is a fair ways out of this valley.”

“Well there isn’t going to be a fashion district in Zion.” I peered over the nearly indiscernible scrawling of foreign symbols. Two arrows pointed out into where the Plain would assumedly be on a bigger map.
One was marked with a swirl, onward along the river (and the to-be veering dry channel); this had to be an indication of the lake beyond. We would have to abandon the dusty, make-shift, road when it turned.

“What do you think this means?” I prodded the diamond shape ordaining the end of the southern mountain range. Everything in between the two symbols was blank, a non-descript bleed of valley into plain, possibly the frontier of Zebra exploration, or in their eyes: Zebra territory.

“Probably a gem mine.” Caliber drowsed, much more interested in the twisting topography on display.

“How do you figure?” Was that a commonly known correlation now?

“Diamonds a gem.” She surmised, eyes still dancing over the curving lines and diagonal mountains.

“What?”

“Diamond. It’s a type of gemstone.” I had always assumed that it was just a shape.

“Are they worth anything?” I asked, trying to evaluate if the mine was worth a look over. I was curious to see one of the war-time, political trouble makers, but didn’t think that I should plot a course for it just to appease my own wonderings. Besides, it wasn’t likely that we would find any articles of clothing there.

“Not anymore.” Her answer didn’t quell my urge to visit the excavation, and I made a note to pass by it on our way towards the obscurely defined buffalo heartlands.

“There’s a paw print, down here.” Ash discerned, causing me to bristle in alarm before I realized that she was looking at the map. She had recognized a simplistic rune, a pattern of scaled dots smeared as the trudging impression of some wild creature or beast.

“What’s our stance on animal rights?” I smiled, already estimating our own relative position within the winding scar. The print was nestled at the base of the range, just south of the riverbed.

“It can boil down to ‘Kill or be killed’.” Caliber shrugged. “So hunting to survive’s fair enough.”

“Know what you have the right to call an animal, and always be sure that you aren’t dealing with even the slivers of a soul.” She seemed lost in her own recital. “Hunt to fulfill a need, and not to satisfy your greed.”

“It’s probably just a wolf-den.” Caliber assured. “It’s a shame we didn’t think to skin the wolves last night.”

That made me realize that I wouldn’t be able to use Tri-Beam if we did end up resorting to a hunt. Our last zebra enchantment still glowed with arcane ferocity, signaling the disintegrating energies teeming within the weapon. It had burned apart a river serpent, reducing tons of flesh and bone to a blossom of golden light, so I wasn’t going to complain. And I always had Caliber’s nine millimeter.
Whereas Ash still had nothing, I realized, remembering that I had cast her entire saddle-rig to neutralize in the consuming depths of Zion’s black river.

“Caliber, would you mind if Ash used the 45. For a while?” With the exemption of Tri-beam, we were left with only three viable guns. Maybe I could justify a trip to the mine for armaments scavenging.

“Better idea.” She began unstrapping her own battle-saddle, undoing the snug bonds that had kept it at her side for an alarmingly large fraction of her life.

“Oh no, I couldn’t.” Ash protested, as black bands drew comfortably taught over her bandages.

“No offense,” our mercenary tugged one final seal closed and stepped back to admire her own weapon of choice. “But you’re an unnaturally… let’s say uniquely… bad shot. From a mouth grip, at least.”

“Hey!” I jumped to Ash’s defense, though I wasn’t sure if she wanted it or not. “… Don’t say that.”

“No, she’s right. We’re stronger if we work off of our weaknesses.” Ash dissuaded. “Besides, firing from a muzzle-grip isn’t a skill that comes easily to everypony.” She added with a wry smile.
“Or at all, in a Unicorn’s case.”

Caliber giggled, both in surprise and appreciation of the burn.
“That rescue certainly blew up in your face…”
As would a pistol if I ever tried to get by without my magic, apparently.

Ash offered an apology, which I cheerfully waved away. Turning my attention instead to the map and marking the location of the paw print symbol as a waypoint on my Pip-buck.

“So we’re really doing this?” Caliber seemed a little surprised by my sudden, certain initiative to attack.
I nodded, anticipating getting to work on my imagined invention, which hinged on this hunt’s yield.
“Just for a little extra warmth?”

“Oh no, much more than that…” I levitated the obsidian scales out of my saddlebags, making them dance in the dimming day, flickering in a golden aura. “By the time I’m done… we’re going to be bulletproof.”

Footnote: Level Up!
Perk Added: Wasteland Surgeon:
Congratulations! Despite your constant attempts at malpractice, you’re body count is still zero.
You are now a fully qualified medical practitioner!
… Although there are licensed doctors out there with a trail of corpses behind them that would make a serial killer blush.
So don’t get too cocky.
Healing is now as effective as potions for external wounds.
You can also cast Anesthesia II, bringing borderline unconsciousness to everyone except your enemies… apparently.

Chapter 15: Knitting Something Nice for You

Fallout Equestria: Sola Gratia
Chapter 15: Knitting Something Nice for You
“Daughter of Babylon, who art to be destroyed. Happy shall he be, that rewardeth thee as thou hast served us.”

The dry heave gaped, stretching out into two bleak infinities on either side of us.
This river had been huge, a highway to the former’s humble suburban street, an ocean to its lake.
A shallow pit of dust and rock was all that remained now, archipelagos serving as the only indication that this scar wasn’t the result of some planned construction of the world’s encroachment into Zion.

We were leaving the spacious run, heading for its banks, as if seeking appease from drowning in the dirt. The scout’s map had been detailed and precise, with every jutting landform marked in scrawled simplicity. The paw-print would be directly south of here, it said, citing the reference of a sizable islet nearby.

The pines were spaced wide and comfortable on the shore beyond, breathing easily in the widening valley, not compact around this canal as they had been around the serpent’s. It would not be difficult to find our way back, after the hunt was over. The riverbed would be distinct, bright in its tawny hues under the slowly encroaching darkness of night. For now though, Afternoon gold still lit the world in its haze.

Clambering up a bank of black rocks and shattered driftwood, I wondered if I truly wouldn’t miss Zion.
There was a hatred I harbored for it, a dull contempt. For all its natural beauty, which was both impressive in its age and resilience, the valley still bore a bitter silence. The thought that there were no inhabitants, apart from a progressively aggressive regiment of zebras, was starting to make me feel very alone.

The Stable, both my own and Zion’s, had been a hive brimming with activity and life. I had become used to an omnipresence of ponies, a constant knowing that I was never truly alone. Before I had disliked this biting feeling, but now I pined for it. Without Caliber and Ash, I would have run from the caged paradise, absconded to some distant village or bright city, eager to find some traces of life in the Equestrian Wasteland. Their stories of settlements, congregations and communities, were impossible for me to truly envision. Acheron was the only town I had really seen, and it had been a hostel of ghosts and salvage.

I longed for lights, for fluorescents or flames, and I longed for life, apart from the promise of beasts and abominations tucked away in rock and river. After this final task, I would hurry to escape the valley before another distraction held us in its prison of pine and mountain… But I still wondered if I would miss it.

“We’ll want to get this over with before dark.” Caliber agreed, unconsciously empathizing with my own thoughts. “So we can find a place to settle in for the night.”

I would need time to work, so we needed to find a shelter for ourselves before the evening was over.
Stitching the armor would not be difficult; it was the medical procedure that I was possibly most familiar with. Closing a gaping wound and unifying cuts of fabric required the same routine procedure.
But how to adequately attach the dragon scales? Supposing that I could double-layer the furs, the obsidian shards could probably be slid into the outfits themselves, making them the core of the piece. This was surely the way that most bullet-proof vests were made, most likely with Kevlar instead of scales.

Double-layers would be good for the cold, but we’d need a substantial amassment of fur first.

“What if it’s bears?” I pondered, remembering the reference to ursa in the Border Security Station.

“Then we’re in luck,” Caliber asserted. “Bears are easy to skin, since you can cut around the middle-“

“Hmm!” Ash hummed insistently, cutting Caliber’s step-by-step procedural short.
The mare had already begun miming peels and slices in the air, proud of her obvious expertise.

“Alright, I get it.” She fell back in line beside us. “You two will handle the girly stuff once I get the nitty-gritty out of the way. None of us have to subject the others to the ugly details.” I had tried to explain my seamstress’ plan to Caliber, whereupon her eyes had glazed over in the mind’s retreat to a safer place.

“Thank you.” Ash nodded. I worried that the mare wasn’t completely happy with what we were about to do, and she wasn’t the type to express an especially resistant opinion, no matter how highly she held it. Gore was no stranger to me, be it for my experience in medical or my wasteland over-exposure, but I couldn’t safely say how acclimated Ash had become. After all, ponies weren’t meant for violence.

“Let me know if you want to sit this one out.” I whispered, speculating that she didn’t want to show weakness in front of the eager hunter bounding just ahead of us. Caliber had expressed an accrued knowledge of the questionable practice, offering ranges of advice, from how best to kill an animal with consideration for the value of its corpse, to a few incomprehensible tracking tips.

“Oh no, don’t worry about me.” She soothed, with an empty expression of compliance on her face. “I’m fine… excited even. It is my first time hunting.”

I felt a pang of guilt. “You seemed a little sensitive before, that stuff you said about the soul?”

“Ah, yes.” She seemed to have only vague recollection of her set condition. “Well, you have to be careful in the Northern Plain… I imagine you’ll understand when we are there, on meeting the buffalo.”

“They’re avid hunters?” I guessed, mind slightly eased at the seemingly distant circumstances that had brought about Ash’s hesitance earlier.

“Something like that.”

“Come on you two, put the lead on!” Caliber hollered back to us. Our pace had slowed in the whispered conversation, and the mare had almost disappeared into the dim ahead. “We’re burning sunshine here.”

There was no way that I would get to see the open sky as the sun set, so my desire for haste had ebbed. But I ushered Ash along to rejoin our temporary leader, feeling the crisp chill of nightfall settling over Zion.

Mountains rose, once again, at the helm of our attention. These were humble in comparison to their northern kin, gently tinged in darkening blues and grays, welcoming, unlike the warning black cuts and crags just across the valley. Celestia’s Landing took its hearth in a bed of daggers, overshadowed by the towering vice of Zion’s monolithic name-sake.

A brilliant beam of white gold severed the range, slicing through its angular body in a sudden surge of sunlight. I twisted, almost on the spot, to regard the great celestial body as it blinked briefly in between the crests and clouds. It seemed heaven’s eye was closing, as lids of stone and cloud joined in darkness.

Though the air was dim, deep shadows set behind every stone or pine, the sun burned with an infallible power, exaggerating the horizon with its dominance. Bands of clean light obscured the dark mountains below, ignoring the law of perspective to prevail over all boundaries, beaming beyond constraint.

Though it was white instead of the contemporary crimson, and the day had a few hours yet to claim, I regarded this brief passage between the walls of sky and earth as I would the most magnificent sunset.
My reverent squint, an instinct to avoid the blindness that I was so obliviously tempting, ended as the celestial body disappeared once again, to take its rest in the lands beyond Equestria.

Based on its orientation with Mt. Zion, I could say that my Stable was only slightly off-South from this very spot, as the scene I had just regarded was very similar to the one guiding my first steps into Equestria.

“I’ll give it to you.” Caliber spoke, making her presence at my side suddenly known. “That was worth stopping for.”

“Must have been nice, to grow up with the sun marking your days, rather than a schedule.” A very open schedule, as it had been in my case.

“Never really saw the sun until I came north.” She sighed. “Even in the Middle Passage, you rarely see more than clouds.” I had had the blessing of altitude outside of the Stable door, but she was right, the heart of the valley never did see the raw light show of the sun or moon’s descent.

Ash had joined us, but didn’t seem very interested in the horizon, she picked tenderly at the bark of a fallen branch that was rotting in the sharp grass. “You got to see it every day?” I hypothesized. “Setting over the lake… that must have been beautiful.”

“I’ve seen it enough.” She shrugged, her aloof blasphemy sending a disturbed shiver down my spine. “The Goddesses absence makes it an empty shell… meaningless shrouds of lights and clockwork.”

“That’s odd.” Caliber frowned. “Damascus acts like the Princesses are the Sun and Moon.” Ash responded to his name with a blank look. “Oh… that’s my… boss. Very into the whole ‘Religion’ spiel.”

“I’m guessing there’s a difference in your beliefs.” I offered, trying to use a little more tact than Caliber cared to. I’d seen ponies of the Faith have disagreements like this before… if there ever was a time that they earned the title of ‘zealot’; it was in one of these intense altercations of creed.
I wouldn’t be surprised to find damnations in the Stable’s past that stemmed from one such conflict.

“The Goddesses are far detached from the wasteland.” She agreed. “In a better place.”

“The Kingdom of the Skies.” I nodded, uttering the name of Faith’s ascension.

“Stars.” Ash gave a forlorn look to the empty void where the sun had been. “Kingdom of the Stars.”

“Your Pilgrimage.” Caliber whispered, treading lightly into a minefield. “Seemed to think that the alicorns marked the Goddesses’ death.”

“They were wrong, and I worry that your Damascus is equally misguided.” I remembered the Goddesses voice, seeping into his head, cooing and coercing, manipulative and cold. Would Ash have fallen for her ploy? Was she so sure of the Princesses removal, that she could see the lie inherent in the disguised voice of a false God? “I hope that… for his sake, the abominations do not come to test his Faith.”

“So… if he’s wrong, then no one controls the Sun and Moon anymore?” Caliber drew, an idea that she herself held as truth. It was nice to see her expressing interest in our friend’s belief, despite her obvious skepticism towards the Faith. It was also interesting to see another religious perspective, as I couldn’t honestly say that I hadn’t come to assume one solitary dogma to mean Faith.

“No, how else would they come to share the sky, irrespective of how brief a meeting, how else would day and night ever come to such an unnatural collision.” Wait… what?

“I wouldn’t pay any attention to that old yarn.” Caliber dissuaded, reacting to my wide-eyed gape of disbelief. “It’s an old drunk’s tale. A wasteland legend, if you prefer.”

“It’s no legend.” Ash argued, speaking out softly, deferring the intensity in her eyes. “It happened.”

“Yes, I know, it happened.” Caliber rolled her eyes. “That’s what every buck who’s got more whiskey pumping through his body than blood will tell you. You can’t always believe what you hear, Ash.”

“And what I see?” Caliber balked. “With my own eyes, I saw the sun and moon… together. That is how I know the Goddesses are beyond this plane, and that is why I didn’t follow my pilgrimage into the blackness that they imagined, the reason I did not take my own life at that accursed station!”

It couldn’t have happened, it was impossible. But the mare’s eyes burned with an undeniable fervor, the passion of a battered knowing that was constantly refuted by those it was shared with. Caliber took a pause, but disbelief persisted on her face. “No… no, couldn’t have happened. I’m sorry, but the sun can be late and the moon can sway from its path sometimes, but that… that didn’t happen.”

“They were both there… both held the sky at once! I saw them!” Ash had undoubtedly had this fight before. The severity of the issue didn’t weigh with me; I had never come to count on the consistency of day and night. Caliber, on the other hand, was nearly in a panic at the concept.

“Then you must have been looking at a different sky than I was.” She stomped her hoof.

“Maybe I was just looking at more of it!” The frantic mare countered, her distress was not of anger, but a desperate sadness. “You said so yourselves… the North is forever under an open sky!”

“Then why isn’t the rest of your Pilgrimage here to back you up?”

“…” Something caught in Ash’s throat, not even allowing her the silence that she was being forced into. Black eyes glistened in vivid memory, emotion barely retained behind the deep pools of quaking ink.

“None of it would be right.” Caliber continued, trying to justify her blunt, cutting words. “Time wouldn’t have any bearing, it would fall apart!” she waved her wrist-device violently in the growing space between them. “If that really happened then everything… everything becomes a lie.”

“Ash…” I didn’t rush to her, I didn’t wrap her in my arms and tell her not to cry, I didn’t dare to take a side. “Ash, she didn’t…” I searched in Caliber’s steely eyes, willing her to apologize. “Tell her…”

“I know-“Ash’s voice was weak, words struggling to get out over the chokehold of repressed emotion.
“-that it happened.” She drew in a ragged breath. “Nopony… nopony ever believes-“

“Because it didn’t.” Twist the knife in a little deeper.

“Apologize,” I ordered. Feeble neutrality wasn’t going to make this right; I had to take the risk. “I don’t know which one of you is right. But I do know that you crossed a line, Cal.”

“No… no, I’m alright.” Ash murmured, words torn into a fragmented struggle by her shivering lip.
“It was a valid q-q-qu…”

Caliber’s icy glare melted, as if a blind had been lifted to reveal the pain she had caused. She rushed to her victim, wrapping her trembling body in an unrequited embrace. Ash’s black iris’, liquefied into a tremulous tar by the ebb of tears, were finally joined by the melted chocolate quivering in Caliber’s own.

One mare chirped like a choking bird, pretty sounds of meek restraint to express a violence of emotion. The other whispered and whimpered in doglike repent, warm words of atonement and apology, genuine beyond even a stranger’s doubt. Something had left Caliber for a moment, some empathy or regard for the bleeding wound she had ventured to poke at. She was trying to make up for it, but the worst of it was: we wouldn’t be able to tell if she had. Ash had been on the brink of a feigned concession, almost going so far as to apologize for her own emotions. If she was still upset, it was possible we wouldn’t know it.

I had gone against my loyalties, I felt an odd guilt for that, I owed Caliber far beyond any doubt and yet that hadn’t been enough to make me stand by as she hurt my younger friend. If she hadn’t conceded, if she had continued her barrage of insensitive insistence… I was upsettingly unsure if there was a point at which I would have given in, too afraid to lose our friendship to do anything more in Ash’s defense.

Luckily… Caliber had a softer heart than the monster in my hypothetical. But I should have known that.

Whether by a guarded facade, or a genuine absolution, the mares parted. I promised myself that, though I hadn’t afforded it to Caliber, I would give Ash the benefit of the doubt by assuming that she held no grudge against the desperately apologetic mare at her side.

“I know we’d have a hard time bringing up politics, so let’s make religion our one no-go topic, alright?” I offered, hoping to institute some law that would help in preventing this kind of rift to breach again.

“That won’t be necessary.” Ash smiled, effectively burying the hatchet. “My Pilgrimage and I were openly at odds about many issues- as they too struggled to believe- Yet we walked the wasteland together. And a family will persevere over petty differences for want, for a need, to be together.”

I went to conjoin their embrace, for once not injecting myself into a place of uncertain welcome, but a place where I truly belonged. We held our heads together, no flailing arms of awkward arrangement or uncomfortable over-contact, just a simple touch, an honest, mutual connection. Our eyes were closed, and though our faces were so near, there was no real way to tell that we were sharing the exact same simple smile. But we knew.

The bleached golden light of a setting sun lit up the valley, dousing the rising mountain face in its cool, calming color. The incandescence revealed snow, subtle to the point of near non-existence, falling in a lonely, rhythmic patter of light-catching motes. I didn’t think about the encroaching cold, the rising darkness of night, I didn’t waste a thought for the hunt ahead. For that blissful minute of shared companionship in a somehow foreign homeland, I could only think of how much I would miss Zion.

“It’s going to ruin this, isn’t it?” I asked, to which Caliber simply hummed in complacent asking.
“Killing the wolves.” We parted.

“Yes.” She answered sadly. “But the night will be brutal. We’re stranded at the literal maw of cold, a gateway for the freezing winds of the mountains and Plains, a boreal bleed… a death-trap.”

I sighed. “What if it isn’t a den? What if there isn’t a cave to take shelter in?”

“You can feel it already, can’t you?” she spoke of the bitter crawl of biting cold, the approach of night that I had justified as a vivid imagining. With every passing minute the light of the sun faded, drawing what little heat it had loaned to the valley away with it. Kill or be killed, nature posed a threat, so we would attack it.

“We’d better go.” I pressed on, already huddling deeper into my father’s coat on some instinctual reflex. The coat that nopony would ever accept from me, refusal that was both a blessing and a boon.

If the wolves were ahead, then they lay nestled at the foot of mountains. It had to be a cave, my logical mind assured, it had to be a cave, begged the fear. I had been scared of shadows, afraid of irrationalities throughout my childhood, but never had fear felt as real as it had become in the wasteland. Griffon Ghouls justified the monsters that I had created to chase me down steel hallways, and the cold was the lights-off abandonment of bed-time, death’s omnipresent hand in the night.

Rock rose around marble, again.
The sporadic pines had given up their hold of the land, surrendering to the rocky rise and fall of plates colliding in the underground below. Gray rock, all signs of subtle blues disappearing with the light, now formed a wall ahead of us, barring an otherwise straight path to Hell beyond.

Within it, was a door, framed in faded marble. This was not the majestic, gold-laced designation that Celestia’s Landing maintained in an elegant poise. This was a ruin, wasted stone appropriate for alicorns; the frame was cracked and worn, and there were missing pieces along its tapering body. Deeper black loomed within, but if I could contribute anything to this journey, it was deference for darkness.

We hurried into the alcove, retreating from the dying hinterlands behind us, evading some ominous threat. Wolves, we could handle, but stone was cold, and the numbing wind could make its pursuit into the narrow hallway with ease. My arcane light teased with implications of warmth, faltering with the tangibility of a lantern or torch of billowing flames, but was ultimately ersatz, more a flashlight than a fire.

The walls were not ordained, as no horrific statues or ambiguous effigies broke out of the rock. It was flat, never having met with the exploring chisel of an artist, but only the blunt obedience of a contractor. It was both a comfort and a warning. There were no historical disappointments recounted in this place, but it was definitively unknowable, a tunnel stretching on to anything. We pelted on, our hoofbeats and heartbeats echoing as if in pursuit of their makers. The floor began to slant, taking us into the earth.

I had come to know myself for a number of weaknesses, and strengths, during my time in the wastelands of Equestria. There was no doubt a bevy of still-hidden flaws just waiting to be discovered within me, but one had made itself abundantly clear on several occasions: I have tiny, tiny lungs.

Although I had a counter to the inefficiency of my respiratory system: in that I was unusually fast.
I found that I could outpace Caliber if I was willing to pay for it in the gasping forever that followed.
My agility was surprising, a gift of chance rather than right. I certainly hadn’t earned the ability.

Genetics had been cruel in this instance, sadistic in fate’s saccharine sense of humor.
Sure I could dodge an alicorn-strewn piece of debris, or dance around the grasping claws of a river-serpent. But if I was ever pursued for a period spanning more than an instance, I would collapse in a lightheaded stupor, complacently letting myself be chewed on by whatever beast had been chasing me.

Like I did now and, as expected, the chasing cold began gnawing at my heaving body.
For a moment, I was alone. Caliber and Ash had disappeared into the shadows beyond my auricle aura.
I lay on my back, dying.

“Grace?” their faces poked out of black submergence, only visible as floating masks, like a tourist’s cheap souvenirs. The walls had disappeared around us, leaving me without breath or bearing.

“Aaaa-aaaaa-aaugggghhh…” they watched as I floundered like a fish out of water.
“Aah-ah-aaaaah-aaaaahaha-ah-ah.” I cried, coughing and crying all at once. “noooo…nonono…”
This is it, this is where It all ended.
“I- I’m going… I’m going to die.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst place.” Ash comforted, to which I tried to shoot her an offended look, only sending myself into another dry-weep. “I think this is a tomb.”

“Why- why wou… aahaaa! WHY!?” I rolled from side to side, praying to Goddesses that I now believed in so freaking hard. “Pa—pa-pa… paw!”

“Why would the zebra’s use a paw print to mark a tomb?” Caliber asked for me.
Thank you, but Help me, help me, help me, help me…

“Maybe it’s a den and a tomb.” I would honestly rather die… just shoot me… just put a bullet right through my brain. The wolves… can eat my body… I don’t even care. Even my thoughts sounded winded.

Caliber grabbed my hoof, yes; perhaps she could save me with her typical wasteland-know-how.
My horn flickered, burning out with every heave and leaving each wheeze to suck in the empty darkness.
She was peering at my Pip-buck. “Grace, you need to stop doing that.” The white display highlighted her face in the periodic absences, making it pulse in ivory and gold.

She placed a hoof over my mouth. No! If you’re going to put me out of my misery, don’t use suffocation! Then beckoned Ash over. I gave up the goat… cutting off both my magic and my desperate inhales, maybe I would die if I just stopped trying. Nope… my nose maintained my body’s stubborn will to live.

The white light lit up the mare’s faces, two fillies watching muffled TV in the early hours of forbidden morning. Somehow… my nose was curing me! Without the interference of my own ignorant attempts to fill them, my lungs were starting to recover. Maybe I would survive this after all.

“I still don’t get how it decides something is hostile.” Ash mumbled, mostly to herself as she began, once again, to confound over the potential of Pip-bucks. “Those bars probably haven’t even met us.”

“Really, really not what I wanted you to start worrying about.” The device’s hijacker whispered.
Sweet oxygen was coming at rhythmic intervals now, each breath, a relieving wave of restoration. Incomparable to any healing magic, feelings of genuine cheer for the defeat of an ambiguous death rose.

I lay back, laughing to myself from under Caliber’s silencing hoof, giddy from a span of scarce oxygen and the happiness that ensued surviving it. The air in the tomb was heavy; the crisp chill beyond it was replaced by a thick emptiness. The stretching stone hall could not funnel enough polar air to fill the subterranean depths. This would be a good shelter if not for the lack of light, and the promise of graves.

Caliber peered into the void, her illuminated half-face drawing back into a reprehensive squint, as if sharpening her sight to cut through the darkness.

In a sudden jerk, the proceedings of the next few seconds were drawn to my attention. A deeper shadow had been setting itself upon us, surrounding us in dark implications. One of the shades announced itself in fluid motion, an insurgence into the Pip-buck’s aura. The jerk came as Caliber tugged my imprisoned arm, moving the metal device ordaining it to block the path of hot-breathed jowls.

Gnawing teeth and a salivating tongue wrapped themselves around my dark machine, only partially visible as it swallowed at our white corona of light. The jagged calcium glinted, though yellow and rotted, and the desperate eyes of a hungry wolf were predominant in the swashes of black and gray.

Caliber pressed her hoof against the back of the creature’s skull, reaching into an indiscernible beyond. She encouraged the choke-hold on Stable-Tec’s pride, knowing that the steel would not succumb to an undernourished jaw. The wolf’s face began to split, mercifully vague in its visibility, as its mouth took in more and more of the unwanted apparatus. The drooling aperture grew, tendons undoubtedly breaking apart, as the raw screech of tearing cheek and segregating bone sounded clear.

The hold broke, but I winced away as the beast died, already feeling its final bleed of heat in the drool and sanguine fluid that oozed along my forearm. I shook my arm free of Caliber’s murderous grasp, rising to stand with trepidation, slowly brightening my horn as I went.

Around us were more of the sneering faces, whole and undivided, with bitter starvation clear in both eye and lithe, skeletal face. They took the light as an invitation, diving into it together, to fight over the meal that their forgotten compatriot had died failing to prepare.

They were desperate, both ignoring and adhering to instinct, dancing with death to feed their pack. Territorial and hungry, the wolves had little regard for their survival, no restraint or fear to temper their pounces and snaps. No mutations apparent, they fought from a burning insanity of natural bloodlust.

I drew my knife, barely considering the unfamiliar 9. Ready in my saddlebags. Caliber snapped necks, adjusted frail dives to bring yielding bone crashing into collapse on the stone floor. I gripped the hilt of my blade, sharper than any of the creature’s dulled teeth or claws, which had been rounded by their desperate gnawing on rock and ruin. The process was fluid, as a skeleton of fur and heat set upon me; I angled the cutting edge to oppose their pressing bodies, driving my appendage deep into heart or head.

Ash, unfamiliar with the killing power of hooves and unaided by the fortune of sharpened steel, was dancing. The rifle at her side held an intimidating beat of its own accord, an unwelcome superpower in this organic struggle, but she ignored it, and bore only shallow cuts and subtle wounds for her placidity.

I was sure that they would retreat eventually, once the nominal odds had balanced or our vast advantages were made apparent, but the regiment of dogs fought on to the last panting soldier. The final stouthearted, barren-gutted wolf fell, battered and lacerated, exhausted by its high paced cavort with Ash.

Five in total, but my Pip-buck warned of others, milling deeper beneath the veil. Five would be more than enough, I dissuaded, deciding that we could take our leave, not disturbing the pack in the depths.
I shone my light out, sure that this barren room, at least, was clear of canines. Stone tables lined the reaches of the bleak chamber in a rhythmic pattern, slightly rounded but angular all the same. There, on the wall above, was what I led Caliber too… a torch, a kindling held by steel against the rock.

Caliber propped herself up onto one of the tables, and I replicated her motion to rise onto the adjacent surface, eager to light the way as she worked. The mare of dexterous hooves and deft mouth lifted a splinter to the rough surface of the wall, a miniscule thing, no larger than a bobby pin.
It erupted in a flicker of flame as she struck it against the stone, rising to reach the torch on hind legs.
The pyre caught, blossoming into a welcome partner to my magical light.

We repeated the procedure on the adjacent wall, bringing the room to a tempered glow of careening orange and stable gold. The wolves below would have to stay as an accepted danger; they still posed less of a threat than the night above. This would be our workspace, amidst the creature’s corpses.

“Get down from there.” Ash hissed, sudden urgency breaking the calm of gentle color and dim stone.
“They’re coffins!” I threw myself from the casing, landing on the floor with an inconsiderate tactlessness, which was still a great improvement to the insulting idiocy that I was running from: Dancing on a Grave.

The tables confirmed themselves, lids becoming visible by way of a subtle band of shadow at each helm. Within these were ancient corpses, not of beasts but of ponies, affronted by our blind stumbling.

Guilt for the massacre that we had brought into their place of final resting was occluded by an ebbing anger for the callous pack of wolves, permanent intruders in this haven of remorse and intended peace.

“We need to silence this place.” Ash agreed. “We cannot leave until it sleeps again.”

“What are you two whispering about?” Caliber had descended from the protruding grave at leisure, ensuring that the torch was caught in what would be persisting flame

“These wolves are a desecration.” Ash explained, still restricting her tender voice to a hush. “More so than our own foolhardy presence… with which we can go about liberating this tomb from their hold.”

Caliber didn’t look impassioned in our own fervor of respectful cleansing. “Imagine what they would do to the bodies if they figured out how to open the coffins.” The wolves hadn’t come at the dying yelps of their kin. My whispering was a reverence, not a precaution. “They’re probably surviving on corpses’ bones!”

She nodded, not quite seeing the mere inhabitance of a tomb as an unforgivable affront, but appreciating the threat that the wolves’ posed to its resting graves. “So we need to get them out of here.”
I frowned, did she mean to usher the creatures out, find them a nice house somewhere in the country? “By killing them.” She reassured, smiling at my now debased concern.

“I would like to participate.” Ash chimed, feeling my own dull contempt for the wolves. “There is no reason that we shouldn’t make use of our considerable advantages.” She bounced the borrowed rifle at her side.

“How many wolves in a wolf pack?” I asked, a question that almost seemed philosophical.
At least, to the same extent that: ‘How much wood can a woodchuck chuck, if a woodchuck could chuck wood’ was. The bars on my E.F.S were ambiguous, fleeting and recurring in a mild chaos.

Caliber shrugged. “I think it was either fifteen or fifty.” Her face scrunched as she tried to remember the numerical average. “Let’s go with fifteen.”
“Unless the wolves we encountered last night were a part of this pack...” Ash calculated. “We probably have ten more to kill.”

I smiled. “By the time we’re done, there aren’t going to be any wolves left in Zion.”

“Or savages…” Caliber reminded. “We’ve really cleaned the place up.”

We began to walk further into the stretching, if uncomfortably narrow, chamber. “Yeah, but I doubt the Zebra are going to sings songs of praise or set up an official: ‘Pony Appreciation’ day.”

“They marked this place with a paw print.” Ash murmured. “They have nothing but animosity for us, not even in respect for our dead… if this was a tomb of Zebra warriors, there would be guards at the door.”

I could imagine their militant culture demanding it, in fact. “You think these are warrior’s graves?”

“They are likely to be.” She nodded. “This crypt is centuries old, and the only ones who were considered worthy of such attention after death, were Kings and casualties of war.”
I waved for a pause, my E.F.S indicating hostiles just ahead.

Three more wolves, limbs as gnarled and sparse as winter branches, appeared in the crest of my feigned lantern-light. Their fur was torn in patches, revealing the dull skin and scars beneath, hinting at the pack’s domestic troubles… or auto-cannibalism. Their eyes began to glisten as they turned to face our own cold regard, shining at the prospect of foreign, fresh meat.

Caliber’s rifle sounded out in an everywhere-echo, breaking the short calm that had fallen in our stead, the meeting of two miniscule armies in an ancestral grave. The resounding kickback sent Ash collapsing out of the illuminated battlefield… tumbling away from the golden slaughter. We dispensed the surviving wolves with ease, Caliber riddling one with automatic pistol rounds, as I slit the other’s arching throat.

Tri-beam sulked at my side, too destructive… no, imperfect in its penchant for absolute destruction.
“How many bodies do you think we’ll need?” I asked, requesting an estimate that only I could make.

“I’ll skin as many as you tell me to.” The hunter shrugged. Ash clambered back to my side, shaking out lightly bruised limbs and dusting the tomb’s omnipresent grit from her coat. “But less is more, I guess.”

“What are your measurements?” I pressed, though five wolf-coats would certainly be more than enough to fully insulate two mares, and I would be happy to make do with a thin lining added to my father’s coat.

“45 and 556.” She beamed.

“Right, wasteland, I forgot.” I was going to risk it. Levitating Tri-beam at my side, I sauntered to the nearest corpse’s side. This wasn’t their tomb; their invasion persisted, even after death.
The wolf flittered away, golden feathers evaporating into the darkness beyond my watchful reach.
The other two bodies followed, fur and flesh disappearing into brilliant, fleeting energy, leaving the chamber bare and pristinely calm. We would take the first five away with us, the rest would burn.

“Good thinking.” Ash shook her mane, batting at the dirty grays embedded within lavender waves. “There will be nothing left of them but paw prints in the dust.”

We continued down the stretching hall of graves, passing an assumed army of fallen warriors.
If there had ever been signs of mourning, flowers or memoirs beside the coffins, they had long eroded to become the dust that rose to blaze, now alive in the arcane light of our passage.
The hall came to conclude at another ominous doorway, an extruding frame that contained the sharp descent beyond. The floor gave out to slanting darkness, never stairs, but instead a cripple’s path of smooth relief. The red bars brightened, the final half-dozen in an otherwise barren scan.

The room below was an angular kind of round, or at least this is what the circular alcove filled with immortal kindling in the crematorium’s heart implied. This tomb was truly ancient, I had never imagined an open-casket burning, a public disintegration on the dais of a blazing bonfire.

They would have carried them down the slanted plane, passing the graves of comrades and brothers in arms during the journey through their expansive chamber of burial. Laying the corpse in suspension over the growing pyre, they would have bowed their likely hornless heads in prayer. The body would burn away, reduced to the air of the tomb and the ash in the bonfire, fading out of being.

The canine survivors growled from beyond a black wall, warning us to abandon our course, to run for the sanctity of the freezing woodlands above. Caliber paced around me, every step a slow caution of suppressed noise and motion, sending a shiver down my spine as she passed behind.

Ash yielded to her tinkering, letting the mare slide a single, augmented bullet into her borrowed rifle’s chamber. “Shoot the tinder.” She urged, standing close enough to share the gun’s inevitable kickback. They birthed a bonfire; Ash released the incendiary round in an easy compliance, but together they resisted the vengeful force of exploding flame from the tightly latched battle-saddle.

The flames burned away at shadow, bringing the room to a honeyed glow of crimson fury. The crematorium had been prepared, some ancient fuel had tempered in waiting, longing for ignition. Wolves, not shadows or skeletons, warned us to abscond, to leave them to the fire and the bodies above. One was an idol amongst the rabble, a statue in both his solid form and resolute snarl, strong despite the miserable depression that filled his den. Whatever food had come, had come to him, leaving him strong to spite his lethargy, to refute the invalidity of his dictatorship. And in this, he was their King… their Alpha.

Two wolves fell, as indicators of the fight’s beginning, shot down in what brief prime their hungry lives would have. One submit to 45 and the other to 556, bringing the terrified wrath of the remaining quartet upon us. The refuse down here was rife, the bones and rags of foolhardy prey or overturned corpses explained the strength behind their charging murderers. These wolves were whole, sinewy muscles lined their fully grown bodies, obscuring the sharp frame of bone beneath. Their shining eyes were hungry, but sought the warmth of blood instead of the sustenance of flesh.

Another fell, but absorbed more than one bullet in the process, charging on despite the first and second burrowing of miniature hot metal drills. Bringing him down had taken the extent of his kin’s approach, and now they set upon us, breaking up in an almost coordinated distribution of attack.

The Alpha held back, allowing his mates or subservient brothers to bear the initial brunt of our retaliation. Caliber wrestled with one, the automatic pistol discarded for a proximate, bloody collision over the stone. Her rifle fired wild, its target within the refuge of a barrel-belaying blind spot, gnawing closer to neck and tender jugular pulsing within, striving to rend pivotal lifeblood from its course.

My partner was a cautious sort, barking back at every sharp, stalled reaction to his biting assaults. The knife always cut through the empty air of his absence, warding and warning rather than cutting and crippling. I had abandoned magic, using the light of flames and the edge of a personable blade to fill my want for sight and safeguard.

He wound, twisting into an upturned strike at my exposed neck. I angled the blade, setting it against his path of fatal aspiration, gauging the course that would have driven primal teeth, draining me to a bloody, choking defeat. The blockade made impact, halting the beast’s helm in mid-snarl, digging deep into his skull, burying itself to the hilt. I abandoned the knife, balking to the taste of bitter iron that leaked over it.

I floated Tri-beam out of its holster, not ready to die for an oddly subconscious mercy that prompted me to keep this fight fair. Ash had repelled her own throat-hungry attacker, and now hurriedly back-pedaled, trying to put enough distance between them for a bullet’s conclusive introduction to the beast’s heart.

The Alpha would die for his cowardice, I decided, as I leveled my sights on the watchful Wolf-King.
Seeing his fallen compatriot at my hooves, the gaudy monarch pounced; abandoning whatever fear or strategy had kept him detached from the conflict insofar.

He scampered, claws scratching the rock-floor to announce his approach, and drew back worn lips to display the obvious threat of sharpened jaws below. The first beams hit stone, the golden-implicated crimson disappearing into a haze of blood-strewn firelight. Alpha had curved, bending his body into an evasive maneuver that barely detracted from the confident pace of his charge.

As he pounced, still oblivious to the absolute hopelessness marring his cause, I drove the rifle into covert ribs, throwing myself down onto the slant behind me. The arching dictator almost floated, his bounding flight extended by the telekinetic obstruction pushing, cold and angular, against his fat, warm body.

Adrenaline and blood coursed through long-idle musculature and nerve, I could feel a pulsing heart behind the disparity of gluttonous lungs. As if using the circulatory organ as a port, a directly applied triplicate of energy boiled the stretching network of blood and tissue into a diffuse of smoky vapor.

The Wolf-King didn’t live long enough to complete his pounce, nor did his body ever meet the sloping stone beyond an abandoned space that I had tempted him to attack. Blinding, the zebra enchantment went to work in its aesthetic distinction, leaving only tinged darkness for my blinking eye’s to behold. Layers of fat and flesh, accrued over a lifetime of privileged supremacy, melted away, reducing the Alpha, debasing him to the depths of his scrounging subservience, cremating him in a dispersion of ash.

Caliber panted, awkwardly straddling her dance partner’s corpse, it was odd to see a pony set on a wolf in such a way. She was sitting on the vixen’s chest in a frozen intensity, hooves bloodied in the pulp of her focus: another unidentifiable face. Ash sat, quietly by her side, waiting patiently for her recovery and my return. I had, to be fair, spent quite some time staring blankly into the void of the Alpha’s abscess above me, contemplating the ease of his complete erase.

“Injuries?” I offered, as if hawking wares at a baseball game. “Injuries, anypony?”
Get them while they’re festering.

“I’m going to start skinning these.” Caliber whipped warm blood in a torrent as she shook herself dry. “How ’bout we bunker down here for the night, next to the fire.” Whose flames now licked at the ceiling.

“Injuries?” I pressed, to which Ash shook her head, answering for the third time. Unfortunately this was not a situation where she could simply be uninjured enough for the both of them.
Caliber shook again, splattering the stone with another light barrage of gore.

“Cal, that’s not wolf’s blood.” Ash whispered, her eyes locked onto the mare’s shivering body.

“Hey, I was the one who decided to put the pistol down.” She waved off. “It was arrogant.”

“Where is the wound?” I hurried to her, and despite her bitter resolve for self-sustenance, she tapped at the very lowest brink of her ribcage, where a deep gash was blooming a dark crimson across her coat.
“That’s not too bad.” I assured, dampening the truth. “Lie on your other side.”

“No, you’re right. It doesn’t feel too bad.” Okay, no more of the usual doctor act for Caliber. Instead of reacting with the usual, I’m-worse-than-I-am attitude inherent in the Stable’s mass state of hypochondria, she wanted very badly to be fine. For pride or for fear.

“I only meant that it won’t kill you very quickly.” I helped her over to the cleanest part of the crematorium, no reason to risk infection from the corpses or scraps. “It’s superficial, but I need to tend to it.”
This, at least, was true. The gash had been made by the meek hind-claws of a vixen; it would be utterly ignorable, if not for how the wolf had pulled it apart after the incision, like you would a frog under dissection. I levitated out some surgical supplies from the Zion Stable.

“Ash, would you move the corpses to the wall over there.” I waved arbitrarily behind me, setting Caliber gently against the dusty floor. “And see if you can’t get the blood cleaned up, if we’re going to be spending the night here, we might as well keep it clean” Ash was to me what I had often been to Dr. Cross, I realized. The hovering mare was an onlooker, peering over my busy shoulders, who had to be distracted away to some meaningless, menial task.

“Do you have something to sanitize the wound?” she asked, forgivably, as she hurried off to do my bidding. I hadn’t usually complied with the same admirable haste, causing much annoyance for Dr. Cross with my stationary, incessant questioning.

Questioning that had once yielded a similar answer to the one I gave Ash. “No, but healing magic makes for an adequate cleanser, and then I can quarantine the wound with stitches and gauze.”

Caliber had given me her supply of potions, after I had expended my own on the reluctant zebras in the monastery. Now, we had none left, as most of it still circulating in the system of the Zebra buck who had hesitantly used it to kidnap Ash... Maybe I should stop encouraging strangers to use up our stuff.

I tapered a few capfuls of water (which the river had provided in abundance) into the gash, after painstakingly picking out a few fragments of debris and dust. “Would you quit poking around in there?”

“Shush, you’re in surgery.” I bit off a line of suture, and dug into Caliber’s yellowy brown coat with a levitated needle, swirling the thread just behind it, with fortunately practiced precision.
“Ow.” She mumbled unconvincingly. Pointing out the sting rather than recoiling from it.

“You want me to anaesthetize you?” I warned, the smile of a mildly sadistic surgeon creeping to my face.

She quieted down. Even I had become wary of the mind-dulling magic, and while the threat was empty, Caliber took the rest of the procedure in stride, not even wincing until I pulled the wound tightly to a close.

“Alright...” I slathered a strip of gauze over the threaded gape, more for aesthetic reasons than medical. “You’ll live.” I didn’t’ consider arcane sanitation infallibly reliable, so I would ask to check the site again. “And you finally have a reason to appreciate that giggle.” I personally couldn’t understand why she seemed to dislike it so much, I had always taken heart in Caliber’s juvenile little laugh.

“Why’s that?” The patient immediately started to pick at the gauze, as all of them just had to do.

“If you had a more boisterous laugh, you might literally split your sides.” I explained, deadpan.

“Was that a joke?” she smiled up at me, orange light faulting her face like the flames that cast it.

“Does it look like I’m trying to kill you?” I concluded, maybe in a slight exaggerating of her condition.
“Just don’t push yourself to hard for a little while, not long, it’ll hold secure after a day or two.”

“Thanks.” She stood easily, the flow of crimson at her side finally plugged. “Doctor Love.” A sly look crossed her face, to which I could only respond with an expression of unknowing confusion.
For a moment, I thought I saw a brief disappointment fleet through her eyes. I had apparently forgotten some experience that we had shared. With a Love Doctor? That didn’t sound right.

“Okay,” Ash suddenly appeared at my side, making me lose my telekinetic hold on the tiny, wet needle
“Blood is gone and the wolves are stowed.” Her stalwart efficiency made it seem like she had had experience with manual chores. Hopefully none that were quite so gory.

“How did you get rid of the blood?” I pried, concerned about our water supplies, despite the excess.
The silver thread-bearer glinted in the bonfire, so I had no trouble retrieving it.

“Well…” She kicked her heels bashfully, eyes downcast. “I used one of the wolves as a mop.”

“That’s alright.” Caliber assured, although in any other context, it really wasn’t. “We still have plenty of relatively clean coats to work off of. And we can always wash up in the snowmelt tomorrow.”
She sauntered over to the corpse-pile, unnaturally at ease with the intimately violent task ahead.
Drawing my knife from the wolf’s limp head with a wet spurt, the mare began laying out her first victim.

It was obvious that we needed a thorough scrubbing. Dirt and smoky residue from the day’s conflicts and caravan-chases were forgettable when compared to the veritable coating of blood and gore developed on our limbs and faces in the last hour alone. But, for now, there was still some dirty work to power through.

Ash and I settled besides the tall, crackling fire, waiting for the first stripped lining of fur and skin so that we could set it to dry against the beating flames. The damp tearing noises of the lead-bellied mare’s raw rending echoed into the hallway above, undoubtedly stirring the warrior’s rest.

“So…” I offered, trying to distract from the eerily placid violence resounding from across the room. “You seemed to know a lot about the era when this tomb was built.”

Ash stared intently at the plumes of heat and cindering timber, presumably driftwood pulled from the then-raging surges of the dry river run. “The Northern Plain is an ancient place.” She shrugged. “Just by brief wanderings or spoken word, you learn a lot about the dark eras of old Equestria.”
“You mean we’re not going to find any modern cities or towns?” I was eager to see a settlement, a collection of ponies living in community, as the Zebras did… if a little less militarily.

She shook her head no. “You’ll want the Southern Plain for that. Aside from a few encroaching developments – the radio towers, antennae, highways, railways and gem mines – it remains timeless.”
I was disappointed. “But, there are places that may help with your longing.
“The Abandoned City of Cabanne, for example.” As I had hoped, a marker appeared on my Pip-buck’s map. Apparently, Cabanne was in the plain’s very heart, which we would be scouring for buffalo tribes.

“Maybe that’s where the buffalo are.” I hypothesized. How ruined could a city be that it didn’t meet the ramshackle standards set by most other wasteland hostels? Although the required living conditions for buffalo and pony probably varied considerably.

She laughed, soft and sweet. “You’ll be disappointed to know that the Buffalo, while not in outright abhorrence towards us as the Zionists are, do not like to associate with anything ‘pony’.”

I sighed; some hospitality would have been a welcome change from the cold unwelcome that we were extended here. Assuming that we even got the opportunity to earn it.
“They must have dealt with some bad apples.” Caliber interjected, slumping a hollow wolf beside us. Its empty face was a mask, sockets boring into me with post-mortem contempt. Its body was a dusty shroud on one side, but was rivaled by a moist alabaster on the other. “Spoiled the bunch.”

“Are you sure you don’t want any help?” I called, as we set the bleeding skin to temper into a manageable aridity under the fire’s crackling influence.

“Are you sure that you want to make that offer?” She countered, sliding a naked cadaver, all pink muscle and teeth, away from her workspace. “Stick to your stitching, ladies.” She wriggled a gauze padded belly.
I floated out the obsidian scales, six shards of unpredictable and varying size. They would be difficult to distribute across the three of us, as one would inevitably end up with more protection than the other two.

“I was glad to see that the serpent wasn’t as big as I imagined it to be.” Ash smiled, having made this false assumption when I had first flashed the fragments earlier this evening.

After a liar’s pause, I corrected her. “These put together… aren’t even half the size of one of its scales.” Could a feeble dreg like this take my tail from me? I should think not!
Only a true colossus could have broken our interminable love!

Her eyes widened, irises shimmering as the remainders of great ebon glass.
“And you killed it… with that?” She gestured dismissively to my tenderly set aside Tri-Beam.

“Yes. I don’t know if there isn’t something to that Zebra enchantment, after all.” I couldn’t imagine it having the same monumentally destructive effect otherwise. “The entire serpent just disintegrated into energy.”

“Leaving its scales as substitute for a corpse.” Ash nodded. Speaking of…
Caliber set layers of banded pink and red at the base of the fire, sliding them as near to the brilliant heat as she dared to before pulling away in seared retreat.

“Oh no… not wolf.” I protested, disgusted by the entirely alien concept.

“Just the good cuts.” She soothed, resolving none of my issues with this. “You have to tenderize it into velvety ribbons first, so it’d take forever to do the whole haul.”

“But-“I argued, to the extent of my ability. I didn’t even know my own reasoning, so how was I supposed to convince somepony else of it? Caliber giggled at my searching expression and then bounced back to her abattoir, eager to begin on the second skinning.

“Looks like that pelt is dry.” Ash mumbled, not moving to collect it; she had been unwilling to approach the dancing bonfire insofar, seeming almost apprehensive. I hurried to gather up the light gray material, levitating my needle and thread at the ready in my stead. I made an empty gesture at the mare.

She responded with a blank stare. “Your vest.” I explained, wanting to use the garment to get some bearing on size, and an insight into the relationship between the seams and hems.

“I’m just a little smaller than you.” She promised, nervous energy flickering in her eyes.
Oh… right, somepony who didn’t share my vagabond’s regard for nudity. I stripped off my father’s coat, taking caution to toss it away from both fire and gore, and then examined my own burnt sienna vest.
The golden-laced scripture made the seams harder to discern, but I made the best evaluation that I could.

“Alright, now we need to decide which of these two scales we use for your coat.” I held the half-dozen in suspension, regarding them as a jewel appraiser would gems… or diamonds, apparently.
“You’re the smallest, but not by much, so I don’t think that justifies you getting the smallest share.”

“I haven’t been shot at this whole time.” she argued.

“Nun of us haff sinpf the toll boof.” Caliber added, from behind a gag of browning, mottled fur. “As far as wasteland combat goes, we’ve been playing on easy for a while now.” She added, after dropping the pelt

“Really? Alicorns, Griffon Ghouls, Savages and Giant River Serpents?” I arched my brow at the undervaluation. “Those sound like the tutorial stages to you?” she grinned no. “Besides, you and I were shot at by that robot in the Border Security Station… and I had to take out that turret at MASEBS.”

“Exactly,” Ash chimed, drawing evidence for some entirely separate point from the one that I was working towards. “I haven’t even had need for bullet-proofing once.”

“Yes, but you’ve been kidnapped tuh-wice.” Caliber pointed out, as she helped me hang the second pelt to face the fire. “And that’s just here in Zion.”

“I doubt that a barding of serpent’s scales would have helped much.” She countered tentatively.

“Fair enough,” Caliber shrugged, stopping in her tracks (both figurative in passage and literal in blood) on the way back to the bodies. “But I think it should be: Biggest to Grace, next biggest to you and the smallest to yours truly, because a few more bullet wounds aren’t going to kill me.”

“Why should I get the biggest ones?”

“I don’t know Miss Knockout, you tell me.” She smiled wryly.

“Ponies would shoot her just because she is good-looking?” Ash misinterpreted, sweetly oblivious.

“That’s not what I meant-” A flicker of panic surged into her eyes. “Not that you aren’t!
“You’re beautiful! Who needs a tail, really? Some ponies, oh sure, but not you.” Caliber stumbled over her words with an Ash-appropriate awkwardness. “Just wonderful… flanks… everything… just, all of…you.”

How nice that she was so desperate not to hurt my feelings, I thought to myself, warming.
“That’s sweet of you to say, but you needn’t worry about me.” I began to channel my mother, who’d been the only other pony whose words left me feeling like this. Others spoke far crueler, and had hurt me for their attraction. “It’s not like we have anypony to impress.” This deferred from the truth of my oft resilient self-consciousness. “Besides, I expect I’ll look pretty frumpy, that is my father’s old coat, after all.”

“Oh no,” Caliber reacted as if I was speaking complete nonsense. “It fits abso-lute-ly perfect; your father must have had an amazing… body.” She had clearly wanted to abandon that sentence. “I mean-“

“Goddesses.” Ash was stirring at the dusty stone below, drawing imprecise shapes and smiling to herself. “I imagine that you’d like very much to go back to your work now, Caliber.” The exasperated mare nodded in a grateful fervor and bounded off to the resumption of her solitary skinning.

“It’s odd having ponies who’ll get flustered just at the thought of upsetting you.” I beamed. “Odd in the very nicest way, of course.” These mares are my friends, I celebrated to myself. I truly have friends!

“Of course.” She agreed, still smiling softly to her dirt scrawl. For a moment, she looked to be very wise.

“Hey, since Caliber’s often the one in the real heat of things.” I suggested, eyeing the drying brown pelt. “Do you mind if we-“she nodded cheerfully, immediately agreeing to go along with my gift of deception. I set aside two of the larger obsidians, promising them to the second coat.

The scales weren’t even that differently sized, I berated, pining for the lost time, though we really didn’t have any other, more practical use for the evening. The tombs would be our sanctuary against the night, or at least, the lesser intrusion of the crematorium below them would be.

We worked into the early hours of the next morning, Caliber darting back and forth in a gradually calming hurry, Ash and I working together to imitate the work of both the seamstress and the stone-mason.
One problem with the scales was that they were too sharp; using them as lining in the coats would be akin to stitching knives into the folds of fur. We dulled the angular edges as you would glass, imitating the course degrade of sandpaper with gentle coercion against the rough stone of the crematorium.

Caliber suggested that I hold the scales to the flame, to soften them for malleability, but even she admitted that this idea drew from the logic of wives-tales and myth. I tried it anyway, to unclear success.

After a few hours, the coats were nearing perfection, each imbued with a strategically placed pair of impermeable scales. A palette of light gray pale for Ash’s garb, and one mottled in a tawny plethora of earth tones for Caliber’s. Both looked thin, not much thicker than a wolf’s pelts would, and only covered as far as the mare’s respectively black and blue vests spanned, but the warmth they imbued was clear when put to a test in the coffin-hall beyond the bonfire’s heat.

I tested the incorporation of layers into my father’s coat, never going so far as to stitch anything on. The added material made me feel fat, not in a superficial way, but more for its sluggish restriction of movement and stuffy over-insulation. I did, however, neatly attach the smallest scales over where, Caliber claimed, I was most likely to get shot. Once across my right ribs and the other reaching down from my clavicle, the latter stuck out of my collared shirt at its crest, masquerading as a black jewel necklace.

For lack of a complete, material wrap-around, the other mares had both of their bullet-proof insertions placed along the length of their sides, new guardians to join the rib-cage in defense of their hearts.
The Gauze extruded from beneath Caliber’s relatively small article, another reminder that most wounds would not be prevented, and that the scales only protected against a set of very specific eventualities.
Not quite “bulletproof’ as I had boldly claimed many hours earlier, but a great improvement nonetheless.

With the scrapped excesses: I stitched two rough, patchy blankets, which we rolled discreetly into our saddlebags. They were crude quilts, not exactly luxury bedding, but I was proud for them nonetheless.
Ash requested that I segregate the larger coverlet that I had been planning on, if only for her self-predicted inability to fall asleep in such intimate conditions. Caliber was happy to share one, however.

The fire was dying out, finally expending whatever simple source of fuel or kindling had been set up under the crematorium. We would still have no need for the blankets, as the heat in the room wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry. I made sure to collect everything from the scatter of tools and reagents, though left the sizeable accumulation of wolf-meat for Caliber to pack into her own satchel.

“You seemed to love my jerky at MASEBS.” She queried, still confused at the unspecific basis for my misgivings. “This taste’s almost exactly the same.” Her contented chewing didn’t sway me.

Ash nibbled at the tip of the crispy band, and wasn’t struck down in the vengeful wrath of Mother Nature. Was that my problem? Was I being an environmentalist? No, I was raised to know better than that.
What put me off was the thought of a canine creature, a cousin to Equestria’s favorite pet, as a food.

“Do ponies still keep dogs?” I wondered out loud. The Wolves had been grossly under-irradiated. Had that been by an environmental sanctity or a genetic one? Were there mutant dogs?

“Some do.” Caliber answered, mouth full. “Mostly the Stay-at-Homes, but sometimes even raiders.”

“Stay-at-Homes?” Ash inquired, her mouth full.

“You know, like you used to be.” She tossed the mare another piece of rusty looking meat. “Those unadventurous types who somehow make it by without having to resort to mercenary work or trading.”

“What other jobs are available?” I asked, not looking for openings, just sated curiosity.

“Thief, whore, slaver… raider if you’re really desperate.” I certainly couldn’t imagine Ash as any of those.

“Some ponies just survive for a living, like I said when we were talking about cutie-marks.” She reassured, quelling my farfetched speculation. “My congregation was sustainably independent, for example.”

“That must have been nice.” Caliber kept offering me portions of wolf, but I determinedly waved her away. “No Junkies cluttering the streets or Merc Conglomerates muscling in on the best jobs. Sounds like a Good way to have grown up.”

“Yes.” Ash had barely halved her first serving, and so had a hoarder’s pile of the concurrent courses developing at her side. “Though I imagine that Stable life had its advantages too.” She deflected.

“I’m not going to lie: it was easy.” I nestled down onto my haunches, my eyes heavy from the constant blast furnace of heat and light, which both beat against them in soft plumes. “Maybe not as interesting as it can get out here, or as brutally, unpredictably honest. But survival was never a question, and It would be wasteful not to appreciate that.”

“I remember what you told me.” Caliber wrapped the rest of the hunt’s yield safely away, leaving us completely prepared for a morning departure. “That you wouldn’t go back.”

I shook my head, but then set it to rest against the floor of warmed stone, still looking into the firewood of her brown, glistening eyes from across the low embers. “Not ever.”
Not even if the wasteland became an infinite Zion, I added to myself. Not even if these mares and I were the last three ponies in a place devoid of all life besides spiteful Zebras and an undead wilderness. They could open my Stable door, letting out the last light in Equestria that came from something other than an abandoned monument or morbid ruin, calling me in to take refuge from the bitter, empty hinterlands abounding around me, but I would stand firm. Even if beckoned back by Shady Sands herself.

How many days had it been? I felt no obligation to keep count, and even that was an indication of an acceptance, a happiness here. Prisoners marked their walls with shallow dashes, tracking every miniscule dent in their appointed sentence, while always praying for some great escape. I had been that convict, with him I shared the commonalities of a steel cell and a bitter warden, warring cliques and petty squabbles, escalating to the occasional shanking in a moment of disregard.

My damnation, my criminal banishment, had done just the opposite of what the reprimand of law was designed to do. It had freed me from an incarceration, from the prison of a nearly utopian, century-old cycle. An impossibly lonely, restricted, and ultimately dwindling existence.

“Ash is asleep.” Caliber whispered, smiling warmly at the softly cooing pilgrim. She snuggled up beside me, her tawny coat waiting beside our saddlebags, not to be worn until thoroughly cleansed of the wolf’s part in it, the creature’s scent, its gore. “I… I think I regret bringing up her pilgrimage earlier.”

“Emotions can make us do things that we usually wouldn’t.” I sought the pillowing of her soft white scarf, its tear-dabbled history evidence to my own words. I didn’t regret having sought refuge here, but felt an unshakable pang of shame whenever I thought in retrospect of how enfeebled I had been.

She nodded forlornly, her guilt intensified by the sight of Ash, curled up, small and round, at the foot of a dying fireplace. “You know, I don’t think I’m going to be able to go back either.”

“To the farm?” I nuzzled into her, a dulling drowse taking control as I found a spot to settle in.

“No.” she giggled, bouncing me on her chest, rocking me near and away. “I’ve been doing this since I was a filly, and… I wasn’t always given much choice in who I worked for, or how much control they had over me… There’s been some real scum along the way… some difficult contracts.”

“I’m sorry.” I comforted, not fully understanding the severity of what she was admitting. Perhaps for my sleepy haze or simply my rampant naivety, I couldn’t imagine the sometimes raw brutality of her work.

“I know. But Damascus saved me, maybe before I had lost too much of myself.” She rocked me. “And Charon’s definitely the most professional buck I’ve ever worked with, though that’s probably because Damascus found him after it was too late, after he had lost it all to whatever fucked-up life he lived.”

“…”

“It’s just that, after this, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to work with anybody else.”

But the lapping tides of sleep had come, and the mare’s words had faded into silence over the ocean, reaching out from that empty beach, but kept at bay by the abstraction of black waters under moonlit rest. Though she would have enjoyed hearing this testimony to their group’s amorous bond, Grace was Gone.

-----------------------------------------------

I scrawled lethargically at my naked arm, marking off another day with a tapering black scar.
My Pip-Buck had been taken, replaced with these manacles of choking and binding.
Caliber kicked at the cell bars, urging me to silence my own arduous panting, the whispers of pain.
She wore a police hat, set back to taper on the back of her head, short red mane ruffled under it.
I quickly finished the cut, and it sealed immediately into a dark crimson scab. Number Nine.
The walls had been where I started, but the wounds held no bearing when enacted on a lifeless plane. Bleeding was forbidden, but I could mark the passing of each day… or year… with a deep pain.
I remembered the feeling of each mark, how it had felt to add the first five all at once, the transfer.

Fern hated to see me do it. She hadn’t yet found the sanctity of pain; she still believed that she could survive without it. How did she remind herself that she was alive? How could she know that she still felt anything at all? The mare would either succumb to my self-mutilation, or lose herself, I predicted.
She was a pretty pink, with a model’s beauty; the kind that you always assured was a brushed-up fabrication to make yourself feel better. Even here, in this filthy cell, she looked like she was in a picture.

Ash had hung herself: that had been the murmur passing through the gray halls this week; the pilgrim had finally finished her journey. I didn’t blame her, as each cut seemed to be less freeing than the last. Who was I to judge, when did self-mutilation become suicide? When you weren’t too much of a coward.
They never let us out, Caliber was the only one they allowed into the halls, but where she had found the hat, I did not know. She was to keep us quiet, to be their instrument of gagging suppression, but in exchange we were spared the brutality of the guards who had come before.

The Savages had been barbarous, beatings and rapes had run rife throughout the cells.
So we didn’t disobey Caliber, not ever. And when the night came, and she hurried back into her cell to share our terrified shivering in anticipation of the Zebra’s shift, we did not hold her daylight demands against her. She was the only one giving us any mercy, after all. Fern hated the Zebras; it was as if the entirety of her passion, her life-force, was devoted to abhorring them.
This didn’t make the night easy for us… as we were always an us… It was never just me.
It didn’t matter what I did, my compliance and respectful obedience meant nothing during the beatings that ensued her vulgarities and spiteful threats. This pain wasn’t freeing, this pain hurt.

Now Caliber cowered in the corner of her cell, shying away from the rotting body dangling from the ceiling. The corpses would never sway, it was as still as anything in this forgotten place.
She had taken to talking to it, the fleshy ornament, telling it immersive stories of her troubled youth.
What about you, Ash? How did you get your cutie-mark? There was never an answer.
They had a loud argument about Celestia and Luna one night, but Caliber won by default.
She would put the police-hat on the body sometimes, leaning over from the top-bunk to nestle it over her frozen lavender mane. Ash liked to play pretend, that was one of her favorite games.

The Zebras were coming. I begged for Fern to make amends, if only as a mercy to me.
She said she was sorry, that sacrifices had to be made, if she could bear both our beatings, she would. She couldn’t, that wasn’t how it worked, if they beat her half-way to death then I would get the remainder. This time was different, though, the monochrome soldiers had come for me, not their militant enemy.
This time I had insulted them, I was an affront to the prison, they said. They were to take me from Zion.

-----------------------------------------------

“This is typical, typical!” a voice screamed, overt passion, which only served to accentuate his accent. “What did I say, Zalika? What did I tell you? Are you not glad that we didn’t consult the Decurion?”

For a time I thought that I was still dreaming, the crayon-scrawled stripy wardens continuing the assailment that had begun in retaliation to my crimes against Zion. They were to execute me.

“He assaulted us in ambush, he let us save him from your river-serpent, and then he kidnapped me as thanks.” Ash soothed calmly. “This buck seems to have developed a grudge against us.”

“They all have a grudge against us.” Caliber fumed. “We’re not anything but invaders to them.”

“Exactly, invaders!” The buck cried triumphantly to some unknown authority. “And thieves.”

I blinked my eyes open, to find that my pillow had left me, face set against the now cool stone, to gather dust and ash from a dead fire. I had a good instinct for time, as that’s all time had been for most of my life. A superficial, an idea, a pattern, and that meant it was morning. Despite the constant dark of the tomb.

“I’m sorry.” Zalika apologized. “But it seems that all of Dakarai’s claims have basis.”

“Yeah, but his claims are ridiculous!” Caliber spat. I twisted my neck, looking towards the dim source of light emanating from the doorway out of the crematorium. Torch-light burned, strapped onto the battle-saddles at a pair of zebra soldier’s sides. There was Dakarai, the now nominal ambusher and kidnaper, apparently fully recovered from Ash’s knock-out. Zalika stood ahead of the regiment, our belongings spread out below here like an evidence display in a spontaneous court-case. Half a dozen nondescript, ghost-faced military elite stood behind her. Dakarai looked even slighter in comparison, still just a Scout.

“How many of our wolves have you killed?” she countered, nudging the fur articles. “Is his testimony to your slaughter of the river-serpent not true? Are these garments not products of Zion’s harvest?”

I rolled onto my hooves, drawing the attention of all: defendants, judge, jury and executioner.

“Shepard.” Zalika nodded in recognition, her soldier’s respect for my brief allegiance still maintained. “We are in dispute as to whether you have over-stayed your welcome in our valley.”

“What’s the issue?” I asked the ponies besides the fireplace, dusting myself off. “We’re happy to leave.”

“Your emotional state and opinion have no relevance, it is not doubted that you will leave.” Dakarai grinned. “But your allies wish to take more than they deserve. And besides, you are all guilty of genocide.”

“Yeah, genocide, I know.” I said, still confused as to why this was suddenly a problem.
“Not the savages.” Caliber explained. “Their upset about our little hunting expedition.”

“At our count, you have killed over twenty of Zion’s wolves.” She recited. “Meaning you may easily have erased their presence entirely from this valley.”

“Like we did the Savages?” I asked, a defensive arrogance seeping into my tone. Humility could go hang, I wasn’t about to take a lecture on genocide from the mare who had threatened my friends to get me to perform one. Our allegiance had been brief, and conditional, but I’d be damned if it didn’t mean anything.

“You took part in a military operation.” She euphemized. “A service to Zion that we have agreed to repay by contributing to your fight against the Slavers and their Railway.”

“So it all balances out, huh?” Caliber drawled. “We get no higher appreciation than common intruders, because you already paid off your debt to us?”

“Yes, we have sent the courier to your Damascus; we kept our end of the deal just as you kept yours.” The Zebra mare had Tri-Beam stacked with the lovingly worked over wolf pelts. “That issue is settled.”

“You have committed crimes against Zion.” Dakarai relished. “So we will enact punishment.”

“What does your Decurion have to say about this?” Ash asked, she sat near to Caliber, as if she was expecting to share the kick-back of the black rifle once again. The Zebra commander had spoken to us in high regard, he had shared his people’s history, offered a genuine thanks. He had acted above and beyond the stipulations of a cold, military exchange. Surely he wouldn’t abide this nonsense.

“We are not required to consult him in this.” The buck explained, his revenge going perfectly. “We are acting on the standing orders of the valley, rules that have existed for generations.”

“No,” Zalika dissuaded, causing his cruel smile to falter. “They deserve some mercy. Exile not Execution.”
Dakarai was visibly enraged, but for once he yielded to a military cool rather than an emotional irrationality. A Scout did not have any standing against the word of his first legionnaire.
“But you cannot leave with any of your gains from our valley. We must claim these reagents by Zion’s oldest laws, as we would after the customary firing-squad end to any other intruders or thieves.”

“That’s Equestrian technology.” I argued, ignoring the coats in defense of my enchanted Tri-Beam. I had found it beside a Zebra corpse, granted, but had that Zebra not discovered it in the place of his undoing? “I got it from the Stable, as I was emptying It.”

“Yes, I do regret taking it from you.” She replied, not giving any indication that it would be enough to change her mind. “But your application of the enchantment was callous; it has imbued the weapon with Zebra alchemy. And, above and besides that: Zion keeps what it yields, nothing ever leaves this valley. Please, see that I am already doing enough wrong by letting you live. I am giving you a mercy.”

What would Caliber have done if the fight with the serpent had not expended her rifle’s enchantment? The Zebras, or us more likely, would probably be very dead. I, however, was not prepared to die fighting for a weapon, no matter how familiar I had become with it. Although, that didn’t mean I wasn’t angry.

“That’s complete bull, and you know it!” I seethed. “If anything you’re robbing us.”

“Maybe,” Dakarai shrugged. His sickly smile returning as he came to terms with our abandoned execution. “But we are only adhering to our people’s law. If you wish to refute our law, then go ahead.” One inept scout, one deadly legionnaire, and six elite soldiers, now all armed with glowing black rifles. Ash was using a gun that was almost amusingly too big for her, and Caliber was unarmed, the 45 discarded into saddlebags, its presence from her leg-holster not necessary in working on the wolf pelts. My Tri-beam was within telekinetic reach, but just above it, eight enchanted guns stood ready to fire.

“So you’re leaving us with nothing?” I asked, accepting their control of the situation.

“Far from it,” Zalika seemed offended, as if it was insulting to assume her of such protocol cruelty. “We are only obliged to take what Zion has given. The wolf-coats and rifle will do. You expended all the medicine in the cathedral, correct?” Healing you and your people, I wanted to yell.

I saw Caliber shake her head at Ash, either in dissuasion or disgust. “I did.”

She turned to Caliber. “Is there anything else in your bags that you have taken from Zion?”

The mare grumbled for a moment then, in my opinion, gave more information than she needed to. “There are two blankets made from the wolf pelt scraps, and a few canteens of water from the river.” They would take my father’s coat is she told them about the scale nestled inside it. I willed her to stop there.
“Oh, and a whole lot of wolf jerky.” No complaints about that confession.

Zalika’s underlings began picking through the bags, as if the asking had only been a test of honesty.
“The recipe for the gold enchantment is in there.” I added. It’s also on my Pip-buck, I didn’t.

“As is my map, undoubtedly.” Dakarai hissed, though smiled at a resultant realization. “It’s likely I wouldn’t have come after you, had you not taken it. It took me years to put that information together.”

“You knew there were wolves in this tomb.” Ash chastised, our group’s shared disgust finally ebbing to the surface. “You knew that their presence here was an insult to the dead, and you did nothing.”

“You’re surprised that I didn’t act out of concern for your dead?” He laughed, confirming our assumptions of zebra disregard. “This place has been irrelevant for centuries, and so have the warriors buried here. It mattered more as a den, a place to be marked for protection, so as to maintain the wolves of Zion.”

“So you care more for the comfort of beasts than of ponies.” She concluded.

“No, I simply do not see a difference.” Even Zalika shot him an angered look, silently ordering him to back off. “You have only reaffirmed my belief that you are all the same. Brutes, with no regard for any but yourselves, selfish, ignorant…” The legionnaire rounded on him, shutting him up.

She threw our packs over, but kept hold of coats, recipe and Tri-beam. “We will leave you with the quilts and water in appreciation for your honesty. Otherwise we may as well be executing you.” Dakarai balked in repressed protest, as he did at every small mercy Zalika offered. “It has been a cold winter.”

“Thank You.” I muttered, putting on my scale-smuggling coat and strapping the saddlebags over it. The other mares picked up their own, putting them on over disappointingly thin vests. “We can leave now?”

“We will escort you out, yes.” She amended. “Please do not make us kill you, Shepard.”

I nodded, still fuming at the sight of the glowing Tri-beam strapped to her side. We had three pistols and only one rifle left. Thankfully one of the weapons was Hell’s Laser Pistol, so I still had some semblance of familiarity to take solace in. Though it would be like having to eat nutrient paste again, after being banned from ever partaking in the heaven that was Pork and Beans.

We trudged amidst the Zebras, surrounded on each side by torch-bearing guards, at least getting to take one last look at the now peaceful graves. All in all, we hadn’t lost much. I could imbue any weapon with the golden enchantment, once reading up on how to recreate it. The quilts would allow us to survive the coming winter nights, and I wasn’t going to shed a tear for the confiscated wolf jerky. It was the insult that made us fume in cold disdain. The gall of these authoritative demands. The loving labor that had gone into creating the coats, disregarded, the integral part we had played in Zion’s liberation, forgotten. This was treatment deserved by criminals, as that is how they now saw us. That is what had become of their heroes; this is what they had made of them. Even Dakarai would be more celebrated than us.

The dark chamber fell away, and we began a long march along the narrow hallway to the surface. They always kept a formation around us, flanking us or corralling us, as if they were escorting wild beasts. The Scout’s disregard for us had at least been honest, expressed rather than sub-conscious and ritualistic.

In the hallway, we were boxed in, locked tightly in a border of heavily armed escorts. But this would have been our only chance to try anything. However we, being of sound mind and repressed emotion, didn’t.

The open air of morning was a welcome relief, a great improvement to the deathly and sanguine aromas persisting below. It was early, pale light indicating that the sun had only just risen, to grace us with its thoroughly filtered light. The clouds were light, in color but not in presence, and visible beyond thin mist.

The Zebras formed a pen around us, imitating the incarceration of livestock, and lead us back to the dry heave. Always quiet, always alert, always cold. Even our nemesis Scout was silent, though he occasionally afforded us a glance at his persistent grin of triumph. The lengths pride could go to…

The riverbed became a highway at our intrusion into Zion’s barren scar. The empty silence was replaced by a regulated one, broken only by the eastward march of hooves over silt and snowmelt. They let us pause only to wash the quilts - Zalika’s trivial mercy - Watched as we desperately scrubbed, cleansing the pelts so that we would not be plagued in sleep by the vile scent of death, reminding us of Zion.

Footnote: Level Up!
Perk Added: Equestrian Imperialist:
You don’t take kindly to any group that holds animosity against Equestria.
This currently applies to raiders, slavers, junkies and tribals with +15% damage and better S.A.T.S accuracy.
Some may call it elitism, or even racism… but they’re the kind of hippies that should tremble at your mighty Old-World justice!

Chapter 16: Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend

Fallout Equestria: Sola Gratia
Chapter 16: Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend
“I don’t mind trailblazing, long as we’ve got the ammo… and the whiskey.”

“There.” The zebra gestured towards the tapering conclusion of her valley’s southern border: a bed of low, steely mountains which were blanketed under the fresh mists that sank just ahead of us, and swirled all around us, as if we were perched within a cloud. “That’s where you’ll find them.” The buffalo.

Zalika’s short Mohawk bristled in a vivid rhythm with the wind. My father’s coat whipped around me, dancing to the same primordial beat. We stood on a ridge, one final rise and fall before the mountains beside us took control of the earth. Down, down where the valley met its end, down into the earth.

She was directing us to the mine, the diamond mark on her bitter comrade’s map. Giving me the excuse I needed to explore that bringer of war, the ancient conflict’s life-blood, its heart. It was a caricature at this distance, simplified by exaggerated elevation. Until we found a way down this cliff, we would not know it. However, rails cut through the blocky buildings, like a stitch at the range’s foot. Rails that lead back into the Middle Passage, back to Hell. We were standing at the brink of Zion, the brink of freedom.

Finding a course to our next objective had been easy, as easy as asking a question.
Zalika’s guilt was clear, but buried from full effect by military law and culture. She had forced Dakarai to yield the information, angering him greatly as his taunting arrogance gave way to a sweet humiliation. The roving Scout had known that the buffalo were there, and had jumped at the chance to wave the information just beyond our reach after we had asked Zalika for advice on finding them in the expansive Northern Plain. When she had ordered him to confess it, he had very nearly given himself to court-martial.

“This is where we’ll leave you, Zion ends below.” She bade. The dry river run had curved to meet its burbling little sister - less than innocent for the monsters it concealed - a fair ways west, and we had already put the rest of the cold valley behind us. “I trust that you won’t return.”

Caliber waved the regiment away, not in farewell but in a frustrated dismissal. All the mercies that Zalika could offer would not make up for the gross indignation that her command had driven between us.
The soldiers, reduced, in their silent conformity, to nothing but doused torches beside lifeless faces, turned about face and began to march at their first legionnaire’s signaled prompts.
Ghost-faces turning away for the last time.

“Thank you for the savages, Shepard.” The Zionist made one final attempt to make this a cordial parting. “I hope that you persevere over the Slaver’s Railway.”

I didn’t even care to listen. I was staring into infinity: An expansive stretch of earth that could almost compete with the calming void above. Its entirety seemed to bristle in the morning breeze, calling me in. Zalika may not have deserved acknowledgement, but, were I in a state of any less awe, I would likely have given it to her. For now, though, I barely even registered my friends, much less our zebra escort.

“Don’t you even start.” Caliber warned, to who I could only assume was the sallow scout Dakarai.
“Don’t you even fucking start.” I didn’t hear them leave. The ghosts of the north disappeared as silently as they had come, as discreetly as they would continue to exist in the solace of Zion. Separate and Safe.

Now I could focus, now I could take it all in.

The Northern Plain lay before me, on display as my vantage was raised by rock and soil.
I could see the death that had crept through mountain and valley to reach this great absence, the implications of a war that had never truly reached this place. The grass was gold, almost.

It was as if every color was unsaturated, every shade reduced to what it would appear as through a smoky window or ashy haze. The gold was pale, the gray was grayer, and everything else was gone.
The shallow grassland was like an ocean, with the occasional flaw or ruin jutting from its level surface. Frighteningly large rock forms jutted out of the golden tides at rare intervals, like the graying teeth of some ancient leviathan that had enclosed the world in its jaws. They were stooped, bent low almost parallel to the auricle hills beneath them, as if each was suffering under the burden of old age.

One long mountain range ended it to the South, the bed of my Stable, the mountains of the Alicorns.
A dull lake expanded the natural northern border of Equestria, taking over where Fern’s Wall and Celestia’s Landing had left off. The water shimmered beyond an extent, where light cloud gave way to lighter sky. It was alive, but settled into the same dead shade as everything else beneath the overcast.

In between was grass, but also dirt, stone, but mostly ruin, and curiosity, but predominantly death.
A city rose, most notably, in the solid ocean’s heart. Exactly as promised by Ash and my Pip-buck, Cabanne sat nestled and nested upon a tall bluff, the only anchor afforded apart from skeletal extrusions. I noticed that the teeth were orientated towards the vague city, or rather, Cabanne had been constructed at a point where all things had once led, a point that it seemed the very earth was directing you to.

Pines and antennae marked the borders of the open country, both stripped and metallic as they barely resisted the collapse of each wind-strewn temptation. The frames were for electricity, Ash explained, the chain-links of cable-suspending deliverance cut across the land. Some were for television or communication, and soon radio, assuming we could get the systems’ spearheading tower functional. That too was visible in the middle of the Plain’s heart, rising like a thin needle far along the highway on our left.

While rails made a stitch, the road made a scar, as if two wounds had been left for comparison, one treated, and the other abandoned to fester. They both extruded from the obscure Middle Passage, and cut across the land until disappearing into a narrow gap in the distant mountains.

Beyond that escarpment was Calvary: New Calvary and Old, The City of Gold, The City of Rats. My friends had given me many names, all meaningless, to choose for the ambiguous city beyond my sight. It was where the Rangers waited, the only bastion from the otherwise omnipresent threat of raiders and slavers. I hoped that the family from the toll had crossed those mountains safely, although it seemed the only passage through that great wall of rock was at the rail and road’s distant gateway.

“What could the Slavers be interested in here?” I asked, taking measure of every little extrusion, every possible point of interest for both myself and the Railway. Along the tracks there were a number of settlements, which could easily be occupied or abandoned, prosperous or burnt to a blackened frailty. We did not know if the Coltilde had left Hell, if the train had begun its harvest of the ponies across this Plain.

“The usual, but Damascus figures their real fascination is with New Calvary.” Caliber explained.

“No way is the Earth Mover getting over those mountains.” I discouraged, hoping that I had estimated its size relative to its one potential route of passage correctly.

“They’ll find a way through Littlehorn, then. Travelers have survived the Cloud before.”
“Where does it come from?” Ash asked. I wasn’t surprised at the mare’s curiosity; her beloved Pilgrimage had been deferred to their doom by the mythical obstacle, after all. And according to Caliber’s guess: even the Alicorns of their canonical undoing had suffered for it. I would have gotten a chance to see their boon for myself, had I not crashed one of the crippled abominations to unconsciousness.

“Some say Luna’s School for Gifted Unicorns, all from that first attack, but others figure it leaks outta the crystal caves under Canterlot. Capital’s still drowned in the stuff.” Caliber offered. “I met one crack-pot who thought that the Cloud was sentient, like some kind of conscious plague.”

“It doesn’t reach Calvary, does it?” It didn’t sound like the kind of affliction I would like the ‘safest settlement’ in the northern wasteland to have.

“Not even close.” That was a relief. “Rumors say it’s actually pretty narrow, enough for some to cross the whole damned thing, in one brakeless, haggard trip. But I wouldn’t take a shot at it, not based on rumors.”

“Would the Slavers?” I asked, to which the mare of strange, uncultivated education only shrugged.
The Coltilde would come, or would have come, through the Plains. Meaning that right now, it was what we needed to be worrying about. I would ask the buffalo if any towns had been besieged yet.
Buffalo-DJ-East on the Road to the Southern Plain, I recited the plan to myself.
No, it should be: Buffalo-Cabanne-DJ-Eastward along the Road, surely.
Although, it would be better to check up on at least one of the towns ourselves.
Buffalo-Cabanne-RailsideTown-DJ-Road.
Don’t forget to stop by at the concession stand.

“Alright, remember, we’re nice ponies, nice ponies looking for big-strong-buffalo to help us fight the Slavers.” I recited, wanting to make some actual allies rather than a bitter contractual agreement.

“And Guns.” Ash chimed, making me pine for Tri-Beam.

“And Food.” Caliber concluded, making me glad to be rid of at least one unnatural sin: wolf jerky.

We started down the ridge, staggering over loose rock and unstable surfaces all the while.
It was a gentle slope, if volatile, so it wasn’t as if a disregard for caution was going to kill anypony.
I told myself this to soothe my own panicking mind, trying to nip my fearful predictions of a fatal fall in the bud. I clearly hated heights, why couldn’t they have installed a staircase or something?

I began to slide, not by my own volition but by the combined cruelty of gravity and a tempted fate.
It didn’t last long, but by the time Caliber had bitten into my abbreviated tail, I had converted to/defected from several religions and made deals with every devil that I could imagine.

“You’re shaking like a… well, like a unicorn on a slightly slanted ridge, I guess.” Caliber mumbled from around her mouthful of intimately short tail.

“So it’s a normal reaction.” I resolved my purchase against a more solid set of rocks. “Good.”

“How about an earth pony at a garden party?” Ash offered, apparently dissatisfied with Caliber’s literal analogy. The mare was having just as much trouble as I had, and took guarded steps from one pre-approved stone to another, keeping her a distance behind us. If Caliber had taken the lead she so clearly could have, I would have been on my own, left to slide to my horrible death… or at least mild discomfort.
“What’s so scary about a garden party?” She waited for me to develop an undeniably permanent relationship with the earth, a marriage, before letting me loose. “If anything: I think we’re better at them.”

“Why?” Ash took a bold leap of faith, crossing at least a dozen inches of smooth ridge in a single bound. At this rate the buffalo would complete whatever task they had made camp to work on for the last couple of days - at a mine, oddly enough. I didn’t think they, of all wastelanders, would be interested in gems.

“Affinity with the earth? Remember?” the grounded mare cooed in her supremacy.

“Speak for yourself.” Ash retorted, scrambling across a pile of pebbles to prove her point or, more likely, just by clumsy accident. Of the two, Caliber certainly seemed earthier, but I didn’t say that. As far as compliments went, it was down in the questionable dregs with: ‘Nice Bandages.’

Finally I reached the base of the ridge, already becoming immersed in gently rolling hills and a pure palette of stony gray and bristling gold. The Plain was not as flat as it had appeared from above, and the ocean had broken into a stormy surge of soft waves. I couldn’t see what had seemed to be everything anymore, which was more a comfort than a truly great loss. The electrical pylons and network antennae seemed taller against the numerous horizons, joined in their skeletal intrusion by the rarer pines.

The most strikingly altered perspective, however, came when I turned to regard the deadly cliff-face.
A ridge met my exaggerating eyes, a foal’s slide, an angled plane, tilted just shy of 45 degrees.
The lion had become a kitten, making me realize my own embarrassing cowardice in a wave of shame.
Caliber had, of course, already reached my side, and was watching my realization with an amused smile.

“Ash!” I cried to the tremblingly slow mare. “Stop that! It’s a kitten!”

She froze in place; each limb stretched awkwardly to some reliable hold, and cried back. “What!?”

“You could just walk straight down!” I estimated, correctly. “It’s ridiculous!”

She reached out a quivering hoof, cautiously reaching for the stone just ‘below’ her. On its landing, she stood; bolt upright, as the same wave of realization washed over her. “You were right!” she called out, redundantly. I applauded the mare’s bravery as she descended the figurative molehill and joined us.

“I can’t say that it doesn’t have its charms.” Caliber giggled.

“What?”

“Babysitting.” She flicked her tail at us and hurried off towards the mountains’ nearby submerge.
We gave chase, jovially laughing as we pursued the condescendingly accurate bastard.

As travelling went, sprinting along in superficial pursuit was a welcome change from lying limp in a cart of junk or tripping just ahead of a torrent of fire and its amorous life-partner. Though those experienced had both been greatly improved by being high on sunshine and Dash respectively.

The southern range rose into a constant, a dominator of skyline and surroundings in its monolithic everywhere. Behind our pelting hooves, the dry grass was released in a billow of golden feathers, marking our trail of futile following. I couldn’t even hope to use my power of short-but-sweet speed, Caliber had too much of a lead for my lungs to handle in an overload, but sticking with my partner in insulted cheer was more important than revenge anyway. The quarry clarified ahead.

The long foreman’s office - a rusty-roofed, squat building with one long, scratched over window- blocked most potential surveillance of the site. Otherwise visible, was a tall, red loading crane, equally grayed and scarred by time and smoke, looming over the rails, which appeared suddenly from behind mountainous extrusions beyond. Carts, some loaded with broken rock and abandoned mining equipment, sat beside the transport-route, ready to be loaded or attached to passing trains. I doubted that the slavers would have much want for them, though they had recurrently come this way before, so I needn’t speculate.

What had made them more violent? I wondered, still dividing some focus to the absconding crimson flame of Caliber’s tail. The Slavers had run this route for years, according to Damascus, in what had turned from simple enslavement, to the repurposing of ancient technological giants and the decimation of towns. Whatever the case, I knew that they could not be allowed control of this railway any longer.

Caliber slowed as she rounded the Foreman’s office, giving us the perfect window of opportunity.
Ash followed as I initiated a final sprint, a glorious closing of the distance between us and our target. She arched around the corner, only then looking behind her to check on our progress, the arrogant fool!

I tackled her, abandoning restraint in one final pounce of impassioned charade.
We rolled together, clouds of quarry-dirt rising at our bouncing loss of velocity, settling as I pinned her into submission. Ash hurried to our side, glad to have missed the obligatory physical contact that ended most chases. “Victory!” she said, with a mild triumph more akin to conquest in a chess match than a race.

“Alright.” Our insulter giggled, her voice breaking to the submissive laughter. “You have bested me.”
I clambered off of her strong body, knowing that she could have easily escaped from my meek capture.

“Now would children chase somepony who made fun of them down, just to throw them into the dirt for a demanded surrender that they were only using as an excuse to run around?” I asked.

“No, children would have talked about their feelings, come to some kind of mutual understanding and respect.” Ash answered, returning my hoof-bump as we watched our defeated friend climb to her hooves.

“They have so much to learn.” She agreed, not bothering to dust herself off, apart from a quick ruffling of tawny powder from her mane. Suddenly, I imagined that she would look good in a dark blue police-hat.

“In terms of survival...” Intruded a voice, one fit to serve as the drum that sounds off the end of the world. “So do you.” Its point was reinforced by the metallic sound of rifles shifting in battle-saddles. “It takes an impressive kind of foolhardiness to allow a buffalo to sneak up on you.” The hulking figures had appeared, quite impossibly, out of nowhere.

“Greetings, Chief.” Ash offered after a pregnant pause, speaking confidently but with her usual sweetness. It was almost unnatural to hear her initiating a concourse. “My name is Ash Ascella of Caeli’Vellum and I am a Pilgrim, not a Poacher.” This formal greeting sounded well rehearsed.

The Buffalo stood like mountains, their breath leasing billowing clouds of rapidly cooling warmth like mist from the reaches of towering crags and escarpments. They did not move in their heavy inhales, bodies completely still despite the clear procession of life, solid, statuesque, ancient.
There were four of them, though they easily occupied more space than the thirteen zebras of Zion’s first contact had. And not only physically, as their mere presence brought obligations of respectful reverence.
Feathers, a crown on the darkest known now as ‘Chief’, and pairs or singles on his compatriots, marked rank, though even without the hierarchical adornments, I would never have doubted Ash’s assumption.

“You're one of Cyrus’?” Ease had settled into their expressions, though their tank-like intimidation still persisted inadvertently. Their shotguns were small, ramshackle weaponry compared to the power abounding in their carriers. I was more afraid of being trampled than of being shot, but that fear was dissuading as I focused on the buffalo’s faces. Wrinkled with the deep set implications of their storied lives, almost kind, but capable of great anger, emotional and warm to the Ghost-faced cold of Zion.

“Yes, sir.” Ash bowed, still holding her membership proudly, despite the eradicated group it pertained to. Caliber was still staring with a look of wide-eyed wonder, eyes flickering across the aspects of the great warriors before us. I imagined that this is how I appeared when I looked at anything. It was the expression of naïve introduction, amazement and apprehension wrapped into one stunned bundle.

“Nice to see a friendly face,” An almost fatherly smile crossed his own scarred face. “Even if it is only inherited.” The buffalo’s daunting strength came with implications of internal might, a quality of character.
“Where is Cyrus?” His voice was a rumble, deeper, even, than Damascus’ epoch-spanning own.
There was genuine interest in his rolling words, a familiarity with the otherwise foreign name.

“Among the stars, I dearly hope.” Ash informed dolefully, though seemed to alleviate herself on sharing the news. “He passed away.”

“A shame,” The Chief nodded. His mild reaction was either an indication of a more distant relationship than I had first inferred, or a culturally imbued acceptance. “He was a strong fighter, a stronger soul.”

“Thank you.” She didn’t dare to explain the nature of Cyrus’ end, and so the abysmal discussion was thankfully avoided. “Your words are a kindness.”

“They are only words.” He dismissed. “Now, what business do you and your followers have here, little one? Though you are to be welcomed, as I suspect that we may be working towards the same goal.”

“Followers?” She looked to us, focusing on the superficial wording of the Chief’s invitation to work together, rather than the offer itself. “Oh Goddesses no, if anything I’m the follower.”

“I was unaware that such semantics still mattered to ponies.” He huffed approvingly. “It is good to see that some structure still exists. I tire of the usual disarray displayed by some of your kin.” Raiders and Slavers were probably the most prominent representatives of ponykind now, I bemoaned. “Though I am not wrong to have assumed you as such rabble, by the nature of your… entrance.”

Ash stepped up to speak once again as, despite our fading wonder, Caliber and I still hesitated to interact with the wise old Buffalo, perhaps for fear of disappointing him somehow. Why hello there, Daddy Issues, it’s good to see you at last. “We just left Zion and it was, needless to say, not on our own terms.” She gave the perfect explanation for our hurry, logical and concurrent, passing over the tackling and giggling.

He chuckled, and it was glorious. “Say no more, little dove. I grow fonder of you, if only for hearing than you’ve shared a similar animosity with those territorial Star-Cowards.”

“They were even afraid of her cutie-mark.” I chimed, taking the pristine opportunity as soon as it came. Ash turned to clearly display the falling star ordaining her flanks, so I smiled at her gratefully.

The resulting laugh came in boisterous enjoyment at the Zebra’s expense, a jovial expression in which even his kinsmen joined. I glowed with pride. “Hah! Is that not indication enough, warriors? I have always said that behind the smoke and mirrors, the painted faces and order, are a gaggle of frightened children!”

I love you, Chief! So much that I would even admit it to you, if I didn’t need your respect so much…
At least you laugh… unlike your namesake, that other motherfucker.
I berated myself for the sudden vulgarity, and tried to move on. “My name is G-“

“Shepard!” Caliber intruded, forced to make a much less dignified first impression, for which I swore I would apologize later. “Shepard and Caliber.” She giggled nervously.

“A shame.” He said, sending horrible shivers down our spines. “A name is not a thing to be hidden. If you are to be remembered, do you not want it to be for who you are, and not some liar’s mask that you wear?” We nodded obediently. “I am Uzmat Machk, the definitive bear. A name that is known, an honest name. But it is irrelevant to your kind, and so I’ve come to see your given concept of ‘Chief’… as acceptable.”

There had never been a time when I had wanted a cooler name more than I did now.
It may have fudged up her first impression, but Caliber had given me a slight improvement over ‘Grace.’
I usually quite liked my name, not the Brisby or Marie parts, but right now I needed a warrior’s name.
“Reputations can get you killed.” She excused our deception.

He chuckled. “So can the lack of one.” I had to admit, I wouldn’t want to mess with ‘the definitive bear’. “Now tell me Shepard… I’ve assumed you’re in charge.” He didn’t pause for correction. “Tell me what happened in Zion. There are no coincidences, and that you would come charging out of that untraveled place just two days behind a beacon and the stench of fire and death, is what might be mistaken as one.”

The Buffalos had congregated with mild interest at our arrival, a more relaxed formation than Zalika’s regiment had crowded her with, but now stood at ardent attention, awaiting an explanation.
“We…ah, well I’ll admit, we were helping the Zebras with a little… really, a very big problem that they were having.” I stumbled. “Savages, a Stable’s worth. My companions drew the warriors out with the beacon you mentioned, and I… well, I set their Stable on fire, which explains… the stench.”

“Stroke ‘a genius, Chief.” Caliber piped, always eager to elaborate on my summations. “Vented gas through the whole place and then lit it up, killing every one of those degenerates! Except the warriors, of course, which me and Ash took care of on the monument.” I was glad that she had added their credit.

“It was a pity, to have all those corpses on the monument, but the distraction paid off.” Ash added.

“Paid off for the Zebras.” One of the buffalo warriors – all of whom were male as far as I could tell - pointed out, bristling along with the others.

“Who were nonetheless perfectly happy to ‘reclaim Zion’s gifts’ and kick us out.” I assured, trying to restore our disposition by mutual dislike for the territorial Ghosts of the North. “Although I should have expected it, seeing as they initially got me to go along with their plan by threatening my companions.”

“You wrought genocide in defense of these two?” The Chief asked. Good-humored regard had returned to their distinct, if similarly expressive, faces. “More than a mercenary band, then?”

“Yes,” We certainly were, I thought, smiling warmly at my confirmed friends. “We’re on a rallying mission. The Slavers are getting bold, making moves: burning towns and meeting with raiders. And it’s pretty much universally agreed that they need to have their Railway shut down.” My words seemed to peak the buffalos’ collective interest once again. “We made an alliance with the Zebras-“

“Wouldn’t call it that,” Caliber interjected, both correcting and warning. The misinterpretation that we had come to bond with the justifiably unpopular Zebras, was not one that we wanted to provide any basis for. “They agreed to provide aid in the fight against the Slavers… granted we help them liberate Zion first. There was no alliance; it was more like a contractual obligation between us… conditional coordination.”

“And their obligation, what was promised in the way of aid?”

“Hitting Power.” She shrugged.

He harrumphed. “If you wanted Hitting Power.” The Buffalo swelled proudly, adding to their already noble grandiose. “Going to the weak-hearted shrouds of Zion should have been your last resort.”

I laughed in agreement; we had certainly taken up a lot of our time in the valley. The Coltilde could have already wriggled its way out of the Plains, leaving us to wait for some learning opportunity in its next cycle. “Our director,” ‘Employer’ only added to our being misconstrued as mercenaries. “Damascus, will surely bargain with their promised courier to make the whole ordeal worth our time.”

“Damascus.” He chuckled haughtily, as if remembering an ancient, defining adventure. “That old evangelist is still alive? I can’t imagine he’s too happy with that.” In retrospect, that comment actually held a lot of truth. “It is good to see that he is still, as ever: an influential anchor to this chaotic waste.”

“Goddesses, am I the only one who doesn’t know this buck?” Ash smiled, comfortable in the buffalo’s increasingly warming presence. It seemed like the Chief had no qualms with making pony acquaintances.

“Surprising, considering that you seem to be the third herald in their spiritual Passover.” He mused, picking up on her reference to her divine dignitaries. “Damascus preached, and shared his Faith with Cyrus, who no doubt begat it to you. Meaningful, that I should never come to meet any one of you with another.” Ash would be the fourth bearer, I noted, if you considered the Prophet in the orbs.

“Caeli…” she murmured to herself, aghast in revelation for the true smallness of this new world.

“I will gladly aid in your conquest of the Rails.” He nodded, drawing an excitable fire to his people’s deep-set, molten eyes. “It will undoubtedly be a challenging fight, one that I would begin immediately, were it not for an issue we must… attend to first.” They bowed, somehow performing the feat with subtlety but distinction. “Find us near Cabanne, after a few days perhaps, and you can promise us to Damascus.”

“…” they began to walk back into the quarry yard. “Chief!?” I called out, befuddled.

“We can talk more in the Plain’s heart, if you wish.” He dissuaded.

Caliber joined in over my blank confusion. “You said we may be working towards the same goal?”
Yes, let’s do that. Straight away.

“I can assure you, there are no Slavers in this mine.” The buffalo tilted indicatively towards the low cut mountain-mouth. “Herein will be settled a clan issue, then we can join our focus together on the Rails.”
I shook off the stark expression of bemused disorientation. “Let us help you!” I ushered our little patter to catch up with the massive warriors, moving monoliths that shook the dusty earth on their traverse.

“I can see why you’d need our aid.” He bemused. “But how do you expect that you’ll to help us?”

Caliber analyzed the environment, glimmering eyes darting from factor to hypothetical factor. Simpler tracks ran into a shadowy alcove under the mountain face, palettes and tools lay scattered around the dark descent, making it clear that this site had been rapidly abandoned. There were tents, one collapsed, that, judging from the disarray of frames and mattresses within, had served as make-shift living quarters. They were fresh, in that it seemed their abandon was more recent than the gear and yield besides.

She smiled, figuring it out while I assessed the bedding. “This is a Stake-Out?” I offered, using the only word that I could apply with any kind of understanding. It seemed that the buffalos had been positioned here for several days, but they clearly couldn’t have been the ones using the beds. Hadn’t we waited idly at the toll for proof? Buffalo didn’t seem like the types who had much cause for evidence.

I waited for the more weathered mare to correct my terminology. “A Blockade.”

“You can’t get in!” Ash almost laughed, making Caliber and I shiver intrinsically once again. We didn’t harbor a fear for the Chief, just a desperate need to have him hold us in high esteem. “You’re too big!”

The Buffalo’s shame at the realization translated into a defensive huff. They were suddenly very disinterested in us, pride turning bashfulness into disregard. But the honorable warriors stood at attention once again, as the Chief laughed haughtily, an almost guilty sheen dancing in his blackened red eyes.
“Well seen, little ones! You’ve discovered the Buffalo’s greatest hindrance in a world built of small things for small beings. And you are due respect for your brash delivery, pilgrim.” Ash blushed.

Caliber and I felt synonymous pangs of sub-conscious jealousy, if the Chief could’ve done so physically, he might have ruffled Ash’s mane. “Just tell us what you need retrieved, and we’ll bring it out.” I offered.

“If this is a Blockade,” Caliber explained. “Then they’ve got a score to settle with somebody hiding in that mine, somebody who was going to be on the re-ceiving end of a lot of buckshot, I’m guessing.”

“The Poachers?” Ash offered. We were technically poachers, I thought to myself, after what we had done to Zion’s wolves. I might’ve felt guilty if the Zebra’s hadn’t taken my Tri-Beam as punishment.

“Seems excessive to set up a clog like this over some wildlife.” Caliber queried, following my own misconstrued understanding. “They turn your spirit-animal into a coat, or what?” Ash eeped in a knowing panic. Uzmat Machk frowned, a subtle anger that was nonetheless the most intimidating I had ever seen.

“Brashness has limits,” He grinned, fully aware that he was scaring the figurative pants off of us. “You have a Mercenary’s Tongue, but that can be forgiven. I would ask you to use your similarly earned knowledge, for which you are obviously less ignorant, in our aid.”

“Yes Chief.” She nodded enthusiastically, apologizing. “Just tell us how we can help.”
Hey… I’m supposed to say that part, I thought enviously to myself.

“The Poachers, as they have come to be called by your kind, are simply Murderers to us.” It dawned on me. “We have no interest in how they justify their cowardly slaughter. Whether it is for their own survival or even just for profit, matters not, when our kin are the ones who die for it.”

Ash gave us a remorseful look, wishing that Caliber had just waited for this explanation. “That’s terrible.”

“Yes,” he didn’t care for our condolences. “We tracked them down, a difficult task given their aptitude for silently picking us off on stampedes or pathetically targeting the female’s peaceful camp, and the entirety of their surviving industry now hides below.” The Chief’s face clearly expressed his vivid disgust for the hunters. “Too afraid, even, to face an enemy that they outnumber two to one.”

“Eight?” Caliber calculated. “We can handle eight, no problem, Chief.”

“That is not what I’d have you do.” He shook his head, but seemed pleased at the mare’s bloodlust. “There is no honor in getting another to do your dirty work. As I said: this is a clan issue.”

“You want us to draw them out.” She nodded knowingly, seeing the thirst for a direct application of punishment in the Buffalos’ bristled stances and burning eyes. “Let you crush the bastards yourselves.”

“One mare in particular,” he yielded. “I will understand if you have to kill a few to get the others to react, and though it would be best to settle this in the fairest fight possible, casualties are acceptable. If nothing else you must ensure the survival of a mare they named Cody on their panicked retreat into the mine.”

“How aggressive are they?” I pried, already trying to formulate a plan.

“We’ve known nothing but violence in their harassment.” He fumed. “But they are traders, after all, and I imagine their disposition to potential customers is saccharine at worst.” There was a hint there.

“So we march in there, like nothing’s wrong, and start bargaining?” I pondered. “Make them think that you’ve left… then draw them out.”

“We’ll deceive them.” Ash agreed, “Maybe get them feeling safe enough to come out after us, but not insofar that they feel we are leading them into a trap.” But how? “But How?” Right.

“I don’t like the sound of this.” Caliber muttered. “I say we go in, shoot one, and then start running.”

“No, they’ll know we’re with the buffalo then.” I dissuaded. “We have to make them think we’re driven by opportunity… not violence.” First we needed to make them think that we were oblivious, even needy.
“Come on; let’s go see if they have any job openings, hopefully this Cody mare deals with recruits.”

It was Caliber’s turn to harrumph, but she followed begrudgingly as I headed for the dip.
“Here,” Ash unlatched herself from the mare’s battle saddle and tossed the rifle into the dust before the Chief. “Better we stick to more concealed weapons.” The gun’s owner balked at the rough treatment, but nodded in agreement. I floated over the 9 millimeter, sliding it into the unarmed mare’s saddlebags.

“We’ll conceal ourselves in case they send a scout to verify your word.” The Chief assured, picking up the prized gun in his horns, performing a brief stoop from grandeur. “Bring us Cody, or all this is pointless.”

I nodded and resumed my trot deeper into the quarry. The land sloped, seemingly into the mountain itself, and we were quickly swallowed by the shadow of the great ancient. The meager tracks, frail when compared to the nearby indestructible railway, stretched down beside us, arching into the darkness. A taught cable stretched along it, strained at the weight of some unknown cargo below.

A frame of rotting timber and rough plating marked the shaft, the official beginning of the underground. Collapse seemed inevitable at every rustic suspension, the pillars of splintering old wood and bent nail were not the greatest consolation. Two doorways appeared ahead, barely visible in the subsiding gray light of the surface. I ignited my horn, emanating a guarded dim glow to keep us from tumbling into some sudden chasm or rift. One door received the tracks and cable, so it was just wide enough to allow one of the rusted cars passage. The other was even smaller, meant for miners and their scrupulous foremen.

It was no wonder that the Buffalo were so sure they weren’t getting in here. A less invested pursuer would have collapsed the narrow tunnel, trapping the Poachers under the ultimate Blockade, but these scorned hunted were out for their hunter’s blood, even if it was painstakingly drawn from a single mare.

Rock jutted at uncomfortably unpredictable angles, reaching out from the claustrophobically proximate walls to threaten our soft, squinting faces. The floor, thankfully, was smooth, as if thoroughly worked over with sandpaper. Eventually, there came to be artificial light sources, allowing me to lease the responsibility of visibility to scrappily wired fluorescents and floodlights.

In the beginning, I imagined that the Poachers would have stationed a guard, a sentry to keep an eye on the enemies above, but the Blockade had aged considerably, and so the effort was long abandoned.

The tunnel broke off on occasion, stretching into byways and branches that were often no longer than the length of a buck’s toiling body. There was something warming in the walls, a pulse in the blackened rock. It rose and fell as we walked the passageway, ebbing and disappearing in a strangely soothing rhythm. Every surge made me want to start scratching at the stone, digging into the earth. I craved the warm embrace promised beyond layers of forgotten mineral and marl. But…

I didn’t falter, as we were clearly on the main course, and even the longer extrusions dwindled into a devoid darkness. Following the light seemed like the logical procession, not the indulgent one.

My Pip-buck indicated a mass of white bars ahead.

The tunnel widened, daring to stretch from its guarded coil into a veritable hallway. Beyond was light, warmer than the flickering white preceding it, more lively. The sounds of merry abandon echoed out to us, bounding at us from the golden glow ahead. It sounded like the Stable cafeteria at mealtime: a rowdy cheer of concourse and courses. Not what I would have expected under conditions of Buffalo Blockade.

Finally, the tunnel disappeared completely, breaching into an ovum in the belly of the mine. The ceiling was high, bound by shackles of reinforced steel over solid rock, teasing the ponies below with the constant, if unlikely, threat of collapse. It served as omen, or promise. There was something up there, something breathing. I could feel it, if only as a craving, I could feel the life-blood of Equestria.

The walls were wide, each diverging into more tunnels, every one labeled with an indiscernible sign, in distinction or warning. On the opposite end of the ‘room’ sat an unlikely house, or at least, a squat, windowed building. It shared the rotted appearance of every old wormwood in this place, but was suspended a short stairway’s length off the ground by a metal frame.

The room itself was like a compact, subsurface restaurant, a ridiculously themed delicatessen. It was lined with a quartet of benches and tables; they seated a total of eight appetite appeasing merrymakers.
One, a prairie-colored mare with a short mane of hard, stony gray beneath a rawhide hat, was Cody.
She wore a leather, likely buffalo hide, outfit and similarly morbid coat of patchy stitching. Her boisterous presence and glimmering pale eyes marked her immediately as our target, the Poacher’s ringleader.

We could’ve gunned them down then and there, even without Caliber’s overkill baby, Ash’s drowned conductor or my Stable-born, Zion-bound Tri-beam. But, fortunately for the merrily oblivious hunters, our pistols remained concealed. The Buffalos wanted these greedy entrepreneurs to have a few short, satisfyingly trampled final moments. For now, we had nothing but our services to offer.

“Look sharp, boys!” Cody hollered as soon as she made us out in the candle-lit haze. “Ponies!”
They actually began to cheer, some applauding in drunken discord, others simple yelling indiscernible words of warm welcome or slurred compliment. They were mostly bucks.

We traipsed over to the prairie-dog’s table, and she cordially waved her party away at our approach. “C’mon, git! We’ve got prospective customers.” Her accent was Caliber’s with a bellyful of whiskey and tar. “Ladies! Settle down; get your caps ready in the meantime, this exposition’s going to captivate you!” She didn’t even care to ask about the Buffalo. The Blockade may have kept the Poachers hungry, but they clearly had something to drink. They ragged band staggered and stank, all blissfully oblivious.

The buck and mare who had occupied our bench scampered off into the darkness, followed by most of the other staggering boozehounds. “So! What brings you to the Le Claire Deposit? Business? Tell me it’s business, for Celestia’s sake! Poor girl would be distraught to know her favorite children haven’t had a single measly cap pass their way in days!” The earth-pony spoke in a constant uncertainty of volume, seeming to make up every word with a series of vastly disproportioned syllables.

“We’d very much like to join your crew.” I said, in my already preposterously unfitting accent. Only Caliber had the easy voice to pass for a prospective country-mare, beating my Stable prim and Ash’s Slavic coo.

“Aw, for…” She slumped, her charming showmare persona leaving her little by little. “Fellas! Leave it be!” I had no idea whether that been a wise thing to say, but in any case she was acting as if nothing was amiss apart from a financial dry-spell. “Well, I can’t rightly say that’s a complete disappointment.” A chipper grin replaced the cheap over-zeal. “We’re always looking to expand.”

“We’re always looking for work.” Truth. “It’s much harder to get by with those Slavers around.” Truth.

“Not for us!” she announced proudly. “Railway can’t get enough of that buffalo de-light! They’re our biggest buyer, ‘s why we settled down near the tracks.” I wanted to ask if they had passed by yet.

“Well, they’re certainly making a dent in the rest of the clientele pool.” I said, knowingly.

“You’re damn right they are!” She took a swig at her tankard of sloppy swill, tilting her head dramatically to lap up the last frothy remnants. “But a bigger dent out of the competition… Sorry, I ‘spose that might have been you…” My eyes widened, as I had no idea what she was implying.

“Indirectly, yes.” Ash chirped. “Caravans don’t dare to go through Littlerock for fear of getting bottlenecked in the path of the Coltilde.” She was dropping names, saving me from my own foreign ignorance.

“Caravan Guards?” Ash nodded. “… Where are y’all from, anyhow? Y’sound… well you certainly sound diverse.” She gestured at Caliber with her new, hijacked tankard. “Exceptin’ you, who don’t sound at all.”
“Mercenary.” Caliber grumbled, with assuredly genuine contempt. “Not paid to talk.”
She could only have peeled off her face to make her Charon impression any more convincing.

“Obedient… good!” She toasted her. “Name’s Cody, and Ah’m starting to think we can help each other.” My first job interview was going remarkably well. “Let’s see what you’re working with.” She swept the table clear in a violent swing, loosing her own drink in the process.

Caliber yanked the 45 (which Cody stared at with an almost erotic wanting.) from her satchel, and then tossed it onto the empty surface. Ash and I followed her example with the 9 millimeter and Laser pistol respectively. “Not much, I know. We ran into some trouble on our way out of Zion.” I explained, assuming that it would be otherwise unusual to travel with such a paltry arsenal.

“Zion?” an eager, appraising glimmer entered her silver dollar eyes. “And a unicorn too… Darlin’ if you don’t mind me saying…” she purred. “You could be a picture star… that voice, that mane… that pretty face.” Her hoof was brushing against my skin, soft but unwanted. “Isn’t she just a vision of the old-world?!” Her voice rose to a call, summoning the other Poachers to regard me. “Do I repulse you?” She whispered, drawing closer to me. Cody’s breath smelt like barley and old, salty meat.

I could only smile queasily as her silver eyes stared into gold. “You’re not used to being dirty, are you?”
She swept the guns from the table in a sudden repeat of that same fluid disregard. Her compatriots crowded around as she climbed up onto the wood, bringing her sickly mouth to nuzzle at my ear. My eyes were buried in her greasy mane, drowning in the stony swirl. I sought the refuge of the earth’s pulse, focusing on the call of the dark roof above; the whispering treasures… the three, immaculate diamonds.

Cody hit me, hard. Her hoof came to the crescendo of its drunken swinging, colliding with the unscarred side of my face. I tumbled off of the bench, distracting my companions just long enough for them to miss our pistol’s disappearance amidst the Poachers. “Boys, we’ve got ourselves a genu-ine Stable pony!”

I was still reeling as zebras’ bane constellated together in a halo around my head. My horn was glowing, supporting me in the solidity of buried majesty, of crystal-blue beauty. Caliber and Ash appeared at my side, but I didn’t accept their attempts to get me on my hooves, to help me avoid the impending shackling. I was so close, so close to being one with the divine gems, ambrosial, mythical… war.

The Poachers were fully armed, weapons ordaining battle-saddles in an entrapment of fire lines, with us caught in the middle. Somewhere, surprisingly early in our conversation, the muddy-minded Cody had figured out my origin. One of the bucks gripped a single set of manacles uncomfortably between his teeth.

“You can kill the others; we’ll be rolling in it once we tell the Slavers that the Zion Stable is open for business…” I pulled myself to my hooves… and beyond. It was as if I was harnessed to the mountain’s core, hoisted by an arcane bond that broke barriers of time and gravity. I was levitating.

“Goddesses…” Ash whispered, in an echoed sentiment shared in a whisper with some of the Poachers. I was blind, I was deaf, I only had a body for the mountain, feeling for its ancient stones. Nothing else mattered, not Cody or the Buffalo… not Equestria: Only its sacrosanct heart… and my friends.

The Poachers stared on, agape and silent. Even their perceptive ring-leader sat, teetering on the table, in a reverent amazement for what, they thought, was an act of God. There were no unicorns in the North; there were no magicians or arcane illusionists, no showmares or students, no tricksters or Twilights.
To them, magic was a divines imagining, held by Celestia and Luna, their Goddesses, and now… me.

I had become a God.

But they didn’t run until the ceiling started to collapse.
Steel reinforcements were wrest asunder, bringing a tumble of boulder and dust, around me.
The diamonds were pulling themselves from the mountain, pulling themselves to me.
I had no part in it, but for an unparalleled affection for the glittering shards, a requited love.
When they approached, the full extent of their velocity unleashed by newfound freedom, I steered them to my heart. On their impact, at the moment they were freed from the stone in fact, I had started falling.
The ceiling was coming with me, cracks developing far and wide from the gems’ burrowed cavities.

The magic had diffused, the glow in my horn and in my soul replaced with the blood warming my chest. Hoisted, suddenly and without consent, I began to leave.
Though I wouldn’t complain, I had my three pieces of Equestrian heart; there was nothing for me here.
A gargantuan rock splintered the roof of the underground quarters, sending rotted wood out in an implosion, which joined with the shattering tables and benches to obscure the room in dirt and sawdust.
We pelted up the tunnel, voices hollering and yelping around us, panting Poachers escaping ahead and dying behind the diamonds… no, behind Caliber and I.

The dour mercenary had very likely saved my life, saved me from a foolhardy suicide… for now.
Blood Diamonds extruded from my chest, their flawless blue clarity ruined by the tarnish of crimson.
They rose like a city, skyscrapers towering out from around my fortunately whole-feeling clavicle.
What I could feel, was the blood, and a dull pain. My heart beat fearfully, but it beat nonetheless.

The collapse was chasing us, perhaps for an arcane shift of every gem in the mine’s walls, a massive displacement. We quickly reached familiar framework, marking our impending escape.
I jolted and jumped in my tremulous ride on Caliber’s back, attached by only a saddlebag harness swung over one of my arms. If I had fallen from her, at least I would still have been dragged along to safety.

Dust and darkness made an impending crush of mountain stone look like a volcanic ash cloud, raging behind us in a billowing plume, racing ahead of the collapse that caused it. It swallowed us, blinding us in the smokescreen, but the tunnel was tapering, and Caliber had a compass for a cutie-mark, after all.

We burst from the earth; black smoke abounding around us, like a subterranean missile being launched from a military facility that no one even knew was there. Cold, morning air signaled our survival, assured me that I had been successfully saved from my own demolition. But by wasteland law, our escape from the frying pan, only brought us into the fire.

Luckily, the buffalo were not the type for a coordinated firing squad ambush, and so we were now bounding through a stampede, rather than a warzone. The Poachers, having survived being crushed beneath rock and earth, were now being crushed under furious hooves, trampled to a pulped death. The law of the wasteland seemed to apply to a much more exaggerated extent with them, at least.

Caliber rounded on the dust-strewn quarry, and paused, allowing for me to dismount.
I slumped to the ground, coming to rest very nearly in the same spot I had pinned her earlier.
The Foreman’s office stood strong beside me, a ghost in its similar design to the collapsed structure beneath the mountain. The mare took my face in her hooves and peered into my unfocused mind.

“Tell me you didn’t just do that! Tell me you couldn’t’ve!” The blood seeped beneath my thick, improbably leather vest. She could not see it. “Shit…” she cussed in exasperation. “I’ve got to go find Ash, alright?” This was good, as I hadn’t spotted the waylaid pilgrim in our own pony stampede out of the mine. I nodded dismissively and Caliber was off, racing back into the fray.

Amidst the sandy dust cloud, the four hulking figures were clearly visible, stomping and rearing, occasionally buckling for the kickback of a shotgun’s barrage. What kind of ungodly weapon made a buffalo brace himself? The kind of weapon that created a spray of blood and gore that was more discernible than the pony it came from, I answered. An improvised, deadly, rodeo was occurring on some of the warriors. Dusted silhouettes would latch on, making a daring bound onto the monoliths first, then were quickly sent to shatter against the earth, either laying still or recovering for another attempt.

It was clear that you couldn’t kill a buffalo. The living monuments took bullet after bullet, as it was also true that you couldn’t miss a buffalo, without even flinching. When they had brought a Poacher down, they would lift off of the ground, tilting almost unnaturally, then came descending in a pounding resolve, pulverizing the pony and then its corpse. I wept for the malleable steel weapons adorning the pulp.

It was easy to forget the diamonds, as there was only a mild pain, and a single wave of blood. What presided was their cool relief against my chest, and an odd implication of a well shattered exoskeleton. I pawed at my father’s coat, pulling the wrapped material away from the impossibly mild wound. The triplicate of sharp, almost faultless treasures were set into my thick vest, but barely held purchase into my body. The obsidian shield that bore the brunt of their invited assault on my heart, now crumbled away.
The wounds beneath were not even worthy of stitches or salve, I closed them with my guilty magic.
The blood stained my chest in three tear tracks, thin and tapering. The warmth had been the feeling of a bruise developing, a bruise shaped like the shard of a serpent’s scale.

I got to my hooves, already feeling the relief of anti-climax clearing my mind.
I had three ideally cut memorial diamonds, beautiful and impossible to behold with any kind of resistance. The buffalos were clearly winning this fight.
Ash and Caliber were sitting together at the mouth of the mine, watching the Poachers get pummeled.
Cody lay sprawled, her labored breathing visible from here, besides the Chief, who had no vested interest in grinding corpses to a liquid mush. My E.F.S had only white bars, though I was unsure if the Poachers had ever been downgraded to the hostile red. After all, they hadn’t been hostile to me for very long.

Uzmat Machk had not even bothered to disarm the undoubtedly crippled prairie-mare, and she had been clumsily clasped in a very appealing looking rifle by way of a very rapidly dressed battle-saddle.
Our pistols were gone, so-

I sprinted over to the Poacher’s preserved ringleader, a tense fear seizing me from my growing calm.
The dust was settling, and the buffalos were beginning to realize that they had left very little left of their enemies. Their frustrated, vengeful anger, had been thoroughly vented, except on the helm of its source.

“Tell me you have it!” I ordered Cody, drawing the Chief’s attention away from his huffing warriors.
“Tell me you have my pistol!” My Father’s pistol.

It was there! In her holster!

I almost hugged the moaning mare, wanting to swing her up in a genuinely grateful embrace.
“Greed is good!” I cheered; levitating the automatic from the thief’s twitching body.

“It’s a-“she spat blood. “It’s a damn fine piece of Equestrian weaponry.” Cody chuckled, somehow still regarding me with that same friendly sparkle in her eyes. “Like this one.” The wooden-braced rifle at her side glinted in a sleek polish. “Lever action… peep sight for a ‘corn.” Her words were strained, as she winced with every exaggerated syllable. The charismatic drunk had changed astoundingly little despite her battered, twisted body. “Eight shh-shots per clip… 45-70 Government rounds in here.” She tapped vaguely at her saddlebags. “Take it darlin’… my gift to the old-world.”

I levitated the ammunition, several boxes, and detached the rifle from her side.
She grinned as I rotated it in the air. “I would have loved to be a unicorn… travelling magician” she laughed. The gun had a mahogany body, rusty silver barrel and ivory magazine. A web of patterns, a dream catcher, was cut and striped onto the stock, suspending a small mobile of beads and feathers.

“It would have been better for all of us, if you’d picked up a deck of cards instead of that rifle.” The Chief grunted. I packed away the 45 and strapped the buffalo-killer to my side. A father’s sins…
“Good work, Shepard.” I beamed at the great warrior, and then waved my friends over.

The Chief redirected Caliber to the nearby collapsed tent, where her own rifle awaited in hiding.
She smiled just to see the thing, and then reattached her entire battle-saddle rig. Now all we needed to do was find a salvageable shotgun for Ash amidst the half-dozen corpses.

Only one Poacher had died in the mine’s collapse, who, I liked to imagine, was the buck who had been ready with the manacles. Cody’s brigands had been in deeper with the Slavers than just buffalo trade.

“What were you doing, Cody?” I asked, almost sympathetically. The Prairie’s daughter was surprisingly difficult to hate, her constant smile and shining eyes detracting from every slurred order and grim crime.

“A girl’s got to eat.” She tried to shrug, and whimpered in pain. “And when that gets too easy, well, that’s when greed comes a-knockin’.” She tipped her hat as if to acknowledge some omnipotent authority.

“Your easy meals, and my innocent people, are one and the same.” The Chief growled, his fury for the showmare easily breaking apart her usually effectual charisma. “You’ll come to realize that.”

“I’m guessin’ that I don’t have much time left.” She smirked. “You three, Caravan Guards, right?”
Had it not been for Cody’s realization that I was a Stable pony, the mine’s collapse would likely have happened for a whole lot of no good reason. It had been necessary, though… I had to save Caliber and Ash, after all. But… that couldn’t truly be what had spurred me to sudden, fleeting magical prowess, could it? “If you ever meet somebody working for the Pony Express -group of couriers down… well, everywhere really- tell ‘em that Cody finally got her comeuppance. Tell ‘em that I died a dishonorable death.”

“So quick to make assumptions.” The Chief grinned, a cruel knowing dancing across his usually warm –by the heat of either anger or affection- face. “You might not die for a couple of miles, at least.”

“Wooh Boy!” She cackled, blood spraying with her rank breath. “This is gonna hurt! You certainly know how to make a girl want to say sorry.” The buffalo tied Cody’s hock to the Chief’s immense battle saddle with a length of rope. I almost wanted to stop them. “Suppose it’s too late for apologies, anyway.”

“You’ll find us near Cabanne.” The Chief addressed us, his cruelty sating to gratitude and anticipation for the coming application of punishment. “I’ll leave it to your initiative, but know that you will always be welcome. Whatever you did in there… well, you’ll wish that you had gone by your real name.”

“Oh you bet, I’ll be hollering about your crazy magic all the way to Cabanne!” She shot me one last charming smile. “Wanted t’have seen that kind of thing before I got dragged to death. Thanks, Shepard.” It was as if she had accepted this fate long ago. Maybe she hadn’t cared to ask about the buffalo because her doom had been so obvious to her; and the hazy binge was her way to say goodbye to the wasteland.

“Enjoy the ride, poacher.” The paternal buffalo rounded on his followers, and already I could see the earth eroding at Cody’s limp body. Gravel and dust scraped at her, forcing her twisted bones further into their offset positions, and finally getting a grimace from the happy-go-lucky prairie dog.

Cody wriggled her rawhide hat into her teeth and forced the pained scowl into another winking grin around it. “Don’t avert your eyes, Ladies.” The Chief began to run. “Let my show go on!”
The mare didn’t scream, not even as the skin of her exposed hide scuffed away to raw flesh below.
Moving mountains dragged her away in near silence, leaving behind a rising cloud of quarry dust, and sparse traces of the dying, laughing poacher.

“Ash?” I asked, as we watched her shrink from both perspective and existence, cackling and crying.
“Where does your sect of the Faith say a mare like her ends up… afterwards?”

“The same place that your Stable claims to have sent you.”

Footnote: Level Up!
Perk Added: Old-World Glory: Your magic has an affinity towards references and reminders of a better time. You’ve found that it is strengthened by the values that Equestria held closest to its heart, those that you hope to see resurrected within it once again…
One in particular has saved you more than once, and surely will again… Friendship.
Remember the Six.

Chapter 17: Jack and Diane

Fallout Equestria: Sola Gratia
Chapter 17: Jack and Diane
“We’ve been looking out for each other ever since our folks died.”

“Do you know the muffin man, the muffin man, the muffin man,” I sang cheerily, managing to stay on key throughout the childish rhyme. I might not be able to pull off gospel, but nursery rhymes? Please…
“Do you know the muffin man, who lives on the middle floor?”

We had found the highway, after only a brief slough over rails and plains, all the while bearing south-east. The tickling grass, golden in the morning cloud-light, bristled on either side of cracked asphalt. Crossing it had been an odd experience, like walking through a river of hay, constantly misinterpreting rising stone formations as serpents from the deep. There were no ruins between here and the mine, as even now we were experiencing the gross underdevelopment of the Middle Passage, which opened out behind us.

“Yes we know the muffin mare, the muffin mare, the muffin mare,” responded my friends. Caliber was reluctant to sing, in the strictest definition of the word, without binding orders, but her rhythmic habit of over-articulating still served to make her sound musical. Ash slipped into the song stealthily, after the bold, if unenthusiastic, redhead set a louder charge for her to hide under. Her voice was faltering, but had the sweet whimsy of a bird’s chirp. “Yes we know the muffin mare who lives in Ponyville!“

A mutiny!? Not on my ship! “The Middle Floor.” I corrected, still sing-song smiling. Their version sounded better, but had no regard for technical accuracy. Cinnamon Chips was, clearly, the current Muffin man.

The revolution was quelled, and the upstarts hung their heads in defeat.
We were looking for a target, however, so they quickly perked up again to scan the surrounding plains. I needed to practice my marksmanship, not for a gross lack of accuracy, but just to develop – as Caliber had put it- a bond with my new weapon. Cabanne rose, vague but majestic, from deep within the Plain’s heart, and, for now, we had no way to bridge the great odyssey except by looking for things to shoot.

The old city complied with several goals: It would serve as an overlook, to locate the buffalo’s undoubtedly celebrating tribe. It was also an indicator of the east, a direction we would head in order to reach the DJ’s radio tower. Last, and least, it could satisfy my wonderings over an ancient world.

“Windmill!” Caliber announced and bounded off the road, fading into the pale haze that seeped from the silvers above. She was disappearing off into the north, so Ash and I quickly followed.

There, rising like the crest of a morbid novelty hat breaching prairie and stone, was a rustic windmill. Its blades were wooden; a sure indication that this had been a ruin even before the bombs, and its body was a mottled brown. A fence ran, broken and tapering, in proximity to the structure, but quickly collapsed back into the shifting sea. It was lonely, as every other aspect of whatever farm or settlement this once was had already been rotted away, leaving it alone, to stand guard of the Plains beyond.

“We might as well have used the Foreman’s office.” Ash murmured. We had been at the mine for quite some time, as the self-proclaimed mechanical genius had been building herself a shotgun from trampled scraps. It wouldn’t have hurt for me to ‘get to know’ the rifle there. Caliber, however, had argued, citing the defence that that mine had too many memories, and so was a wasteful place to build new ones.

I agreed with Ash. What difference was there in aiming for a tall decrepit building rather than a squat one?
There wasn’t much to see, as ruins went, and it only took me a few seconds to examine the windmill’s interior. An apparatus, ancient in design, connected a round grindstone to the blade-mechanism above. The body was hollow, broken out to the open world in splintered gaps, and there was little else to see.

“Now I wish we had saved those tins.” Caliber yielded, as I joined her beside the structure’s capricious perimeter. “I guess shooting at the fence itself will have to do.”

“Do I need to get to know my gun too?” Ash asked, in a tone of subtly mocking inquiry. She seemed almost offended by Caliber’s personification of weapons, as if it were an insult to authentic life to attribute their exalted, in-god’s-image, nature to things more mechanical.

“Well, you built yours, so there’s already a pretty strong bond.” The oddly cockamamie mare said, in an answer that she thought rational. “Wouldn’t hurt to feel it out, and you might as well make sure it works.”

“It works.” If our pilgrim had confidence in anything: it was her own technical ability. I personally didn’t doubt the functionality of the new shotgun. Though it was a ramshackle jury-rig at best, all the important bits were there and the thing was made out of guns, after all. So it had to do something gunny, didn’t it?

“Well, let’s at least make sure that the kickback is manageable.” She compromised. “Fifty paces, ladies!” If Caliber’s voice ever devolved into a definitive twang, it was when she was acting as commentator on a good old fashioned shoot-out. I liked to imagine that her farmstead childhood had entertained her in bouts of a similarly themed charade or, more likely, trained her by this exact exercise, live ammunition included.

I levitated the Fix-it Stick, as Ash had inaccurately recalled the buffalo’s term for an item decorated like this, and made my regulated trot over the exposed ground. The fence, if nothing else, served as a border between lively grass and barren dirt. Whatever had been happening here seemed to have sucked the life out of the very earth. Ash scampered over to my side, constantly distracted in her last-minute tinkering.

“Okay,” Caliber called from just beside the windmill. “I’m going to stand right here so, for Celestia’s sake, don’t let your nerves get to you. I’m using what I’ve seen so far to assume that you won’t kill Me.”

“Nerves?” Ash suddenly became nervous, in worry that she should be nervous. “I’m supposed to-?
“I didn’t realize that this was a competition.”

“Don’t worry; it doesn’t have to be if you don’t want.” It’s not like we had anypony to impress. Except expert marksmare Caliber… who had no doubt already assumed the role of judge.

“So it is a competition!” She began trembling, but, as I nodded, something like a determined grin appeared, persisting over the obvious fear. “Then you’re not getting off that easily.”

Okay, not the pony I’d have expected to be harboring a competitive streak. If anything, she seemed hungry to prove her construction’s ability. “Oh, don’t misunderstand; it is so on if you want it to be.”

“Bring it, unicorn.” She whispered, as if apprehensive of the words. “Sorry: Bring it, please... unicorn.”

“Are we ready, over there?” We nodded. “Huh?!” we waved. “Okay, I’ll give you another minute.”

“Should I just count us in?” I asked, to which Ash gave a shivering smile. “Alright: 3…2…1!” I fired, and the whip-crack of the rifle’s report made Ash lift off of the ground in a skip of reflexive evasion. Her own shot, only a millisecond after my own, sent her flying backwards, obliterating the mare from sight.
“Whoa!” Caliber screamed. “What’re you trying to do, give me a heart-attack?” Ash’s half of the fence had been torn apart, reduced to nothing but ragged, hanging splinters and a subsiding cloud of sawdust, effectively ending the contest. “And you missed! So two counts of attempted murder… thanks!”

I nickered in disappointment, and then remembered that Ash’s crowning as champion might have to be awarded post-mortem. For a second that made me feel much better about losing… I justify this by assuring you that I didn’t really think she could’ve died.

The victor was sprawled in a bed of grass beyond the windmill’s stripped field, thankfully (don’t you mean regretfully, sadist) alive. “Hey, Ascella?” Caliber called, hurrying to my side. “You won!” The mare’s body remained limp, but she punched the air meekly with her hoof, silently celebrating her glorious triumph. “Don’t feel too bad,” the, probably biased, judge comforted me. “You almost hit the fence.”

“Her weapon has a much wider spread.” I felt an oddly desperate need to impress Caliber; though detracting from my collapsed friend’s victory probably wasn’t the best way to do it.

“She also built the damn thing.” Okay, so I had lost fairly hard. “Take a few more shots, get used to the reload, and then we’ll get back on the road. I’ll help her up in the meantime.”

I nodded and headed back to the firing line. The knotted beads of the Fix-it Stick (Name in Deliberation), beat together in a gentle breeze, dancing in the chill. I focused on the scarred dream-catcher, using it as an anchor for my line of sight. “Alright you beautiful buffalo-killer,” I whispered. “I’m going to help you turn your life around, but first, you need obliterate that exceptionally evasive fence.”

With another calm-shattering report, the 45-70 Govt. round was unleashed, and burrowed through the winter air as its brothers had before it, in pursuit of so many hides and horns. The fence, paper-thin when compared to the great, monolithic poacher’s prey, fragmented into shards of damp pinewood.

I slid two rounds into the magazine, replenishing it, and then strapped the magnificent, if darkly storied, weapon to my side. “I hit the fence!” I cried happily, staring at the space where my target had once been.

“Every runner finishes the race eventually.” My subjugator chided, making Caliber giggle beside her.

“Yeah? Well:” Don’t start a comeback that you can’t finish. “Bleh.” But if you do: stick out your tongue.

“...I’m gonna have t’break up this duel of wits.” Caliber apologized, though I was insurmountably grateful for the escape. “I think we ought to get back on the road now.”

We sauntered away from the ghoulish windmill, each with an endeared weapon at our side at last. “I truly wish we both could’ve won.” Ash comforted, readopting her usual sweetness. “But since there could only be one winner: I’m really glad that it was me.” There it goes again. “Not that you didn’t deserve to win… I mean, everypony should get to win something, but…” I honestly didn’t know whether she was rubbing it in or trying to make me feel better. “I’m really glad that it was me.” She bounced her gun in pride.

Caliber loved the whole exchange, no matter what the boldly/regretfully victorious mare was trying to do. “We’re gonna have to keep an eye on you in Littlerock, judgin’ on what you told us about the place.” Ash had elaborated earlier, under my questioning, on the names that she had mentioned with Cody. Littlerock was a town along the rails’ and highway’s convergence. A settlement nestled in the only viable pass through the southern mountain range, the Port between the Plains.

“What’s in Littlerock?” I pressed, wanting to know what Caliber had meant, and what to expect of the meagre, but first, bastion of civilization that we would undoubtedly pass through.

“Well, all I know is that a trading town like that makes for a hot-bed of gambling and crossed egos.” Caliber shrugged. “I’m just assuming from what I’ve heard, though. Ash’d know better.”

“Well, that’s a fair enough summation.” The Northerner agreed. “I have not seen it myself, but it was another reason that my Pilgrimage took the Middle Passage. There is rumour of a gang that dress themselves in prison uniform, for intimidation purposes I imagine, who govern the town.”

“Govern? I thought I wasn’t to expect the rule of law...”

“They’re dressed as prisoners, Sugar.” Caliber pointed out. “If anything: you should expect the exact opposite.” There goes that fantasy. “I’m betting its hooey, anyway... Rumours are nothing to ruminate on.”

Back on the asphalt, I glanced at my Pip-buck’s map, and Littlerock distinguished itself at the apex of both transport routes. The highway would continue east, fairly consistently, but the rails had already begun to curve north, a trend it would persist in throughout these wide Plains. The Ruined City of Cabanne was, in fact, marked between the two lines on the vaguely defined map. With the radio tower further along the more horizontal course, and the constant threat of a charging Coltilde appearing on the tracks, we had a pretty clear indication of which quite route to follow.

I had suggested that we make a detour back to Hell, as the mine was the closest we had come to it for some time, but Caliber had deemed it unnecessary. My guest-hosting of the just discernible Galaxy News Radio show, paired with the Zebra’s promised courier, would have given Damascus a fair enough indication of our progress. And, she had added, we could probably tap into his radio frequency from the relay tower, and send a message if needed. When I hadn’t even been able to think of anything that I would say to him, I agreed that the detour wasn’t worth it. How exactly did you go about chastising a pony that you revered and related to, for the extraction of memories that they had then entrusted to you?

Electrical pylons broke my view of the Middle Passage’s reaching southern mountains, rising in a flawed rhythm. Either standing along arcs of suspended cable, or simply collapsed in piles of crooked metal joints and limp linkage. If electricity was still flowing, which it seemed to be, it was routed underground.

Beyond the pylons, were pines, lining the base of the escarpment, and beyond those were antennae, building on its height. If this was an underdeveloped barren, then Calvary’s Plain was going to be a writhing, consuming mass of steel and ruin. It was technically the largest city in Equestria, after all. I wanted to ask why Cabanne had been abandoned, while the old city nestled behind New Calvary had been made the heart of expansion, but neither Ash nor Caliber ever seemed to have those kinds of answers. I suppose they hadn’t bothered to ask for them themselves. Curiosity was all well and good at a computer screen behind a thick, steel door, but in the wasteland it fell away to a focus on survival.

The frosty haze in the air was superficial, more an ocular tinge than an actual obstruction, and so I could still make out a rounded shape, too large to be anything but a building or a bus, sitting beside the highway a ways ahead. Though we hadn’t been very cautious insofar (singing songs on a stretch of road only a few dozen miles from where a raider-infested toll booth had been), the ominous shape made us slow.

“That looks like a diner.” Caliber assessed, to my internal disagreement. That looked nothing like a diner; diners were squarer, and sort of L-shaped. They’re also underground, I continued, proving myself wrong.

What it looked like was a bus whose wheels had been stolen, left to become a hollow carcass beside the road that it would never again be fit for travel. But I suppose somepony could find a reason to shape a restaurant like that, ponies had built buildings shaped like stranger things.
“Diner, as in a place to eat?” I clarified.

“Well, what used to be a place to eat, yeah.” Caliber nodded. “But don’t let that stop you from keeping an eye on your E.F.S.” Nothing yet, but we were still pretty far away from the abstract silhouette. An unfortunate flaw in Stable-Tec’s design was that bullets often had a greater range than a Pip-buck’s radar did. “There was a diner that I once underestimated back east.”

“You’re making them sound like sentient creatures.” Ash laughed, the image of a diner rearing up to swallow unsuspecting couples, who had only come looking for that authentic Equestrian experience, amusing her. That imagery, coupled with the oceanic grassland, made the diner look like a rising whale.

“Speaking of…” I glanced at the single white bar on my E.F.S, puzzled. “Look at this.” The mares peered at the device in turn, both frowning at it in distrust and confusion respectively.

“Okay, so would a potential hostile, though completely unaware of our presence, still show up as a red bar?” Ash asked, her constant quest to discredit the Pip-buck still enduring. “Even though we’re separate variables, even though neither of us knows what the other intends?” I nodded, from what I’d seen, yes. My only qualm with the system was that indirectly hostile ponies (i.e. Saber or Cody) seemed to show up white. “It’s devilry...” Ash murmured. “Discord’s in that accursed thing, I swear It.”

“So what could we be dealing with?” Caliber asked, equally unfamiliar if more accepting, with the E.F.S.

“Anything from a complacent rat to an enemy that we have yet to make.” I surmised. “The Poachers showed up white at first, though they may never have turned red at all.” Cody certainly hadn’t.

“So...” she rolled her hoof in the air, prompting me to continue.

“I can say with…with some certainty, that it isn’t a raider, or a giant river serpent.” So, essentially, the most obviously hostile could be ruled out. “Let’s move in quietly, just in case.”

“We could just walk past it.” Ash offered. “It’s not like we have to explore everything.”

“I don’t want to have to come back later.” I affirmed. “What if somepony we meet somewhere has something they want done here? We might just get it completed early by accident.” She looked at me like I had lost blood flow to an important part of my brain. “Say we get to Littlerock, and some old buck is like:

Oh, woe is me! My poor daughter! She has been kidnapped by raiders!” I donned the best enfeebled impression that I could muster. “You, heroes of the wasteland (That’s us), you must help me!”

“Then Caliber says: ‘Sure thing sir, where should we start?’” I threw in a poorly done Caliber voice for fun.

“A raider named… named Meanbuck McBloodlusty… has taken her to a diner just west of Cabanne!”

“’Oh my god, seriously sir?’ I would say ‘We literally just walked right by that place. We needed food and it was a restaurant, but my friend Ash was like: ‘’‘Onwards to Cabanne! Do not tarry, for we are on a divine quest!’’’ So, I guess we’ll have to go all the way back for her, it’ll sure be a hassle.’... See?”

Complete brain death, that’s what it looked like she was beholding. A victim of hypothermia, maybe? “Goddesses, that… that actually convinced me… I didn’t want it to, I honestly tried to ignore it, but it was just too powerful...” Yes! My tirade had reduced her to my own level of irrationality! “What are we waiting for? Let’s get in there! Before Meanbuck McBloodlusty returns!” Maybe one level lower…

“Calm ‘yer grits, Sugarcube!” Caliber hyper-drawled, in what had to be an impression of my own impersonation. “Mah daddy used t’say; this was back on th’ family farm o’course, he used t’say to me: ‘Amber-Lynn, listen up y’hear: don’t buy the cow, if you can get the goat fer free!” She giggled, breaking character. “Tell me that’s not what you think I sound like.” Her actual voice sounded regal in comparison.

“Godss, Gr-race,” Ash slowed the usually rapid rolling ‘rs and whispering esses of her Bohemian stumble-coo. “Excuse for-r pun but: your-r exager-rations are… how you say? R-r-raising r-rehdd flagss.”

After a pause, in which fear for a negative response to her assertion had already surged to Ash’s eyes, we began to laugh. The mare’s face lit up when she realized that it wasn’t directed at her, but rather, in some convoluted, roundabout way: at me. She joined in jovial abandon, and we bore the brunt, of what should have been my embarrassment, together.

For that moment, the diner was forgotten, its ominous presence lost in the absurdity of my ridiculous caricatures, and their subject’s subsequent revenge. Logically, I shouldn’t be enjoying this. But that feeling, and the part of me that worried about it, gave way to uncontrollable giggling.

Caliber was an Equestrian, plain and simple. What seemed rural to me did not take root in the farm of her birth; it was simply the way that ponies had come to talk, and how many had talked for eons before. Ash was from a corner, a convergence of North with East, and her accent, though not quite as zealous as I had made out, was admittedly foreign… but in truth, it was still not as foreign as mine. For I was the caricature, the odd one out. I, as Cody had said, was just a lost piece of the old-world.

But that place had never given me this, this disregard for self-consciousness, this comfortable belonging. The Stable had never really been a home. At least, not after my mother had passed on from it, not while I was alone. The Equestrian Wasteland, whether I walked it for countless Damascene decades before taking my dying breath, or if the journey only lasted until the diner just ahead, was my home… our home.

Even though it was the kind of place where my fantastical charade, could prove to be entirely real. No matter how happy I felt, the diner was still there, and so was the single white bar. But my willingness, my foolhardy desperation, to discover and oppose the dangers of the wastes was only another testament to how much I was beginning to love the lifeblood of Equestria persisting within it: Diamonds, more beautiful than those flawless stones, brighter than the fuel of war.

Ash and I waited for Caliber to control herself, although watching her giggle wasn’t exactly cohesive to our own recovery. The mercenary’s laugh came from beyond the bruised eye and seemingly permanent bandage, it was a part of her that the wasteland hadn’t been able to reach, an innocence, an undamaged shard of the filly who had otherwise been traumatized into an all consuming fear of weakness.

She had to dust herself off; because of how much she had been rolling, laughing at something almost already forgotten. If she hadn’t been trying to stop herself, I imagined the snorting giggle would have gone on much longer, and why not? Laughter was beyond even arcane levels of restoration.

“Okay… okay, I’m back in the game.” She promised. “Oh… we’d better check my stitches.”

I had forgotten about that. “I’ll take a look.” We’d have likely been able to see the blood, and Caliber would certainly have felt it already, so I wasn’t worried. I peeled away the gauze under her vest, making her giggle again as the adhesive material pulled against her coat. “All clear, in fact, I think we can leave it exposed.” I crumpled up the dressing, and then tossed it to wind at the anti-environmentalist’s scrupulous look. The stitching was sound, lacing the crimson gash together into a tight solidity.

“Good to go?” she asked, peering with a mild curiosity, as if looking at the bottom of a car on a jack rather than her own sundered undercarriage.

“Yep, if it survived that, then it’s probably as stable as it’s going to get for some time.” I assessed, hoping that Dr. Cross’ own optimistic opinions on this kind of wound, from which I drew inspiration, didn’t hinge on the gentler, less hysterical conditions of the Stable.

“Let’s go then.” Ash enthused, a concern for the arbitrary white bar now set in her mind thanks to my over exaggeration. It was honestly unlikely to be some little girl from Littlerock.

We marched onwards along the highway, keeping a guarded, light-hoofed pace, if anything our laughter had made the situation more dangerous. I levitated the Fix-it Stick (Name in Deliberation) at my side, steeling myself for whatever gritty reality would pull us back to the somber violence and sadness that filled the expansive gaps between moments of the purest calm and happiness.

The windows, while glassless and large, didn’t give us much warning or, less likely, reassurance. Like the steel walls of the collapsed bus, as I would forever regard the diner if not as a metallic whale, the insides were rusted, stained with iron and ambiguous crimsons. The door was a slight frame, like an inadvertent gap in the flimsy metal, and now stood before us, teasing us with vague promises of what lay within.

My E.F.S showed the placid figure to be at the left end, nestled beyond prediction. I poked my head into the door, immediately peering over to the cause for caution.

A buck, grisly but unassuming, was bound within a collapse of dirt and debris. The filth was not what kept him still, ropes had been tightly wound around his hooves, propping him into an upsetting and unnatural kneel. The disarray had either accumulated around him, or he had been corralled into it. Stools and tables had been cast into the small alcove, making the latter seem more likely, as if his captors had wanted to bury him alive, but hadn’t even made the effort to finish.

He was measly, pockmarked and slight, sure signs of infection and starvation. Whatever sadist had left him had no regard for the biting cold or extended time of incarceration, perhaps they simply hadn’t cared. The buck hadn’t noticed our arrival, though Caliber had clambered into the bus beside me, and now whispered to the decrepit captive. “Hey...“he didn’t look up.

I backed up against the counter, a stretching band of clutter and blemishes, allowing Ash to join us. A clock on the wall had frozen; I tried to remember what the time had been displayed in the Border Security Station. If they were the same, then my first guess had been right: they had all stopped with the world.

“Hey!” Caliber attempted, raising her voice to an urgent whisper. I decided that he was green, beneath the swatches of copper and ash, carmine and gray stains on his coat. Blood and dirt could infuse a pony with those colors, but what pestilence could herald itself with such a thorough, verdant rot?

The prisoner looked up, eyes wide in terrified apprehension, quivering dots of Caliber’s own chestnut hue. She approached slowly, trying to soothe his trembling fear with both slowing steps and softening words. “Don’t worry; we’re not going to hurt you.” Sadly, she looked to me for confirmation. He either couldn’t understand, or couldn’t believe. Somepony had damaged this buck, reducing him to a paranoid shadow of his former self. Though his body looked aged beyond health, and his mane was a faded mess, his eyes burned with otherwise stolen youth. “Okay, I know that you’re scared, but I’m just going to untie you.”

Ash huddled beside me, sharing my discomfort at the sight of the abhorrently mistreated captive. We watched as Caliber took slow, silent hoofsteps, each bringing a panging jolt of panic, despite her soothing whispers of peace, or her more determined assurances of good intention. He was clearly not deaf, as even her words incited flinches and a slower sense of dying in his eyes. The fear was a fire, but with it was a chilling acceptance, as if Caliber was causing him a numbing pain, killing him with every step.

He began crying, heaves of gagged despair drawing from a long expended source. The tears were clear, going so far as to dampen the gag stuffed into his mouth. If Caliber tarried for too long, he would drown. I didn’t envy her, with every one of the buck’s chocking pleas I winced. It was as if she was beating him, her hooves not gentle against a grimy floor, but instead callous, bruising the pleading beggar. He was watching her steps, balking with every soft collision, as if battered by their dislocated touch.

Amidst the clutter, subtly stretching beyond empty tins and glasses, was the real cause for his distress. I saw it glint at the absence of shadow, brought upon by Caliber’s final step. I saw the tripwire smile. My eyes darted about the room, searching for the implicit peril, searching for something to warn Caliber away from. But tables, matted with ancient newspaper and burned to jagged grit, covered the trap. “C-“ The severed warning barely registered, as I had already wasted what fleeting opportunity I may have had.

The buck’s head disappeared into a red mist, bone and tears alike occluded in the cloud of sanguine blood. His body didn’t collapse, as its bind kept it kneeling in the submission of those waiting to be executed, frozen as a morbid statue, spouting a red babble from its one, gaping orifice.

The indicator of its own failure had overblown my warning. A shotgun’s report had made the weapon known, and a blaze of shrapnel fire had revealed its location. Nestled between the planes of two up-turned tables, the murder weapon cowered.

Caliber had been patterned with gore, turned into a pox’s victim by the flurry of crimson dots. She didn’t retch, she didn’t tremble, the mare who had seen more death than daylight, simply stared. The corpse ran dry, or at least, the flow of blood had abandoned its course into the open world, and still she stared, and for that we were silent, waiting for just one of us to scream. If only so we could join them.

The wall’s stains were now embellished with a bright fluid, paling in comparison to its fresh forerunner. It dripped from Caliber, and soon the hollow steel whale began to reek as its carcass of real flesh would. Our silence was not broken in crescendo, but instead with the sound of Ash retching, wet but empty. She had toppled over the counter and loosed herself over into the cordoned off section of the diner, considerate of our sensitivities, even though we had all but abandoned them.

In her pulsing gags, glasses and plates came to shatter against the tile, destroying any semblance of silent horror along with them. Shifting paper and fragmenting ceramics wasn’t enough to pull Caliber from her daze, but instinct was. She dove into one of the stalls as the all too familiar sound of a bullet’s arrival came in a ringing collision with some metallic surface. Ash toppled over in a scampering retreat, forgetting the indeterminate amount of rumination awaiting her.

I joined Caliber in the stall, ducking under a hail of superficial rounds, seeking refuge from both bullet and bile. She had already lost herself in fight, and the fluid reflex of battle had come to replace its paralytic sister: fear. “They’re East!” she cried, scurrying from the stall and inadvertently distancing herself from the buck’s firm corpse. The other end of the diner was considerably clearer, and unquestionably safer.

I held my rifle up against the eastern window, firing wild to make up for my companion’s inability to. She couldn’t take a shot at these angels, at least not without clambering onto one of the tables, and into the firing lines of our assailant. My E.F.S claimed that the shooter was alone and, quite redundantly, that he was hostile. “Tell me where to shoot!” I ordered, levitating my weapon to a separate segment of window. “I’ll draw their attention, then you c-“ Caliber was removing the 45 from my saddlebags. “Cal?”

She dove out of the window. “Cal!”

My idiotic cries weren’t going to do anypony any good so, in fearful, faithful disregard, I followed the mare. We wove around bursts of dirt, pointlessly dodging bullets that had already missed their mark. Caliber darted ahead, though she was clearly the shooters primary target, in a bloody rage of adrenaline. Our assailment was either reloading, or running, interrupted as his peril came hurtling up behind him.

The buck was nondescript, reduced to a brief blur in retreat, and a faceless corpse in unbridled anger. The automatic pistol blew the profligate’s head to ribbons, round after round tearing into a rapidly dispersing mass of flesh and screaming muscle. The pain was pitifully brief, and his death came with undeserved ease. Caliber had thrown him to the ground, and then blown his brains apart from above, in a more horizontal, more savage version of the standard execution style.

She threw the gun, the impersonal thief of revenge, to the bloodied earth, and began beating the empty. The pox spread, now riddling her face in an almost complete mask of cardinal paste, blinding her beyond the rage. Pulp and plasma flew, until her hooves beat against the chill of crushed, morning grass.

“Son of a bitch.” She berated, as if speaking to the gore on her own face. “Son of a bitch!” The second sentiment was in abysmal regret, hailed at the past, rather than the now headless corpse.

I put a hoof on her shoulder, only to have it pushed away by the returned Automatic pistol, which tumbled from my clumsy ineptitude. “Let’s go get Ash.” She slapped a hoof across her eyes, sweeping away the blood, which had run in thin, vertical rivers, either with her tears, or simply in a mockery of them. Dragging up unsullied dust, she washed her face with the earth, and then began walking back to the diner.

Her expression was a placid nothing, hidden beneath the newly formed affectation of gray dirt. But the veil of soil could still not obscure the royal carnage beneath, and so her face was a bleeding mask.

“Ash!” she called, with no intonation of anger or sadness in her voice. “It’s all clear.”
The pilgrim came scrambling over the counter, clearing it clean in her scattering tumbles.
She wiped her mouth, but still looked to suffer under the misery of nausea, as if she had only accidentally taken cover, while adhering to the greater priority demanded by each draining retch.

Caliber simply sat, watching as Ash came toppling out of the diner window. “Are you alright?” I asked the drooping disfigurement as it melted from the mare beneath.

“Yes.” The maw of blood-muddied filth collapsed, peeling away like a beauty treatment, leaving a raccoon’s band over her shining brown eyes. “Don’t worry about it, boss.” I didn’t like that. Not at all.

Ash heard the answer, but proceeded to hug Caliber, breaching whatever intrinsic aversion she had. I followed her example, stalled by my own searing guilt, and together we warmed our sullied friend. She quivered once, in some sick anti-ecstasy, but did not return the embrace, instead breaking away. She gave us an almost pitying look, though not without its own strange gratitude.
“None of us saw the tripwire in time, but none of us are responsible.” She shook off our cloying.
“Let’s not waste any more time on this, all that matters, Is that we got the bastard.”

“We didn’t have to go into the diner.” I argued, reaffirming the validity of my guilt. Though, to my surprise, my heart wasn’t in blaming myself, and I was finding it much easier to expend my frustrations on the buck blasted headless and beaten apart by hooves, rather than to pine for the buck beheaded by buckshot.

“Yes, we did.” Ash assured, surprisingly adamant. “We gave that buck a mercy.”

How could I argue? Wouldn’t every effort I made to prove my culpability also prove Caliber’s?
If I was to blame, so were they. “Alright.” I agreed, with painfully obvious diffidence.
I could have warned her, if only I had spoken up straight away, there could still have been time. But what would I have said? Duck? Look out? I had hesitated to look for the trap, the threat. I had hesitated because I wasn’t thinking about the buck; I wasn’t thinking about anything… but Caliber. To say that she mattered more to me than a stranger, was saying nothing. But to say that she mattered more than common sense, more than rational thought… well, that meant something.

“We’re alright.” I expressed my own sanctity. “That was a trap, and we fell for it. There’s no reason to take the blame, or even harbor it. What’s important is that we walked into a situation designed to create as much death as possible, and survived.” I spoke decidedly, even as I made the realization myself.

“You think he was trying to kill us?” Ash asked, though she couldn’t have been so preoccupied with voiding herself to have missed the barrage of bullets.

“I don’t think he would’ve risked his own life just to scare us, Ash.” His risk-regret answered. The buck’s persistence had gotten him killed. I had only just seen him for a few seconds before he died, and if he had run just a few more seconds earlier, I may not have seen him at all.

“I mean us specifically.” She elaborated. “How many other wastelanders could you hope to tempt with that kind of bait?”

“How many other wastelanders even know we exist?” I interjected.

“Grace’s right, unless you’ve got some gang affiliations you’re not telling us about, we’re all pretty insignificant, at least in the Plains.” Caliber nodded, shedding more of the hardening coagulation from her face. “That trap would have worked on any scavenger, trader or even an especially hungry dog.”

“Wasn’t that a hunting rifle he was using?” I asked, recognizing the design from Colt’s Life’s pellet version –do not fire directly into eye- I’d used that advice several times with regular guns. “Maybe it was for a hungry dog, or some other animal, maybe he was a hunter.”

“Using pony bait.” Ash reminded morbidly. “Excessive.” Especially considering the crux of the trap.

“But effective, if you’re a hunter in the wasteland, then you’re not going to be picky.” It was horrendous, sure, but at least the buck had had ambition. He could have just eaten his bait.
“We need to move on.” I resolved. “I don’t like thinking about this.
“Let’s just leave, even if there is food in that diner, finding it would only make this whole thing more disturbing.” What could have been his motivation, if not sustenance? The thrill? Did he take enjoyment from watching the moral dilemmas of his creation unfold before him? Why was I thinking about this?

Whether by my semblance of command, or by a simple, unanimous desire to put this disturbia behind us, we left, beginning again down the highway. While shacking up emotional discord and cramming negative memories into the deepest abscesses had been working pretty well for me so far, I was worried that it wasn’t the best mentality to force onto the group. Sure, Ash seemed like the type, but would she not follow any course I set, no matter how self-detrimental? Caliber could fix this kind of thing, I knew from experience, but could that skill be turned inwards, or was she actually less than barely all right? Needless to say, I wasn’t feeling very confident in my leadership, and knew that, even if I was tearing apart their psyche, neither mare would speak up. One due to pride or obedience and the other to unassertiveness.

At least I knew that I was alright, what was one more for the vault?
Over the Commissary and past the shuns, look out daddy, here it comes!

Cabanne wasn’t getting any bigger, it seemed the Stone city would remain a vague, angular, extrusion from the mesa, never coming into the design of focus through the gray. Its elusive teasing only made me want it more, like a dog chasing a car, enamored over some unknown, just because I had yet to know it.
The size of the open world had always been visible, a fallacy in that it never seemed to affect me.
In Zion, the need to escape, to be free of the valley’s looming mountains, had not been issues of distance, but of the timeless place’s hold, its resolve to keep what it bore.
My journey to the MASEBS tower had mostly been censored and forgotten, due to Damascus’ will to do the same to his memories. I was tempted, for a selfish second, to enter the next orb, and ride, paralyzed and oblivious, as a leech on another’s odyssey. It wasn’t the walking, but the anticipation.

The prospect of the empty city, an impossibly old ruin in an otherwise freshly degenerated wasteland, was making me impatient, like an unemployed mare faced with the chance to be relevant in the morning. Within it were undoubtedly secrets of the past, stored like the data of a terminal, to await my prying eyes. But it was more appealing than a log or file, as its information was buried, unexpected, if I wanted to learn from Cabanne then I couldn’t just read data on a display, I would have to earn the right, hack the system. I would have to upturn its stones and face its inevitable perils, light its darkness and dig its graves.

I froze; coming to an almost absurdly tilting halt in the middle of the highway, but now was not the time to worry about risking absurdity, now was a time of heartened realization. I began to shiver, over the already periodic pulses that the cold sent through me. “We didn’t bury him.” I said, what felt like a tear, warm and brackish, travelled tremulously down my bruised and dusted cheek, cutting through the dirt.

“What?” One of them asked, from either my left side or my right, in either identical realization for our mistake or confusion over why such a thing should matter.

“We didn’t bury him!” I cried, suddenly pelting back along the highway, sprinting despite my already frail lungs. I wasn’t sure if the tears that came were natural, or simply wrenched out by the drag of passing air. “We have to!” The mares could have been beside me, or they could still be staring on in pitying apathy. “I need to…” Perhaps in desire for selfish closure, I pushed myself all the way back to the diner, which had dwindled into the obscurity of a hazy screen behind. When I arrived, I collapsed in drowning exhaustion.

I dragged myself up into the rotting whale carcass, ignoring dirt and grime besides to slide my way to the counter. There was no parking lot for this diner, no expectation that there would ever be enough customers to warrant one. It was on a highway, freshly built in a technological revolution that scared more ponies than it helped, a single pinpoint on a route that stretched for miles. Had this been the last stop before Littlerock? Would it be ours? I hadn’t been worrying about starvation, until I’d seen the desperation in both bucks. One was visually starving, while the other was devoid of mercy for his hunger.

Posters, most framed but many flayed, lined the walls. Starlets and sunsets, each twinkling with the demure of a dying day, filled the images. Blondes and curled brunettes, sleepily drawing eyes behind nearly genuine smiles. Hollyoaks and Manehattan lit up in show signs and streetlights, and both so alive. New Calvary, cold and lonely, soldiers and politicians had been born out of its black buildings and isolation: The stone, the mountain, a city that was born twice, once before the world and again in war.

The buck’s head was not beside his corpse, it was not anywhere, it had absconded on the wind like dust, and now a bloody cloud was all that had remained of it, and even that was gone. I was still wheezing, still suffocating for my own inability to draw breath. Nestling beneath the counter, where milkshakes and questionable burgers had once been served to all those amorous couples, I fought myself.

Caps were currency I thought, as I heard my friends clambering into the tiled bus, bottle caps.

“Grace?” Ash peered down at me, tilting her head only slightly to gaze into my sanctum of oxygen appreciation. I had all but regained my composure, save for the tear tracks down my otherwise dusted cheeks. “You’re right; we should’ve given this buck a better grave than this.”

I rolled out of my ineffectual hiding spot, neatly tilted over belly and back to end up lying face-up beneath Caliber. “I’m sorry I ran.” There was no denying my tears, but for a moment I thought I saw the same tracks, cast in blood more than dirt, on the mercenary’s face. “I’m sorry I made us leave.”

She just smiled wanly, staring down at me with that same projected pity. “Let’s untie him.” She and Ash started over to the corpse, as I rocked like a turtle to get back up to my hooves.

For all the empty bottles, there was not a single cap, as they had been picked away over decades of this newfangled sovereign currency. I thought, as I parted the sea of glass and imitation china, exposing pamphlets and menus below: Was it really more ridiculous a concept than bits?

I poked around the two as they worked, not able to get a spot in the ritualistic circle, obstructed by strewn furnishings and the collapse of earthy dirt. Soon the buck’s bonds were broken, and his body almost sprung out of the restrained kneel, a deeply upsetting position to behold, though not quite as bothering as the sight of a corpse escaping it. “How should we carry him?” There were no ladders this time.

Caliber slid beneath his toppled form, lifting him as she had undoubtedly done to me in the Poacher’s mine, though with a little more tenderness. The sanctity of a corpse during its funeral was obviously more important than that of a mare collapsing a mountain onto herself. “What happened, Grace?” Caliber asked suddenly, as if making the exact same comparison that I had. “At the mine.”

We hadn’t spoken about this yet, and now we were all willing to speak about anything, if only to distract from the dripping cargo on her back. “I don’t know,” I levitated out the three diamonds to show her. “I just felt these in the rock, like they were pulling me into them.” I had very nearly pulled them into me. Maybe I should mention the missing serpent’s scale, if only to ensure that nopony shot me in the heart as a joke.

“You don’t feel anything anymore?” Ash pressed, likely wondering if my magic had evolved somehow, hopefully to the point where I could lift the burden of the body.

But this was not so. “No,” I spun the diamonds in the air before my eyes, though they glowed in my telekinesis with no more intensity than anything else did. “They’re safe now.” You’re safe now.

“Where are we going?” Caliber asked, as her ability to escape into idle conversation was somewhat hindered by the headless horse on her back.

I hadn’t though that over, emotion didn’t usually go along with the approval of logic, and so we were now carrying a corpse, with no graves in sight. “We could… burn him. On the hill.” The Plains came into the occasional wave crest, rising into what could almost be called a peak in places.

“I suppose that’s more convenient.” This was, of course, an observation that made my idea seem like the easy way out. “But pawing at the ground for the next few hours isn’t going to do anyone any good.” It seemed we all wanted to make as much effort as we could, but couldn’t find the drive to.

“Let’s at least get him up there, so he can see the Plain.” I compromised, in a bargain that the corpse certainly didn’t care for. If the buck had had requests, it would’ve been for a more perceptive rescue party.

Caliber nodded, shunning her usual black and white attitude to death in respect for the casualty of our exploration. What difference does it make where a dead body is burned? She may have asked in any other case, if all our minds had not had a desperate need to be eased as they did now.

“I’ll drain some gasoline from the ovens.” Ash offered, seeming to strongly agree with the cremation idea. She hurried off to the diner, the most competent of us in terms of mechanical manipulation, as well as braving her own bile. I didn’t think we were that intimate as a group yet.

I kept the reeking ballast balanced; making sure that the slight incline didn’t send the buck rolling. His, indirect but responsible, killer was just at the base of the rise, unsettlingly (or appropriately) close. I liked to think that watching its captive’s cremation would incite some jealousy in the restless soul, as its vassal would be left to rot; bound forever to the bloody grass that the body lay on.

We set him down, and I moved to angle his… ah.
I shifted the body so that it would be looking at Cabanne, if its head hadn’t been decimated into dysfunction. Burying this corpse would have been morbid, leaving it flawed forever beneath the earth. Better to send the rest of it into the air that its helm had already escaped to.

Gasoline in a bottle, Ash had returned and now the cheap delivery system was being put to work. If anything, the smell was improved by the volatile substance, the sweet scent of benzene less regrettably pleasant compared to the similarly saccharine smell of blood. The buck’s last hours had undoubtedly been terrible, his last moments terrifying, but he was now better off than if we had just ignored his bar.

We were not so callous as to opt for incendiary rounds; you’d have to be pretty desperate to shoot a corpse at its own funeral. Caliber lit a match and then let me float it over the damp kindler, letting us back away from the predictably rapid blaze. A pyre rose, as the flickering flame grew by exponents, and licked at the winter air. It would’ve been hard to watch a face burn away, but I could bear this.

We watched in ceremonial silence, hooves clasped and mouths shut for fear of interrupting the ritual.
Ash mumbled, eyes closed and head bowed. A prayer.
Caliber just stared into the fire, watching as bone and flesh became undefined, a body reduced to ashes.
I was crying, but I didn’t really know why.

Burnt grass and blackened soil were all that remained, the wind taking whatever remained of the buck. His gray and carmine constituents were separated, a mist of blood and an exhaust of embers diverging over the Plains. We’d seen enough smoke dancing over the wasteland, but it would never stop, because in this new order: eventually, everything burned.

There was an oasis to the East, an extrusion from the Plain’s golden consistency, arising from the grass. Like the palms in some foreign desert, heralded in posters and advertisements, vacations that the rich spent their money on before Equestria was shut, trapped within itself, only reaching out to enact war.
Though this was not an oasis from the lack of life, just a derivation from the shifting sea of it.
Pines instead of palms, grass instead of sand, it was a refuge from repetition, if nothing else.

Nestled within the small family of trees, was what might have been a house, though it could have been a gargantuan salt lick for all I could tell. The faded white structure was nearby, though admittedly distant from the highway, as it waited only one empty expanse away. Although, by that logic: so was the sun.

“What do you think that is?” I asked, musing to myself. They didn’t answer, and for once my accidental asking went unanswered. I looked at them for consent, as they already knew what I wanted to ask for, and Caliber just shrugged and began down the hill. There would be no snide comments, no matter how jesting, no sly judgment or even the gentlest prodding. We weren’t going to laugh again, not for a while.

What had been an almost childishly giddy morning, marked by superficial competition and charade, had now devolved – or evolved – into the grit of a very adult depression.

Walking down the highway, knowing that all that waited was mile upon mile of nothing awaited, was not exactly therapeutic. If anything, I had learned that distraction was the easiest relief. Days shrouded in the shadows of depression, like those under a knowing impotency, were best spent doing anything but thinking. Unemployment, abysmal and unending, had taught me that.

Take in as much as you could, you couldn’t bury the shroud, but you could bury yourself.

The clouds never made familiar shapes, not like some stories claimed; I had come to realize this in my contradictory reverent aversion to them. They may have once, there may have been a time when you could spend hours finding likenesses in the sky, effigies of their earthly counterparts, very temporary imitations. I had read a book, where the personified colt had seen a giant ship in the sky, an ancient vessel of sea faring and adventure, and thought: Are there cloud pirates on that ship?
What a stupid thing to think, my filly self had chastised, nickering at the colt’s wasteful imagination.

Pegasus would shape them this way, I now knew, as an artistic expression or gift to those below. But they didn’t care about us anymore; their time was better spent hedonistically, in sloth and blind disregard. Couldn’t they make us something beautiful, just once?
Couldn’t they send a billowing ship to remind us that we were not alone, that they still cared enough to do just that, if nothing else? Well no, I answered, because they liked to pretend that we didn’t even exist.

“Ash? According to your beliefs…” I began to ask, once again deferring to her Faith for some foreign judgment, which felt nostalgic all the same. “What will happen to the Pegasus once... it’s over?”

“They’ll be fine.” She shrugged. “The Enclave on the other hoof, will finally learn what it feels like for their victims, what it feels like to be left behind. There are surely some up there that are simply deluded, and so their false Gods will be the ones to suffer in their stead. The Goddesses are nothing if not punishing to those who deserve it.” That’s not what the Confessor always said. Though the worst crime that he promised the chance of forgiveness for was murder, and that was starting to look like a very forgivable, even merciful, sin. “They’ll fly into the sun before they reach our earned ascension.”

“Good to know.” I nodded. ‘Earned’ not ‘gifted’, I was starting to think that the Confessor wouldn’t get through a sermon with Ash in the congregation. She had a rare kind of confidence in her mechanical ability and Faith… as well as in her obligation to do anything that was made into a competition, I noted.

“I’d like to get a chance to deliver some punishment myself.” Caliber growled, wishing that she could bring the same face smashing justice, with which she had bloodied her hooves, to the cowards above.

“There was a Pegasus soldier in Acheron.” They both stopped. The farmhouse (definitely not a salt lick) was now just ahead, the level field of gold between us less than a mile long. The building was buried amidst the tallest pines that I had yet to see, though the trees were still thin as bony fingers in the dead of wasteland and winter. My friends were staring at me, despite my unfocused demeanor. “What?”

“What do you mean soldier?” Caliber asked, squinting her persistent black eye at the word.

“Well, I just assumed.” They sighed, in what seemed like a simultaneous relief and disappointment. We started walking into the oasis. “He was kitted out in this very advanced suit, I couldn’t see his face behind the visor, but he just moved like a soldier, strategically you know, deadly.” That got them interested again, or afraid.

“Was he… did the armor make him look like an insect?” Ash asked.

“Yeah! That’s exactly how I described it, I think.” So I got it right sometimes. “It was segmented, and the visor had this fragmented, even compound-eyed, look.”
Were there antennae? No, surely that was going too far.

“That sounds like an Enclave soldier!” Caliber whispered, as if he would appear at his very mention, like Candle- Jack. “What are the Enclave doing poking around Acheron?”

“Yeah! That’s exactly what he was doing.” I nodded again, for some reason pleased at the accuracy of my aged description. “Poking around, mostly near the big town hall building.”

“What did he do then?” she pressed, though we already stood at the house’s fence perimeter.

“Well, he got distracted, so I can’t say what he would’ve been doing.” I admitted. “He got pretty into trying to kill me, so it couldn’t have been that important.”

“He tried to kill you?” Ash gaped, as if she didn’t believe that he could have failed. “How does a heavily armored soldier try to kill a stumbling Stable-baby.” Hey! “No offense.” Damn straight.

“Did Charon scare him off?”

“No.” Well, maybe eventually. “I escaped.” I had been quite proud of that, actually.

“Something must have dis-tracted him.” Oh, Come on! “Maybe whoever he was looking for tried to escape while he was bothering himself with you.” Caliber speculated.

“Okay, fair enough, I hid in the supermarket.” Not the most ingenious strategy. “And when I came out, the whole town was empty. I suppose he could’ve just found something more important to kill.”

Caliber purred in sympathy. “Sorry, Sugar, I didn’t mean to steal your thunder.” She assured. “Like Ash said, any other Stable-pup would have been a puddle of green plasma after a run in with the Enclave.” Instead of being consoled, I felt a pang of ebbing grief at the apparently common decimation of Stable ponies.
We would have failed. It doesn’t matter now. But still. Shut up.
“It’s just that they’re soldiers, they aren’t known to stray from an objective.”

“They aren’t known for anything.” Ash countered quietly, seemingly disinterested in the Pegasus’ orders. “Haven’t you ever seen a Dashite? Any Enclave on the surface are no longer Enclave.”

“Wait! Wait.” I refereed. “One interesting thing at a time, alright?” There was a farmhouse to explore. “There’s no reason to worry about him now, nothing here hinges on us figuring out what he’s doing.” Right you are, Commandant! “My E.F.S says it’s clear, so why don’t we have a nice, relaxing look around.”

Ash immediately wandered off, disappearing around the corner of the building, towards the house’s infinite back yard. I watched her bar this time, not wanting to make the same mistake that I had at the Border Security Station. We were definitively alone.

“You want to stick together?” I asked, which was much easier to do with the excuse of a Pip-buck screen to avert my eyes too. I was almost incapable of putting myself out there, always irrationally afraid of some great rejection. What was the worst that could happen?
Her running off, yelling back: ‘Hah, why would I want to stay with you? I’m not paid to be your friend!’
Her shooting me, then herself, then reanimating as a ghoul and eating Ash.
Yes, that was probably the worst possible outcome.

“Sure.” Ohthankgod. “Let’s see if this door’s locked.”

The house was built in rustic shambles, its exterior walls made up of splintering, whitewood planks. The roof was rusted metal sheeting, periodically dipping to forbid a build up of melting snow or rain.
Logs, derived from some collapsed pine, were stacked in the front door’s low balcony, an axe embedded into them. There was a chimney, just visible at the far corner of the buildings rectangular, pivotal body.
Two rooms extruded from the shape, one was made from brick, the other from the same softening wood.

Caliber peered into the lock, not even giving the door the benefit of the doubt by testing the handle first. She looked surprised. “There’s no lock… at all.” The portal swung open as she pushed its cracked paint surface. “How did these ponies sleep at night?” I had to admit, it was unfeasible. Even the room’s in the Stable had a key card system, and hardly anypony even thought of doing anything wrong there.

“You don’t think this place is as old as the city?” I wondered, Cabanne rose due east, and was still the closest known development apart from the diner and the highway.

“Couldn’t tell you, I don’t know any-thing about Cabanne.” Oh baby, yes. Nopony seemed to, which meant I was actually going to be a pioneer of sorts, I would know something that most didn’t; I could write the first book on Cabanne, assuming that there was even anything worth writing about anymore.
The house didn’t look incredibly old, to be fair, there was metal and an obvious relationship with the highway. But the highway could have been a simple dirt road once, and metal could be the first discovery ponies ever made for all I knew. I lit my horn. “Let me look for a switch.” Electricity would date this place.

The entrance hall was more like a brief alcove, quickly breaking apart into an obvious kitchen and bedroom on either side. The brick room was some sort of primitive scullery, and the other extrusion was a bathroom, sadly. We didn’t find anything interesting anywhere but the bedroom and entrance.

There was a small pile of letters, below the crack that had actually served as a mail slot in the door.
There was a skeleton on the bed; it looked older than I thought bones ever could. It was a dog. Everything else was standard fare. Pots in the scullery, a fireplace in the kitchen (serving as everything from stove to kettle), and… well, a hole in the bathroom. Just a hole.

Mottled walls imitated the rotting pines outside, as that is how they had once stood, and the ceiling was nothing but a pattern of dark banisters, some of which housed bird’s nests and ominous bite marks.
Probably rats, I dismissed, focusing instead on my fresh hatred for the flying variety of filthy pestilence. The flapping bastards weren’t home… Lucky them, I thought bad-assedly.

The biggest revelation came when I found a light switch.
The dating was not done by the flickering light that it now triggered, but rather by its very presence.
This house was not that old, just very, very… just a hole.

The rooms shared one faulty light bulb, as the sparse walls did not actually meet the ceiling for very long. It hung from a wire, which ran along the length of one of the cracked banisters. I could see the metal of the ceiling, though the meek yellow light barely reflected off of its thick rust.

Was this poverty? Actual, if aged, poverty?
Was this how the unemployed lived in the real world?
Celestia, how trivial my impotency was, when compared to this grimy depression.
I had had as much luxury as anypony else in the Stable, though I logged a fraction of the work hours.
Was this suffering what my guilt had been filling in for, what I had felt like I deserved?

Caliber and I had drifted in our scrupulous search, her looking for food and me looking for more ways to make myself feel bad, apparently. I had been spoiled, I chastised, privileged even by old-world standards.
So, now I had to complain about being luckier than pretty much every pony in history? Fantastic.
Maybe if I lament about it for the rest of my life, my own whining guilt will be punishment enough.

“Let’s read the letters.” I invited, trying to distract from how much I got on my own nerves.
They would be bills, wouldn’t they? You never had to pay any bills. You lousy layabout.
Caliber trotted over, disheartened.

“No luck on the food front, how goes… whatever it is that you like to do in these places.”
Well, we’ve certainly got enough guilt to go around... a lifetime’s supply, in fact.

“Don’t even ask, you’ll just get me started again,” I begged, feeling an odd kind of mental exhaustion due to my taxing thoughts. “How many more days can we go without a resupply?”

“However long it takes us to starve after our next…” she calculated. “Two meals.”

Two meals used to mean less than a day. “So, about two day’s worth of food?” Two empty days.

“You’ll need to eat soon, Ms. holier-than-wolf-meat.” She teased, although we both knew that I had had more than my fair share before that. “I have a tin of-“

“Nah,” I waived her impending offer. “I’m not hungry.” The grimy room and sickening guilt was helping with that, at least. I sorted through the letters, despairing at the red stamps on the bills I discarded. Somepony hadn’t paid their dues, but had their debt to society, I noticed. A Letter from Folsom Prison.

I slid the scrappy piece of card from the envelope, which was emblazoned with a silhouette of a galloping horse; the card was yellowing, but distinguished itself as official prison stationary.

Folsom Prison
Repraisa, NP 95671
The Pony Express
Courier Deliveries
Indeterminate

Prisoner 31,

This is the final correspondence you will receive regarding disregard for your probational obligations. You’re sure to be seeing us very soon, either on your terms or on ours.
As you have been told twice before, at the scheduled time that you so blatantly ignored, your condition of release decrees you to meet with a probation officer once a month. It has been three months since your last visit. Three strikes: you are probably familiar with the concept, Prisoner.

We will give you a 48-hour window, in which you are strongly advised to get yourself to Folsom. You will excuse any brevity or levity, of course, as I am writing this personally, only to adhere to your failure to communicate. You should be grateful, Prisoner, if you’d like to lose that title permanently.

Your last chance starts now, from the postage of this letter, which means you likely have less than a day. If you’re thinking about running, then you aren’t thinking. We will have you for violation of probation, you can soften the blow by making our jobs easier, or we can hunt you down.

The choice is yours. We will do what’s best for your rehabilitation, war or not.

Officer Brandenburg

P.S: I hear they’re sending prisoners off to some private contractor in the arcane-science business.
They’re thinking that Folsom would be a good pool for the extraction of test subjects.
Nobody misses a prisoner… Except when they try to run.
You got out on good behavior, now stay out on good behavior.

Doesn’t sound like this place was very old at all, I thought, while I waited for Caliber to finish reading. Folsom itself was all I could use to disprove the claims of pony-guinea-pigs, so I ignored that for now.
The Officer’s disdain was forgivable, if not relatable: this prisoner had been negligent. The convict must have run, even before this final warning, they had passed above and beyond a simple violation.

“Do you think they followed up?” I asked, after the mares’ eyes had bounced to the bottom of the page. She read each word with the same consideration that she would speak them with, her focus bounding along, one at a time, like the dot in a video sing-along. I doubted many other wastelanders could read.

“No,” she strung out. “It doesn’t look like they even got this far. Look at this place.”
I couldn’t see past the filth, which had accumulated over time and negligence, and the shoddy design. “You’d think they’d have searched it, or at least moved the dead dog off of the bed.”

“So, what, they just let the prisoner go?” She met my eyes with a patient smile, waiting for me to figure it out just as I had stood by while she finished reading. “The bombs?”

“Must’ve been, even the wasteland prisons wouldn’t let this kind of thing slide.” I imagined parole wasn’t exactly a courtesy offered nowadays, not to mention rehabilitation. “What’s the next letter say?”

I shook off that familiarly eerie war-ghost and opened the next envelope. This one didn’t have the Pony Express’ ensign, and the letter within was written, scrawled, on an otherwise nondescript sheet.

It’s me.

I know I haven’t written since, well, since I swore never to write again, but I can’t bear the guilt any longer. I’m so sorry for how I abandoned us. Goddesses, if I could, I would be on the first train to get back to you, even though I’d have to ride around the entirety of Equestria first. I don’t care that it only goes one way, it would be better to die on the Coltilde, thinking that I could see you again, than in this damned city.

New Calvary is nothing like we thought it would be, I know that you don’t want to hear that, considering what you did to get me here, but it’s as fucked up as everywhere else.

Now they’ve locked it down, so we’re trapped inside. They say that defenses are in place, in case the Zebras hit us like they’re hitting the capital, but if those shields fail… then they’ve killed us all.

I suppose I have no right to ask you to care, or even to read this, but… I need you.
When we were foals you said that we’d always be together, and you never did anything to break that promise. Folsom, more than anything, was my fault. So to do what I did... I’m so sorry.

Please, please come to Calvary.
I know that I hurt you, and I know that you hate me. But now I know that I was wrong, and I deserve it. Just know that I will take anything, anything you want to punish me with. Just be with me.
Scream and shout, ignore and insult, I don’t care. Just as long as its you.
You and me again, against… against the end of the world.

Caliber’s eyes flickered over the begging scripture, vibrantly rereading the lover’s plea.
She seemed more interested in it than I had been, taking even longer stalls as she imagined the writer offering themselves for the full extent of rage, if only to feel something other than guilt and emptiness.
I suppose it would invoke some kind of empathy, though it didn’t quite do it for me.

Do it for you? What are you, an apocalypse critic?
Ponies’ last moments had to be of the highest quality, to escape the scathing scrutiny of your standards.
Grace Brisby Marie: Connoisseur of Casualty, death-snob. Kitchen Accidents need not apply.

Before I could ask my fellow judge, who could have brought up the letter’s poor average, we heard a soft cry. The sound was like a foal’s fearful whispers, before the waling façade for the attention it craved came. Like doting parents, we would abandon our task to seek out the idyllic child: One who found it easy to keep us in consideration, by silencing the cries that it truly wanted to make. But there was no such thing as this kind of a foal, their nature kept them inconsiderate, a quality that was made necessary by their inability to survive alone. These were the wet coos of a friend, whose tears could only be genuine.

I cast the letter away, letting it sway through the house’s biting drafts, a piece of the past made irrelevant by the call of present emotion. We went clattering through the rooms, looking for a back door, and obscuring the low gasping with our rushed racket. Caliber waved me over to the scullery, the house of brick, and I joined her against the flimsy door. My E.F.S was clear, so we hurried out into the boreal oasis.

Ash was crying, the tar in her irises breaching from a live boil, spurring the unstoppable flow of tears.
Still in despair, the mare chirped and cooed, but what had once been a bright melody was now a crestfallen hymnal, an anthem for the songbirds of mourning.

A tree, whose prime had long passed, stood as a monument. It had clearly been planted with care, almost as if it was to be treated like an artwork, a beautiful addition to this otherwise decrepit place. Loneliness, as its parents abandoned it for Folsom and Calvary, had come to turn it into a gnarled gravestone.

It was now a harbinger, a eulogy for the skeleton hanging from its strongest branch.
The bones were old, ashen and brittle to match its rooted purchase, and they danced like a somber marionette at the end of the noose, a slow, rhythmic romance.

Ash clutched a small, black device in her hooves, and from it came the cause of her distress.
My criticisms for the storied house were torn asunder, and I was seized in fear for the ghosts within.
A tinny voice, ancient and disturbed, came from the recorder, repeating at the mare’s command.

“Goddesses forgive me…”

Footnote: Level Up!
Perk Added:Tag!: Fourth ‘tag’ skill: +15 to that skill. Small guns is increased by 15.
The Small guns skill applies to the use, care and general knowledge of small firearms – pistols, SMGs, and rifles.
Get out of your head, Grace… while you still can.

Chapter 18: When Doves Cry

Fallout Equestria: Sola Gratia
Chapter 18: When Doves Cry
“Incompetence at the highest echelons of leadership! We put our trust, our faith, in half-wits!”

We were falling apart.

In just one day, one day, we’d all found ourselves in tears, from three entirely separate events. I had cried for the buck in the diner, Ash was crying for this recreation of her past, and Caliber had laughed herself to tears.

That last one was good, beautiful, but her own weeping may simply not have manifested for us to see, in fact, it would’ve been worse to think that she felt nothing.

I hadn’t asked her to share, I hadn’t given her the invitation any friend should, and any real friend would. She was working, on a contract, so impracticalities like emotion were kept at bay, but I could’ve been more than her commander, I could’ve, should’ve, been her friend.

Ash curled into a round little ball on the faded grass, the unkempt yard of a suicidal prisoner: an abandoned lover. The tape recorder fell away, left to taper into its last apology.

“Goddesses, forgive me…” That old-world ghost begged one final time. The hanging skeleton now watched on in its usual silence, tinny pleas no longer seeming to whisper down to us from its well broken smile, one that was more indicative of sorrow than laughter.

Whoever the tape was intended for hadn’t been able to bypass the obstacle of war to return and listen to this self-made eulogy. So those terrible last words had waited, for decade after decade, only to draw the tears that it had so patiently hungered for from the first hapless wanderer to finally come upon them: Ash, our Ash.

We ran to her, for I wasn’t going to miss another chance, and held her in our arms.
Caliber rocked her, bringing the pilgrim to that always-comforting nestle against her warm chest. I helped to dissuade the mare’s panicked resistance, assuring her that she was safe.

She didn’t need safety; she needed forgiveness, for her Pilgrimage and for her failures.

It was something that neither of us could understand: grief born from faith, paired with an undeserved guilt that swore itself to unforgiving beings of unpredictable wrath and unconfirmed existence. I felt a pang of hatred for the Goddesses then, as if anything in the wasteland had seemed like a divinely sprung trap, a malicious joke: it was this.

“No…” she tried to roll away from our warming consolation. “Stop.” In one final rock she broke free, scampering out of what Caliber had meant as a shielding, a gift.
Ash nestled into a ball again, somehow upright, and held herself in shivering constraints.

She wasn’t as superficial as I was, I willingly realized, she would have to be deeply hurt for her pain to be expressed like this. Embraces and coos weren’t going to work as the miracle cure, not as they had for my all too frequent affiliations with this emotional seizure.

There would be no cure. Her tears had stopped, not because our arrival had brought restoration, but because it had stolen her from a veil of privacy, which she now had to fabricate within her own mind.

I could almost see the walls going up, pillars of cold steel like impassable prison bars to brace the damming constructions. Her cell, her sanctuary, would be windowless and dark.

We had all incarcerated ourselves like this before; the only variance was in our reasoning.
Why did I think that my own retreat was any healthier than theirs?
And how did I know what Ash was doing to herself? What she was going through?
I couldn’t. I didn’t.
And this made me a poor excuse for a leader.
A mutiny? On my ship? Yes please.

“I’m fine.” Maybe, but we’re falling apart, you know? You might as well join us.
“I’m fine.” She gasped, but I knew that she wasn’t.

“It’s okay.” Caliber whispered, quite wrongly.

“Ash, tell me how to fix this.” I ordered.
“Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do It.”

“Let’s talk about it, okay?” The other… the only consoler offered. “We’re here for you.”

“I need to go.” Ash stood, brushing Caliber off like the dead grass on her patchy ecru coat. “Thank you for your help, for your companionship, but there’s something that I need to do.”

She was dead serious, and fully intended to march off into the Plains, resolved and alone.
“Tell me…” I begged, unable to do anything right without orders or instruction.
“We’re friends.” A concept that neither of us had previously been very familiar with.

There was a spark in her eyes, one I knew. “Yes.” She agreed.
I had her, for some sick few seconds I imagine our exchange as a fisherman reeling in a sleek salmon, wrenching its pink, flapping body from the surging waters below.

Quickly amending the image, I imagined a mare freeing a bird, only to have it swoop in a single glorious arch to perch on her shoulder, where it would roost for evermore.

“We don’t have to be alone anymore.” I added, continuing to hit the empathy nerve that I had found. This was like a medical procedure, a test of reflex and resolve. “We don’t have to carry all of our burdens in silence, leaving them to fester and spread, infecting and crippling us, like a disease. They can, they must, be healed.”

“But… but you’re going to Cabanne.” She had already segregated herself from the group. “And I… I have to go north…There is nothing for you to gain with Me.”

“That’s not the point.” Caliber joined, sealing over the ‘bond of friendship’ argument nicely. “Friends supposed to be there for each other, even if they stand to lose something.”

“Cabanne wasn’t even part of the mission.” I reminded. “You agreed to take me there, and I don’t want to go without you. Even if it means I have to wait.”

She smiled, sending that dagger of empathy into my heart, and cleaning out the clutter in my mind. I may never become a good leader, but it was easy to be a good friend.
The gnawing guilt was replaced with an understanding of this bond’s value, why she and I mattered as units as well as a whole. Why all of us needed each other.

“It’s been a terrible day.” Ash laughed giddily, riding that same shimmering spark.
Her euphoria would last, I realized, that spark wouldn’t fade quite so easily.

We hurried to her side, but didn’t hug her.
She reached her hooves around, roping us into another shared embrace.
“It’s been a terrible day!” she broadcast, letting the world know just what a poor hand it had dealt. She held us close, only letting us go to hop over to the tape recorder.

The mare eagerly pitched it into the pines of the oasis, letting it drown in the golden grass beyond. I worried for the hanging skeleton, concerned for its fragile suspension.
Ash grabbed a fallen branch in her mouth and began to charge the hangman, the same glistening inebriation clear in her expression.

“We should go!” I cried, jumping into her path of rampant, happy destruction.

“Ah.” She mumbled from around the pine’s fallen limb. Her meek disappointment like that of a filly who just realized that the beach was a lot more fun than she had predicted in her screaming refusal to leave the house.
“I… I gueff I got a liddle carried away.”

Caliber gripped the branch; tenderly loosing it from the zealot’s grasp, and continued the mumbled exchange.
“Leff go, den. Butchoo lead, okai?” It was not the best speaking conch.

“You’re really willing to go with me?” she asked, coherently, regaining a hold on her excitement. It was an oddly beautiful thing, to realize that you were no longer truly alone, and I understood where the brief surge of childish abandon had come from. “Before I’ve e-“

“Yes!” I cheered, both as an answer and a celebration for a disaster well averted. There was something that I could do to help Ash, a clean procedure, something tangible, doable.

I would have made a worse psychiatrist than Dr. Cross had been. The mare had served as the Stable’s healer of mind as well as body, but it was becoming clearer that the two were painfully different in their treatment.

“I need to go back to my Congregation’s home.” She confessed. “If only to get some closure.”

“The house on the lake?” I asked, as our current navigator had yet to remove the stick from her mouth. Though her competition, my Pip-buck, was already hard at work.

“Yes, we abandoned it when we left on our Pilgrimage, but it will stand in the same place that it always has.” On prime real estate, I noted, watching as the marker appeared just beside the expansive lake of northern Equestrian borderline.

“It must be beautiful.” I smiled, already in better spirits than this dreary house had put me in.

“Yes.” She nodded, a memory passing behind her black eyes. “And I cannot leave it empty to forever have its last inhabitance marked with some faraway death.”

“So…” Caliber had set the branch aside. “You’re pilgrimage was…”

“My Congregation: my entire family, yes.” Celestia. “There will not be any food there.”

“That wasn’t my concern.” The spark glimmered on, dulling the bitter sting of this revelation.
Until now, as she had come to recognize our wholehearted friendship, Ash had been completely alone, only a few minutes ago she may have thought there was nothing to fight for. Was I worth fighting for? Were we? I had to hope so. “We’ll figure something else out.”

“Thank you.” She whispered, showing that even our offer alone had stemmed the flow of tears, that even the promise of friendship, could heal a wound.

-----------------------------------------

Now, with no highway to tether us, the Plains were truly infinite.
We bobbed in the ocean of gold; three castaways from some sunken ship, never drowning.
From the rise Cabanne it appeared as a map would, like parchment with scrawled features spread across it, a simplistic, ancient place.

There were many monolithic features to hold accountable as guide, however, so it was impossible to get lost in the grand scheme of Equestria. Mountains to the south and clear sky to the distant north, a stone city to the east and gaping valley mouths to the west.

I had been to so little of it, I thought, as I plotted the points from my mechanized map onto the physical world. Two valleys, both wide and stretching, were the cores of my travelling:
The Middle Passage and Zion, both singular stretches of this country, lonely expanses.

What was it like beyond Caliber’s South, in places like Manehattan or Fillydelphia?
I couldn’t even imagine a possible balance between the two spatial extremes that I had become familiar with, an ideal compromise between agoraphobia and claustrophobia, though it was what many took as normal. Places where there were neither infinities nor airlocks.

From what I’d heard, Calvary was not going to give me an answer to what a place without extremes was like. The Plain to the south had been chastised as a writhing mess of development and massive clutter. It was a hive of townships and industrial strips around a city that was simultaneously ancient and new, dead and alive.

One eventuality stood out as the most terrifying: The detachment from the sun.
South meant clouds, south meant less snow but persisting cold, south meant solitary.

The burning star gifted me once again, its presence on the near horizon warming both my mind and body. This was medicine, I thought, this was the miracle cure.

Though the clouds were lighter, and the earth was brighter, I felt nostalgia for my cart-ride in the West. If New Calvary had nothing else for us, we’d at least have promises to count on.

In the oasis, as it would always be known just as diner had forever become a morbid whale, the setting sun had cut through dark branches and plank to infiltrate the shoddy house, breaching a thin layer of wood and dirt to grace the grime within, and serve as a warning of the sun’s time to say goodbye…

“Did you ever sing hymns?” I asked Ash, the question coming to mind due to my discomfort with one in particular. “After a Faith sermon, we always used to sing a hymn together.”

She didn’t answer, and though she may have eventually; Caliber filled the silence.
“There was a gospel church in Fairmount,” she spoke as if discussing something alien, such was the severity of religion’s strangeness to her. “They went nuts every Sunday, like they were trying to get revenge on the hung-over for their own drunken devotion the night before.”

“Went nuts?” I couldn’t remember anything in the hymnbook that might incite that description.

“Don’t get me wrong, it was great! You’d never think a church could out-party a saloon, but it was kinda like they were drunk on something stronger than liquor, more freeing.” She admitted, as if it had been a competition. “Their presenter-guy was always so animated and cha-ris-matic, like he was hosting a concert or something. Then the organs would start playing, the voices of the choir would pick up and the whole street would dance.” Even her hoofsteps were getting uppity, excited by some remembered rhythm.

“We were too few to ever have real sermons.” Ash answered, as if she had phased away from the question until now. “But we sang for special occasions, like hearth’s warming eve.”

“It’s coming up.” I smiled, pleased to hear that it was still somehow recognized out here.
“You guys want to do a Secret-Chancellor-Puddinghead kind of thing?”

“Sure, but we’ve already pooled all of our caps together.” Caliber grinned, guiltily meeting eyes with Ash like a couple who wed behind their parent’s back. “So it doesn’t really matter.”

“About that,” I diverged, having finally accepted this implausible form of currency as law.
“How did it come to caps?”

“There was this pro-motional campaign running for Sparkle Cola, pretty much throughout the entire war” Caliber explained with certainty, as if this was now common knowledge. “Anyway, a myth came about, saying that the gimmick’s end prize was still good and gettable, and grander than anything a wastelander’s black little heart could imagine.”

“What do we have to go to get the prize?” I perked up.

“A myth… “Caliber sighed, we knew that she hated being interrupted in the middle of a story. “So the wastes were riddled with ponies – like you – who just had to get their hooves around that ‘treasure’, as it came to be called. To get it, you had to collect a certain number of special bottle caps, marked for the competition all spe-cifically, and bring them to the Sparkle Cola factory. Once folks started putting value on caps, and realized how many of the damn things there were, it was only natural that it would become a kind of currency for us.”

“Did anypony ever get the prize?” I had clearly become a little treasure-hungry.

“Not that I’ve heard, though many suspect it had no material value at all.”

“It’s not about the money,” I elaborated on my lust. “It’s the getting… the glory.”

“Let’s deal with the slavers first, then once the high from that just isn’t enough for you anymore, we’ll focus on this mythical cap treasure.” Caliber compromised. “Keep our future prospects in mind, we wouldn’t want to use up all the glory at once.”

“Okay,” I might have just agreed to wile my retirement away digging through serrated metal. “I suppose the treasure has waited almost two hundred years already.”

If nothing else: I hoped that Ash would buy into this queued quest, hypothetical as it was.
Ash Ascella: Treasure Hunter had enough potential for a movie deal at least.

We were on the final stretch, which admittedly didn’t mean much on the Plain.
But over the swell of one last peaking hill, the lake glistened in anticipation for a setting sun.

Its former division, between a foreign, lighter side and a dark Equestrian south, was forgotten for an all-encompassing reflection of golden-gray light. The water could’ve been miles deep, or only a shallow wade, its reach was indiscernible beneath the still, but burning, surface.

Pine clusters marked the lake’s borders, leeching off of its immortality to silhouette in mottled shades of sunlit green instead of the skeletal black of barren bark. Some were tinged in an almost living color, as if unchanged by the efforts of both winter and war.

A testament to the sun’s old-world glory.

The light was life giving, but not warm, and snow powdered the hemisphere of the lake like sugar on the rim of a cocktail. The landscape on the other side was indiscernible, but it was assuredly white, buried beneath a thick, healthy pelt of northern frost.

The Zion River, black and narrow, cut into the western brink, darkening the water as if it were leaking tar into the lake. It must have dispensed the serpent’s scales here, letting them sink into the calm to become a once organic wreck beneath the grave’s shining face.

That must have been an odd thing to see, I would have thought, if not for the complete absence of passably intact structures on the gently lapping shores.
It was as if, once, the tides had become violent and dauntless, swallowing the entire ring of surrounding intruders in a juvenile fit of rage, leaving only jutting ruin and imploded foundations behind. One house stood, tall and strong, rising from the shambles.

It certainly wasn’t an unimpressive construction, both for its timeless stature and solid build.
There was no fence or border of any sort around it, as if it was daring any who would oppose it, daring the waters and wind of a century’s passing to beat themselves sore against its walls.

“How did it survive?” I asked, interested in the infallible architecture.

“The others were demolished during the war, vacation homes and hotels, all.” Ash explained. “The borders weren’t considered to be the prime real estate that they once were. So the ponies left, with all the money.” This was certainly a place that deserved to be seen.

“I’m guessing that house was there before the others.” Caliber smiled. “And the crotchety old buck who built it just wouldn’t let it go, come Zebras or high water.”

“Exactly,” Ash nodded, impressed. “How did you know?”

“There’s always one.” Her amused glow made the respect she harbored for their kind clear.
“They’re as timeless as the focus of their stubborn passions.”

“Cyrus reclaimed it from some ramshackle band of heathens a long time ago… he said he never did a thing to restore the place, that it seemed to take care of itself.” She reminisced.

“Was he your…” I began to ask, before stopping myself.

“I hope you were going to say father.” She smiled faintly. “But no.” That was that.

There was one other survivor, an expansive lodge built onto one of the lake’s distant islands.
Whether it was technically Equestrian or… undefined, was unclear, but compared to the ruin everywhere else, it was certainly impressive. The sun burned against the distant wood and glass, making me wish I had a boat, and all the time in the world.

Though the view from that distant resort: a barren shore of collapsed furloughs and kinsmen would likely be less enjoyable than the view of the island itself. And an island might certainly get lonely… unless I could get Caliber to go with me, and maybe Ash if she ever got tired of her illustrious treasure-hunting career… But, I reminded, the Railway comes first.

Congregation house, then Cabanne, then… maybe I shouldn’t be planning for retirement just yet. My old plan had been Buffalo-Cabanne-DJ-Road to the southern Plain.
Not only was ‘Buffalo’ unresolved, but new priorities were popping up with every step forward.
Even the hyphens seemed to be getting longer.

A road came from the eastern side of the lake, linking all the abscesses in a chain of demolition and abandonment. We could take it to Littlerock, skip Cabanne, let the buffalos sit, but that would be sloppy, wouldn’t it? Better to wrap up any loose ends, even if doing so unravels another. I knew I wouldn’t be able to stand having a list of unresolved objectives.

“What are you guys going to do when this is all over?” I asked, as we approached the stretching line of municipal destruction. I wouldn’t want them to make any plans before I got the chance to invite them to my hypothetical island book-fort.

“Don’t think about that kind of thing, Grace.” Caliber warned. “It assumes too much.”
In the Stable that would have implied that our friendship was conditional, contractual, but this is the wasteland, you see, and things mean differently in the wasteland. Right?

“We need to get around to the lakeside; all the other entrances should still be barred.” Ash explained, distracting me from my inquiry, and my fleeting insecurity.

The wide house rose just across a battered asphalt road, even more imposing in proximity. It was three stories high, with aesthetic windows and ordainments marking its face. Each section, from the sleek boarding of its core to the cement angles at each corner, was complimentary. Whatever palette it had been designed in, had not survived, but the appealing cohesion had, as each color was augmented proportionally by the same fading factors.

The yard, front if the road took priority over the lake, was simplistically modeled. Rounded stone marked dead flowerbeds and a cobbled, dirty path cut through to a barred entryway.

The windows were similarly boarded up, but from the other side, as if to keep something in. Cracking ivy and vine rose from the dead vegetation below, reaching to the shut apertures.

“Something just moved in there.” Caliber whispered, eerily calm. We stopped in the middle of the road, suddenly apprehensive despite Ash’s excited homecoming. “And there’s light.”

It wasn’t obvious, thanks to the sun cutting out from behind the hickory and shingles, but she was right. I couldn’t see any shadows shifting, but there was a definitive glow seeping out.
“You’re imagining things.” Ash waved, beckoning us to follow. She was hopping in front of us, urging us to unfreeze - Green light! Green Light! - But I didn’t have reason to doubt Caliber, and she was adamantly planted. “We’ve only been gone a couple of weeks.”

“There!” Caliber yelped loudly at the sudden, if temporary, appearance of proof. “Top-right window.” All I saw was another excessive blockade. “Check your E.F.S.”

“Nothing, we should get a little closer, though.” The range had always been ambiguous on this thing, but I wouldn’t trust its promise of safety at this distance. “Just a little.” I promised.

Red bars.

After only a few steps, an abundance of crimson had bled over the screen’s display, proving Caliber very, very right. I held my companions at bay, trying to push our group back from the apparent range of detection. “Lots!” Was all that needed saying to get them moving.

I levitated the Poacher’s rifle at my side, readying it for a single shifting bar.
We had made it to the other side of the road, when a mare pounced out from around the house’s reinforced corner, scampering onwards in a jaunting, but unalarmed charge.

“Inside the thing!” I ordered, trying to lead a retreat into one of the forgotten collapses, but the mare had already set an eventual course for us, wisely diving behind a garden wall first.

She was disturbingly Ash-like, thick maned and lithe, though her palette was reversed, with sickly implications. Her coat was a grimy lavender, while her mane exhibited the ecru inconsistency. I didn’t know if she had a gun, but I hurried back across the street, alone.

The sentry, accidental in her role or not, was sounding an improvised alarm, calling out barking warnings to the house. I hoped that she couldn’t multi-task.

Sprinting into the yard, floating the Fixit stick perpendicular to my back, I opened myself to whatever weaponry my opponent might prepare in time. But she was an earth pony, and when it came to being vocal and being armed, and earth pony could not multi-task.

I shot her in the gut, just barely abandoning my intended, and much more decisive, hit.
A second passed, as I looked her over, making sure there were no obvious signs of a misunderstanding. Though only a maternally swollen stomach or a sign that said: ‘WARNING! Your E.F.S may misinterpret me as a hostile, please don’t shoot; I’m two months pregnant!’ Would have been enough to warrant a mercy.

I shot her again, quite decisively, and then hurried back to my friends, as they, in turn, hurried over to me. “Come on! We can hide in some of that debris!”

We bound into an opposite ruin, ducking into the abscess of soil left by an absent foundation, long torn to sporadic shreds. Whoever had been responsible for clearing this mess had clearly not been paid enough to come to work… not on the border, not during a peaking war.

Three other ponies, still much fewer than my Pip-buck had first identified, came to the mare’s side. They quickly realized that she was dead, and began combing the area, one with guns saddled, one muzzling a pistol and the last with a glinting ivory knife.

“Goddesses, I think those are Vipers.” Ash whispered, though we were out of both scan range and earshot. “They shouldn’t be in there.” There was an uncommon anger in her voice.

“They raiders?” Caliber asked, as unfamiliar with the name as I was.
“Smarter, they’re a religi-“ We both groaned before she could finish. “What?”

“Tell me this isn’t some persecution thing.” I pleaded. “I want to have a better excuse for killing that mare than: She had different opinions than someone else, officer, I had to do it!”

“They’re raiders, in that they frequently pillage and murder. Just because they also belie-“

“Good enough.” Caliber interrupted, as she hopped out of the ruined trench and shot one of the bucks prying nearby, taking no more than a few seconds to line up her sights and stance.

I joined her at the brink of our improvised foxhole, though my telekinesis let me keep my body shielded beneath both earth and cement. The sun was now burning through the house’s solid, but aged, walls with enough intensity to make it look as if the entire building had been set alight from the inside. With the lake’s waters afire beside it, reflecting the brightest of rays in an intense ivory, the view was quickly going from beautiful to blinding.

“Switch to the nine and get down here!” I ordered Caliber curtly, as if she were a filly dancing on the dinner table. The other two investigators weren’t stupid enough to have any more searching to do; they’d caught the culprits red-hoofed.

She clambered back into the pit, and followed as I wound my way deeper into the sporadically sheltering mess of rubble. Entire hallways had broken down into makeshift tunnels and the building’s original foundations jutted from the earth as idols of cement who wore crowns of thick wire, towers over most of the ruin, casting long, tired shadows for the sinking sun.

There was a partially intact staircase reaching into the sky.

“Call the others! I’ll keep ‘em pinned!” My counter-commander yelled from nearby.

I scrambled up the slanted staircase. “Keep that buck off me! I’ll get the runner!”
Dirty tactic, sending two against one, and there was nothing threatening me on my jagged sniper’s nest. I told myself not to care, that they were only raiders, but I found it difficult to despise these hostiles. I wanted the usual introduction of decorative gore and battered prisoners, à la toll-booth, more than I should care to admit.

Now, at what was technically ground level, I could see my target, but also the buck standing between us, at the trenches lip. Ash’s jury-rigged shotgun bellowed as it tore this living obstruction’s entire leg off. He toppled, wide-eyed in numbing shock, and in great need of a dictionary to use as a prop, containing every known language in history, at least.

I leveled the criminally scope-less gun; appropriate for the earth pony that I had inherited it from, and lined its sights with a cobra in the middle of a cannibalistic meal, swallowing the tail of another writhing serpent. That had to be the strangest cutie-mark I’d seen in a while.

I pretended it was a fence.

A 45-70 round buried itself into the retreating flank, taking the herald down in spasms of dysfunctional muscle. I couldn’t bring myself to shoot the twitching body, as the distance between us made it feel even more dishonorable. Besides, she wasn’t going anywhere soon.

I hopped back into the pit, heading for the three bars, and the persistent conflict they signified.
Caliber and Ash were taking cover behind a stack of bricks, shielding themselves from a wild, unpredictable barrage of random ricochets. Commander Kickstand was clearly still alive.

“What happened?” I asked over the conversation between hot metal and stone.

“Buck’s got resolve, I’ll give him that.” Caliber replied. “He’s no push-over.” Oh god.

Ash didn’t share our levity. “He’s got a pistol in his mouth, and is managing to reload, but he does it slowly. He’s only a couple of clips down, but certainly isn’t going anywhere.”
“The runner’s down. I put a bullet in her flank, but she’s still alive.” I admitted, still feeling less guilty than I could’ve been. “There’s no time to wait this buck out, we need to move on the next reload.” As they nodded, I felt an odd sense of pride, as well as cold responsibility.

There was a succession of reports; followed by a mask of whining reflections. “That’s it!” Caliber cried, somehow keeping count in the chaotic symphony of bullets. “Let’s go!”

We dove down the inconsistent hallways of steel mesh and cinderblocks, now devoid of deadly, whistling lead. I could hear the buck’s winces and grunts as he fumbled with the clip, trying to slide it across the tremulous floor of ruin and into his lowered pistol.

We reached him just as he cheered from around his freshly loaded gun, which Caliber easily bucked from his limp grasp, leaving an emptied, gaping look of crushed hope.
“Don’t get close!” Ash warned. “They lace their blades with snake venom.” As if as evidence, the buck’s cutie-mark, bloody and stripped, was a dripping fang. “Keep your distance.”

“Alright.” Caliber put the cursing cripple out of his misery with a stark lack of hesitation, her rifle deafening in its echoes around the ruin. Just one more to go.

I vaulted out of the abscess, bounding off of ruin in a distantly rehearsed sequence.
The Sun still set the house alight in a mirage of fire. Now flames seemed to lick the walls from the inside out, writhing out of every scar. The wood was surely strong, but couldn’t stop them.

It was getting darker, though I could still see the second mare, crawling just beside the first.
She had bled a crimson trail into the dead garden, and her cutie-mark was in ribbons.
These Vipers were certainly persistent.

There would be no honorable way to do this, but I hurried across the road anyway. My companions following in a requested cease-fire: Don’t shoot the messenger.

I rolled her over; interrupting the pitiful drag that she was putting herself through.
She didn’t scream, the house was alive with activity; our gunfire had been message enough. “Will they care enough to bargain for your life?” I asked, as I floated the rifle beneath her chin.

“No.” Damascus had told me that ponies would say anything to make their last moments mean something, so I shot her. The plume of blood and brain matter concluded her arching path, cresting it in a fan of lighter crimson. It probably looked like a flower from somewhere.

“They’re smarter,” I panted, exerted from physical and moral taxing. “Braver too.”

“Trust me; they deserve no more mercy for it.” Ash assured. “They are just intrinsically disturbed; it’s pathology to them. They’re not degenerates, but rather a cult.”

“Where should we go?” I asked Caliber, sure that the easily accessible pit was not a good place to stage a holdout. We certainly shouldn’t stay here for long, screamed my Pip-buck.

“I assume there are big windows in the front, view of the lake, so we can’t camp at the door.” She decided, not even pausing for confirmation from Ash. “No windows, that’s a risk we can’t take when we know they have rifles. If we break through the back door, we can find a room inside to root ourselves in. Ash can show us the best place once were inside.”

“It’ll take me a minute to get this open.” Ash hurried over to the door, already familiar with the barricade, she could play it like a game of pick-up sticks. “Don’t get stabbed, it’s paralytic.”

Caliber gave me a militarily curt nod and gripped the nine-millimeter in her muzzle. “Weft side!” Luckily, west and left were the same thing in this assignment, so I got the message.

I poked the Fixit stick around the house’s garden patch corner, and fired three warning shots, which may just as easily have translated into an invitation. There was enough of the raider bloodlust in these cultists for them to take that kind of challenge.

A pair tumbled over each other, fighting over the outside stretch. I shot the loser, but he took it in stride, not falling, only flinching, to the bullet’s impact. These ponies were armored with thick, black leather and shoddily tied scrap metal, though their persistence was enough to keep them going even after grave injury.

The outside runner grasped a pistol in his mouth and, in blatant disregard, leveled it on the other attacker, using him as both cover and a prop. I ducked around the corner, firing a shot and getting a satisfyingly descriptive sequence of sounds. A whistle, a grunt then a slump.

Unfortunately, I had killed the cover and not the coward behind it.
Then, as if to prove that selfishness did not equate to cowardice, the outside runner pounced around the house, kicking up garden soil and stumbling over cobblestone.
He still had his pistol, so I charged him before he could angle a shot.

We fell over into the soil, his clumsy gait easily converted into collapse by the weight of my Stable-softened body (I’m sure he would have fallen over for anypony). I pound against his face, trying to replicate Caliber’s trademark pulping, but found that bone was really quite hard.

Oh well, we all have our own special talents.
I hit the buck with my rifle, swinging it like a golf club to loose the weapon from his muzzle. Then, relishing the savagery in his diseased eyes, I pressed the barrel against his temple.
“I go… to the Great Snake.” He winced, winking away from the warmed steel.

That’s a new one. I averted my gaze and pulled the trigger, sending another carmine flower of sanguine fluid blossoming out into the garden. They were certainly creative.

“You almost done, Ash!?” I heard Caliber cry, distant due to the house’s wide girth. The primitive locksmith, tearing away at a primitive lock, was nestled in an alcove.
She poked her head out. “Thirty seconds, if we’re lucky!”

That sounded all right, before I saw an easy half dozen peering at me from the lakeside.
A rifle round reflected off of the metal framework, nearly perforating my hide.
I put on my most intimidating face, probably indiscernible at this distance, and returned fire.
A mare lost an eye, as well as everything behind it, and one of the buck’s kneecaps exploded.

Three of his compatriots charged, leaving him to bleed.
The rifleman stayed behind to cover them as they charged.

One of the assailers wore an impossible large snake skull on her forehead; it had to be an imitation, didn’t it? The bone absorbed two shots before splintering like the skull it shielded.

I retreated; frantically floating rounds into the magazine, in a painstakingly individual reload.
Caliber was firing with both weapons at some obscured amassment of Vipers, still holding her ground. “Ash!” I ordered, encouraging her to hurry the heck up.

My two pursuers pelted into the yard, and I knew the rifle buck wouldn’t be far behind.
Only knives for now, but knives laced with enough venom to tease the lips of their bearers.

With my rifle askew at their sides, I landed a solid gut shot, which burrowed its way through several vital organs to reach its defining purchase, and was left with one contender.

The final mare pushed against my telekinetic focus, only kept at bay by a single, sleek bar of hickory and rusted steel. She barked and yelped despite her glinting gag, which she swung in desperate arcs. I could feel droplets of either saliva or poison against my scarred face.
Probably the first time I’d ever wished that I was only being spit on.

“Alright, we’re clear!” Ash cried, following up her invitation with a thundering report, hailing buckshot into my wrestled opponent. The mare lost most of her insides.
This garden was certainly more vibrant that it had been before, not that the morbid crimson brushstrokes would have helped the house’s market value much.
The door was intact, and its liberator held it open for our approach.
Caliber hadn’t had to contend with any close calls, her double barrage had been enough to keep her attackers at bay. “You have a mine?” she asked, her intent clear.

I nodded and floated the yellow disk at my side, arming it as we dove into the house.
As Ash shut the door I set the fragmentation mine down just within the portal’s arc.
“Will this stop them?” I asked, as we backed away from the explosive.

“I don’t think they’d come in anyway, they’re smart enough to know we’d have ‘em bottlenecked in the hallway.” The narrow passage was similarly formed out of smooth wood, somehow still polished and reflective in the dim light of an ornately shaded bulb on the wall.

The carpet was a mottled purple, and stretched out into a wide hall until it reached the opposite door. My E.F.S claimed that there were still hostiles in the house, but that most were now out loitering over in the lakeside yard. The hall was humble in design but luxurious in size and scope, earthy tones to compliment the traditional art and warm lighting.

Nothing abstract, nothing ‘modern’, it was not a house built by money, but by hard work.
I wouldn’t be surprised to know that the old buck had constructed the entire thing himself, setting up near the lake to fish or sail, not to be surrounded by tourists and their obnoxious children. Maybe his wife had painted the humble art, recreating landscapes as her husband stubbornly toiled away at the house’s expansive structure, chastised at every offer to help.

Caliber fired three 556 rounds through the front door, making me wince for the splintering pinewood, but delivering a warning message to the Vipers hissing outside.

“We should go upstairs,” Ash said, to which I showed her my red-ridden E.F.S. “Regardless.”

“It’s a very nice house.” I offered, acting more interested in the impressive architecture than our potentially dire predicament. “I can see why its owner didn’t want it torn down.”

“They couldn’t’ve taken it down if they’d tried.” Caliber nodded, similarly reverent.
“What’d’you think the Vipers want here?”

“Cyrus, most likely.” Ash sighed. “He once tried to purge Cabanne of them, on his own. There used to be over two hundred, desecrating the city with their rituals and black blood. When he first found Faith, he made it his mission to liberate the old church from their hold.”

“There’s a church in Cabanne?” There are Vipers in Cabanne? My virgin? Damn it!
No wonder nopony had written a book about the place… Plus the mass illiteracy thing.

Ash smiled. “There’s a church in every city from New Calvary to Fillydelphia, we were never that much of a minority.” She began, slow and silent, into the hall.

The front door collapsed inwards, under a writhing mass of the somehow serpentine ponies. Their cutie-marks, all incorporating the same factional references, made it look like they were panicking under an attack by a nest of snakes.

Ash fired before she could brace herself for the buffalo-worthy kickback, and though the invaders were now bleeding each other’s blood, we were sent crashing back into the narrow hallway, sharing in the shotgun’s dauntless return of force.

The mine was triggered.
Thankfully it yielded to another collapsing door, and not to our stumbling dissolution nearby.
I watched as splinters cut into the second flood of Vipers, shards of rich wood burying themselves in the careless cultists. One mare had a fragment as long as a leg impaled through her muzzle, like a dentist’s greatest exaggeration.

Though they limped and whimpered, bodies laced with shrapnel and splinters, the Vipers had us on either side. Ash and Caliber continued a suppression of the hall’s serpents, easy targets as they slithered and stumbled in pools of their own blood.

I fired the Fixit stick as fast as it would fire, subconsciously unwilling to use my father’s pistol either for fear of shared saliva with the mares before or for need of paternal dissociation.
The reloads were slow, but my targets were already dead or dying, the mine having done most of my work for me.

Caliber and Ash, had less of an advantage, and they were already being forced back by approaching promises of poison. “Get out into the yard.” Ash ordered (requested)

I hopped over my last target, pushing a shard of door deeper into his spine as I passed.
Though he groaned, the buck could not even flail, and was now left a short-lived paraplegic.
He was trampled as seven sets of hooves passed over him, and even kinsmen ignored his cries. I promised to make sure he was dead later.

The final four were biting at our tails, and we came spilling out of the house together, dangerously close. Bone daggers flashed as the Vipers regained their bearings, immediately thrashing in wild attempts to bury their blades. One didn’t get up, lying still, dead or paralyzed.

We danced in exchanges of vices and venom, but the raider cult had already dwindled to a sloppy slur. Buckshot, then bullet, Ash and Caliber took their toll on the three, quickly turning strikes into swoons and lunges into last attempts.

I had taken to using Cody’s rifle as a blunt weapon, a makeshift barricade to hold up against close quarter combatants or an effective cattle prod with which to beat them back. Bringing it into one final arc, I dislocated the last Viper’s jaw, forcing the skeletal dagger out of his grasp. The rest of his skull lasted for a successive pair of solid hits. Three strikes and you’re out.

My Pip-buck tsked and tutted, bemoaning my mistreatment of the beautifully crafted rifle.
Ash could build a shotgun, I reminded it, and could certainly patch up a few splinters.
But that would have to wait, as there were still two red bars inside the house.

“We’re not done.” I panted, worn out from my displaced exertion. “Two more inside.”
Ash glanced at my E.F.S, combining its vague spatial information with her own knowledge of the construct to pinpoint the last couple’s location.

“They must be upstairs, or we’d see them in the hall.” She asserted, prompting us to follow.

“We’re dealing with somebody at the top of the chain or the very bottom.” Caliber speculated, as we made our way down the hall. “A complete coward, or some kind of a commander.”

“Probably both.” I shrugged, it’s not like we’d shoot either one any less.

We scrambled up a fine spiral staircase, stepping off onto floorboards just below the attic.
This floor had an overlook on the entrance hall, the bloody slaughterhouse of red corpses.
The bars told of a stationary pair of hostiles just beyond this – bedroom, according to Ash – door. They were close to one another, superimposed, huddling in either fear or conspiracy.

Caliber stepped forward, clearly intent on firing through the door with her insurgent’s rifle.
“Don’t.” I pleaded, stopping her muzzle mid-bite over the bit trigger. “Let’s take a look.”
Stepping ahead of the skeptical mare, I pushed the door open.

The portal opened right out onto the lake, at least, that’s what it seemed like.
Caliber had been right about the front windows, they were huge, stretching from wall to wall.
Glass made up the entire opposite side of the chamber, revealing a drowning sun beyond.

“Walk over to the window.” A buck’s voice hissed. The room was dimly lit, almost romantic, and the silhouettes of an embracing buck and mare stood out against the glimmering water. “You’re responsible for two lives.” Not an embrace, I realized, not at all.

“I could just shoot you.” Caliber growled, taking caution not to act before knowing the consequences, perhaps for my sake. The buck grinned, his smile white and serpentine.

“Walk over to the window, and I’ll tell you why that would be a very bad idea.”
Despite their shadowed faces, I could tell that my followers were frowning in distaste, but I ushered them into the room, circling the dark couple with guarded berth.
“You fight with restraint,” He cooed at me. “You’ll want to hear this.”

Reducing our selves to nondescript silhouettes, we stood at attention before the great lake. “So you’ve got yourself a hostage.” Caliber perceived. “One of your own?”

“Yes, but here’s why you’re going to let me go.” How scummy. If any of the Vipers had displayed similarities with the less dogmatic raiders: it was this one. “I and I alone, know how to make an antidote. Which you’ll need if you have any consideration for this mare and h-“

His words were drowned out by a howling shotgun and a shattering window, as Ash sent herself crashing through the magnificent panes of glass, out into the world. The black couple divorced in ribbons of glistening crimson, both mare and buck torn apart by the buckshot.

I pulled myself into my coat, like a turtle retreating into its shell, as the wall of glass fractured into a hailstorm of daggers. The torrent fell outwards, however, following the mare who had called it. Fresh air flooded the room in a billowing plume, forcing Caliber and I to step away from the high horizon’s edge, blinded by whipping wind and dying sunshine.

“What the shit!?” Caliber screamed, the implosion of disarray throwing everything into an eventuality neither of us had cause to expect. “What the actual shit?” In other words, yes.

“Is she alive?” I asked, peering over the edge to find my answer. The mare lay in ribbons, though they were white and black rather than ecru and red. She had been cut naked, but seemed otherwise unharmed. “You’re crazy!” She was blinking up into the void of cloud’s end, the border between empty, golden-laced sky and the shifting black roof of Equestria.

Hard winds bent the pines around the lake, as if the water itself was drawing them to their own bleak reflections, calling them to meet their fading mirages. It was eerie to watch the wall of clouds, wildly colliding and dancing in this maelstrom, but only up to the clearly defined end, as if their volatility couldn’t even breach the now unwritten law of the Enclaves’ influence.

The world had been calm when we first entered the house; but now… it was almost as if Ash had thrown it into chaos, tearing apart logic and restraint in her near suicidal outburst. She began laughing.
“Goddesses…” I whispered. “She’s gone off the wall.”

Caliber smiled down at the giggling psychopath, with something that almost looked like pride. “You hear that, Ash? The mighty alicorn hijacker thinks you’re crazy!” They chirped together, as if they’d inhaled some kind of cheap narcotic.
“Hold on, we’re coming down!”
Caliber was going to jump after her; I had never been so sure of anything in my life.
But she didn’t. “Let’s go make sure she’s alright.” Yes, because physically, she could be fine.

Blood had already spread about the entirety of the bedroom, so we hopped up onto the bed, like we were playing ‘the floor is made of lava’. The Viper couple had almost melded together in the morbid darkness; only their wounds formed an abscess in between them, a shredded gap of shrapnel pulp. The dark venom in the mare seemed to pout for its stolen kill.

Crimson lapped against the doorframe, gently caressing like the awakening lake below.
I skidded in the pool, landing just short of clean wood and splattering my rear hoof in blood. My E.F.S, however, was pristine, two glimmering ivories and not a single surviving hostile.
There weren’t any snakes left in the grass. But the serpent’s head watched from Cabanne.

“Would’ya look at this.” Caliber beamed, standing with hooves crossed at the bottom of the stairs. “I hope you’re hungry!” she skipped through the adjacent doorway.

Clear of corpses, the kitchen held a thieves’ hoard of cans and packages.
Smooth marble, ebony against wood, and sleek, silver utilities, it was the nicest room in the house. Only the best for you, darling. “We’re not going to starve!” I cheered, as Caliber packed us like a pair of mules. I spotted a few tins of Pork and Beans as she slipped them into my saddlebags with a wry smile. They alone could feed us for days.

The divergence to the oasis had, ironically, left us with nothing, and that rotted old house had done little to improve our situation, apart from redirecting us to this veritable cornucopia.

While walking to this lake, we had reluctantly eaten our last reserves, grimly admitting that we would likely go hungry for a very long time. But we hadn’t expected the Vipers.
“Boy, I’m glad we’re not out west.” Caliber admitted, as we lugged our feast back to the abattoir. “Our resident pseudo-raiders, the Jackals, aren’t the kind of ponies you want to break bread with. Or steal bread from, anyway.”

“What’s wrong with their food?” I asked, distracting myself from the mangled corpses.

“You are what you eat…” She grinned. “Is a saying that they take a bit too literally.”
I swear, I was hungry a second ago.
“Get everything you need from in here.” She stopped me before I could duck out of the door. “I don’t think Ash is going to want to come back, considering what she did that for.”
I stared in blank asking.
“Closure.”

We left after gathering a few salvageable parts and a particularly unsullied cruiser’s outfit for the spontaneous stripper outside. I decided that I would have to wash it in the lake…
the outfit, not the stripper.

The front yard was even less processed, as there were no garden patches or cobbled stones; the architect had left it in simplistic reverence for the lake’s beauty.
Night had fallen, and streetlamps rose in a ring along the shore’s embracing road.

The lake howled in dark solace, now reflecting the paltry fluorescents in place of brilliant sunshine. Golden light leaked from Ash’s improvised exit, and the mare stared up into that rich haze as it dispersed into the darkness of cold winter night.

Her vest was in shreds and torn bandages hung loose and bloodied at her side.
She could’ve been dead, a corpse set out for display, if not for the life shining from her eyes.

They looked relieved, the shadow of this afternoon’s remembrance beaten back by what Caliber assessed as closure, but above all, the obsidians glowed with a warming gratitude.

Not to us, but to some intangible interferer.

“You knew the Vipers would be here.” I understood, standing over her with my medical supplies ready. She clearly didn’t care about the pain, but blood was coming from somewhere.

“Part of the reason that we all had to leave on this Pilgrimage, was so that no one would be left behind to face them if they came.” She whispered, her thankful prayers interrupted.
“I didn’t know it for a fact, but I had my suspicions.”

“Tell me that you didn’t want to die.”

“I was willing to.” The dancing lights in her eyes shone over to me. “I was ready to… but it seems the Goddesses know I’ve got a promise to fulfill.” She smiled. “I am destined to you.”

Caliber giggled. “It’s a damn shame all this romance is wasted on you two.”
I had to admit that it was beautiful out, but the devotion in Ash’s eyes was clearly burning for elsewhere, a place, an idea that no pony could ever compete with.

“Not the best atmosphere to avoid an awkward medical exam.” I nodded; you might as well have a buck playing saxophone during invasive surgery. “Speaking of…”

Ash’s eyes widened as I nuzzled into her side, searching for a source to the trickling flow of blood. “No!” she rolled away, wincing. “Don’t!”

I put on my best ‘this-isn’t-going-to-hurt-a-bit’ smile and walked back over to her. “Trust me; it’ll be less uncomfortable for both of us if you don’t make a fuss.” Nurse Clearheart had taught me this approach, having performed intimate triage on a number of patients. “I won’t have to go looking if you’ll narrow down where the pain is coming from.” I offered.

Unfortunately, that hadn’t been an option with some examinations.

As she rolled over, her desperately clutched blanket of loose bandages shifted, revealing a glinting extrusion that shone out from beneath brilliant streaks of red. “Ash, that’s glass!” I yelled, gesturing for Caliber to hold the writhing mare down. “Now this’ll only ta-“ She hit me.

I didn’t sprawl as I had under assaults by Cody or Caliber, but my scarred left cheek seared from the impact, and a reflexive tear began to well up in my eye. “Get away from me!” she cried, her voice faltering as she curled back up into that little ball, all the while pushing down on the dagger of glass poking out from her soft underside, almost within the ribcage.

I met Caliber’s worrying eyes, and initiated my callous plan. “Sorry, Ash.” We pounced on her, forcing her out of the curl before she could do any more damage. The mare flailed, the kind of patient that needed handcuffs or a strong sedative to work on safely. I resisted the urge to anesthetize her. “If you don’t stop moving…” I froze.

Caliber saw it too.

The glass’s purchase was shallow, superficial. It dug into her bare side, but the blood flow had already subsided. A bone had obstructed the shard from digging any deeper.

A bone that should not have been there.

“Ash…”

The Pegasus began to cry.

Footnote: Level Up!
Perk Added: Ready for the Races: Your chance to cripple an opponent is increased +25%

Companions:
Ash is now Loyal
Your Repair skill is effectively 100 and recipe/improvised weapons can be crafted while she is in the party.

Chapter 19: Headlights Look Like Diamonds

Fallout Equestria: Sola Gratia
Chapter 19: Headlights Look Like Diamonds
“You're not from around here. Who're you?”

I had killed a lot of ponies today.
But I hadn’t shot a crippled mare down the barrel of my distant rifle.
In terms of life and death, I was fast becoming a major contributor to the latter.
But a band of pseudo-religious raiders were now cross-eyed corpses.
Tears and turmoil, blood and bullets had marked the day.
But now I sat beneath an ancient majesty of architecture and resolve, sipping a Sparkle-Cola, and watching the night dance with its reflection in the lake.
Today had been a terrible day.
But the sun had set.

“I was not legal, my birth, my existence, every breath I took was a crime.” Ash explained, her tears dry and distant, soothed by our assurances that she was now no different in our eyes, that despite the cloud-cut above, we would share a drink with a Pegasus. “A shamed secret.”

“What would they have done with you?” Caliber asked, her bottle somehow steady in her hoof. “It’s not like it was your fault that you were born.”

Ash had practiced skill, but would never have that magical understatement that was an earth ponies’ ability to do the impossible. “That’s the thing: my parents were culpable, so they were hiding me for my sake as well as their own. They would have been arraigned and punished for ‘overpopulating’ and, more severely, for attempting to conceal their crimes.”

“And you’d be left alone.” I nodded, floating my own sweet soda, cheating gravity.

“I’d have been branded and banished or, considering my age and… disposability… culled.” The taste of carrot swashing in my mouth became sickly at the words, as if the concept’s immorality was infusing the drink with its rot. “The Enclave thrives for its control, for its unyielding loyalty to regulation and law. They would remove me…to refine the population.”

Ash’s wings were no longer there. “Is that why they clipped you?” Caliber guessed.

“I was not clipped.” She shook her head, painstakingly forced to relieve her past by the inadvertent cruelty of curious peer pressure. “This was my own fault.”

“Looks like they were burned off.” I analyzed, the subtle wounds at the end of each stub had clearly been cauterized at some point, an unusually barbaric solution that I doubted the Enclave would use. They were morally destitute enough, but their technology was too great. “Then the excess was trimmed away.” Callously curt words uttered out of medical procedure.

“I tried to run, to exile myself.” She nodded, confirming my diagnosis. “To spare my parents and siblings the risk of persecution.” All probably still up there, I chastised the references. “But how do your run from the world? For all I knew, my everything was Enclave and my nothing was below. So I decided that I’d learn how to fly, then just do it until I was gone.”

“Why didn’t you ask your parents to leave with you?” Caliber asked, twisting open another bottle of the orange ancient. “To escape together.”

“I wanted to leave, so that they could live in peace, my brother and sisters did not deserve to be fugitives of a government that had little reason to harm them otherwise.” It sounded like the Enclave was not even idyllic in its own cowardly refuge. “I couldn’t tell them my intent.”

“So you learnt how to fly, like any Pegasus foal would want to do, and then…”

“I did not even make it that far into the plan.” She winced, as if remembering the sting of failure. A juvenile’s responsibility to grow up, their need to, never fulfilled. “A late bloomer, they said, but all that meant was more time that they risked themselves for me.”

“It must have been hard to learn, since you couldn’t go to school or even practice in very public places.” I bargained, trying to bring some appeasement to her somber story of self-depreciation.

“I made use of my isolation to learn mechanics, skills for the hoof and mind rather than the wing and heart, and became capable with the tools that I am now left with.” You have heart. “And with these skills I could build a substitute, or at least, an accelerant.”

“Like what the Enclave soldiers have in their suits,” Caliber contributed. “Whatever lets them fly despite all the added weight and stiffness around their wings.”

“It is that very metal and machinery that I recreated, to force my wings into flight.” The stubs at her side fluttered meekly, disturbingly, with the same ghostly instinct that a three legged dog will pump his useless stump with. “To make them learn, make them work.”

“And did they?” None of us had taken any sips since Caliber’s second bottle was opened, so the colas brimmed and pouted at our lips.

“I flew.” She stared into the exposed night sky with that same believing glow, distant stars twinkling in the voids of eye and infinity. “And in doing so: ensured I never would again.”

“What happened?” The shortness of a question often foretold the importance of its answer.

“I flew too close to the sun.” She surmised, tilting a drowning flow of Sparkle Cola into herself.

“What do you mean? That’s impossible…” Caliber argued. I didn’t know if she had realized what I had, that Ash could easily have seen what she had claimed, in Zion, to have seen.

“Take it literally, take it metaphorically.” The mare was awfully dismissive about the issue. “Take it however you would like to, you cannot change that it happened. That it would always have happened, that it always will have happened, or that it was meant to happen.”

“How can you say that?” She continued, another conflict brewing. “You need to know.”

“That an Enclave soldier shot me down as I was fleeing the seamless clouds?” she hypothesized. “That my crude device sparked and set itself afire?” Caliber retreated. “Or that the sun itself sought to share its blaze upon my back, to burn me to the earth that even it could no longer reach? …Why does it matter?”

Even Caliber wasn’t daring enough to question her mindset. “How did you survive?”

“Water.” Now her gaze fell to the glistening lake, sparkling in white fluorescents and warm artificial glows. “It was my baptism, first in fire, then in water.”

Her faith had grown to cope with this, I realized, as a defense, a refuge, a reason to go on.
“Here?” I gestured out over the wide, black mirror.

“I could’ve fallen anywhere else, I could’ve hit an island or a rock bed or even a sheet of ice, but I didn’t.” she smiled, somehow remembering the destruction of her wings as a growing experience, a step forward. “That is why nothing else matters.”

Caliber tilted her drink, some kind of barroom surrender. “Then you found the congregation?”

“I may have survived, but I was in no state to find anything.” Ash laughed, another upsettingly chipper, even genuine, reaction to a story well beyond my scope for tragedy. “My body washed up along the shore, wings in rags and swatches of burns and bruises covering me.” As many of them still did. “The Congregation found me, as destiny had brought me to them.”

“But you developed a different dogma than they had.” I pointed out, assuming that belief came solely from indoctrination. “And the Enclave certainly didn’t teach it to you.”
“No, they certainly didn’t. I learned all I know from the burning.” She affirmed. “I used it to fill in all the other’s mistakes.”

I expected Caliber to ask about the sky sharing, to admit defeat or rekindle the fight, but she knew how to treat a trauma. Ash could fix a machine, and I could fix a body, but Caliber understood traumas of the mind, she had surely lived with them enough. “How old were you?”

“It’s how I got my cutie-mark.”

…

I very nearly started crying.

These mares had suffered.
I didn’t have any idea what suffering was, what pain was… or even what loss was.
Innocence was one thing, but the very quality that defines you as one of three kinds, that lets you know where your magic lies… to lose that was inconceivable.
They would have to cut off my horn, they would have to remove Caliber’s… earth… gland?
Anyway, it was impossible to imagine how Ash could smile, how she could wave us off with more confidence or assertion than she had ever interacted with, how she had lived with the memory tattooed onto her flank… a falling star in place of her destiny.

She could, I realized, because she thought that it was her destiny.
“So none of them know,” I asked, desperate for information to dam up my welling empathy. “That the surface is hospitable?” Surely Ash would have thought to escape here, if they had.

“Some do, I assume, but for the most part it’s believed that you either live Enclave or you die.” Sounded like a prison gang. “Nopony ever rebels against them, nopony ever resists their law, and so nothing ever changes.” It really sounded like the Stable. “Except the Dashites.”

“That sounds positive.” Caliber giggled, like a schoolgirl encountering a dirty word.

“It’s meant as a derogatory term for Pegasus that abandon the Enclave for the surface, to instill a public hatred for any that speak of returning or offering aid.” She explained. “They brand them with a symbol over their cutie-marks, as any who have left may never return.”

“Interesting, do you think that Pegasus I saw in Acheron was a Dashite?” I asked, actually curious as to whether Ash had been withholding information, with fair reason, at the oasis.

“Hey, wait a second; weren’t you travelling through the Middle Passage at around the same time that Grace came stumbling on out into the world?” Caliber interrogated. I still really wanted to get her a police hat. “That’s very interesting…”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I’ve got to warn you pal, my partner here gets awful mad when ponies lie.” I played along. “You’d better tell her what you know… before things get ugly.”

“I see. This is one of your little charades isn’t it?” Ash asked. Apparently, she had never read an issue of True Police Stories. “What’s the concept?”

“We ask the questions!” Caliber was now smoking a cigarette… somehow.

“Listen, I have my kids waiting on me. I’m supposed to be reading them a bedtime story right now.” I lied. “Let’s get this over with, you help us, we help you… then we can all go home.”

She lit another in her mouth, and then sidled up to me. “Here Commander, I think it’s going to be a long night.” I took the warm cylinder from her lips, ignoring saliva and safety to make my new character more believable. “Think you’re a tough nut, huh? Well, ya know what we do with tough nuts?” The Sparkle Cola bottle shattered under her hoof. “We crack ‘em.”

“Settle down…” I ordered, levitating an unbroken bottle of tremulous orange fluid to the suspect. “Want a drink, Ascella?”

The cigarette made my throat tingle, but every breath brought with it a billowing warmth that seemed to kindle a fire in my chest, glowing against the winter’s night. Its taste was sickening at first, but I realized that with the right dosage, inhales carried an encapsulating relief… an appeal that kept you from letting go. “No thank you… Commander?” Now she was getting it.

“We’ve got you for a double homicide, breaking and entering and de-struction of property.” If anything that was letting her off easy, I thought, her Congregation had also been squatting. “Yer going to jail for life, and let me tell you, I can’t wait to see you rot…”

Ash hung her head in mock – I could only hope - shame. “What do you want to know?”

“Good to see you have some sense, son.” Hey, it’s not my fault that the criminals in these stories never seemed to be mares. “What can you tell us about the soldier in Acheron.”

“I have a friend in Folsom prison… unsavory character.” Caliber added to ensure the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. “She loves fresh fish.” Maybe we were drawing inspiration from two different kinds of magazine. “I’ll bet she’d be very happy to meet you.”

“Look, I already told you, I don’t know anything!” Ash pleaded, just unconvincingly enough.

I sighed, and shook my head in the best display of pitying disappointment that I could muster. “It’s ponies like you… ponies like you that are sending this country down the drain.” I puffed dramatically. “I blame the public education system.”

“Maybe we should search her for concealed weapons.” I could almost hear the electric guitar. Caliber rounded on the quivering Pegasus, who, I realized, might easily have no idea that this was all an act. “What do you say? Do I need to frisk you?”

“Okay, hold on.” I interrupted, like a director calling cut. “What’s your character’s motivation.”

“I’m extending the long arm of the law.” Caliber giggled. “We’re doing Beverley’s Hills Cop right? As in cop a feel of Beverly’s hills? Remember? With Bucky Flankspank?”

I gaped. “… What!? I was doing Lethal Gun… who’s Bucky Flankspank?”

“What the hay is Lethal Gun? Isn’t that self-explanatory?” Caliber squinted, the act forgotten. “I mean who makes a gun that isn’t lethal?”

“Who names their foal Bucky Flankspank??”

“I’m so confused. Am I in trouble anymore?”

“He was in The Best Night Ever, The Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000, Over a Barrel, Putting your Hoof Down, the odd Party of One and the controversial Family Appreciation Day. Let’s just say he’s been in a lot of things.”

“I truly do not know anything about that other Pegasus, if I can get us back on track.”

“Wait a minute, what exactly were we going to do with Ash…”

“Make her a star?”

“Goddesses…”

We stayed like this for a while, arguing over the quality of Caliber’s source material, and sending Ash into a befuddled panic. As this, in some strange way, was the perfect relief to the emotional strain of our terrible day. A ridiculous conversation about the only form of entertainment that the wasteland still bothered to pass around, based on another of our spontaneous charades.

No personal history, no secrets or revelations, no guilt or impossible optimism, just talk. The kind of conversation that sparked at water coolers or during cross-country road trips, ridiculous talk about ridiculous things, between ponies blissfully lost in the ridicule. Old-world converse in an old-world cornerstone, idle parley in an immortal place.

The house of a timeless stubbornness, it was a victory against war and wealth alike.
Filled with corpses now, it would stay. Flesh would rot and bone would break, the stench would fade and the dust would swirl out of Ash’s broken window, if from nowhere else, but the house would stay. The house would outlast all of us.

We ate and drank at its foot, huddling into two wolf-pelt blankets when the cold reached out from the icy north. The water shimmered, though it seemed immaculately still. Sparsely a ripple, never a rupture, always at rest. Like the house, it was slower than time.
There were better words to describe their age, words that I didn’t know how to use right.

Cigarettes were odd, but I could understand them, I could describe them.
Warm, hurtful, soothing, burning, smoke; in, out, excess, cough, again, words I knew.
Caliber described them as one thing that the wasteland improved, as cancer was now a kind of achievement in survival. To live long enough to contract any major disease was quite impressive. So I shared them with her, her stash, a pack she had resisted for fear of being left with none, more for want of a shared activity than for the harsh, yet easily revisited, taste.

I asked Ash many questions about the true Kingdom of the Skies, some stupid, others sound.
The Enclave only came to look worse, but I saw forgiveness for its citizens… its prisoners.
Flight, was not something that we discussed, not something that she could. The one regret.

There was wind and darkness, cold and shadows, but it was where we would stay.
She didn’t need to say it, Caliber had already read between the lines of glass and shrapnel, and not once did we pine for the warmth just behind, for it was the warmth of blood and copses. The wolf-pelts, morbid in their own right, held us against the cold. Separate but Safe.

No admission, or even connection, was going to get Ash to lose this compulsion; it was not a defect but an aspect, a part of her personality. Caliber was warm, and I was not going to complain about having a mare beside me as I stared into the stars, not if it was Caliber.
We were the best of friends… were we not?

Don’t be silly. Don’t get yourself hurt. Do not... do not…

My mother’s necklace was not forgotten, but its burial was. I had come to know how big the world was, how impossibly inescapable in places, how painfully alone in others.
Leaving her necklace would be leaving her as there was no one place that I could promise myself I would ever see again. So burying her would be saying goodbye, which I wouldn’t do again. As I fell asleep… I began to wonder if I was going to die.

-----------------------------------------------

I was watching myself smoke Golden smoke
From the island of my retirement
I checked to see if I was old but I was fine
I mean wasn’t old
Sorry

It’s alright Damascus said
Under the scars I am as fresh faced and bright eyed as you are
Good thing I didn’t smoke or I’d have a few hundred years of ash built up in my lungs

He laughed sharper than the Buffalo did
Not as largely
more sad

This is going to be a long dream he said
A long dream for a hard sleep

You were not in my last dream
Where were you

You see enough of me in the orbs
Though you have not visited in a while
Where are you

I am here

And there

Should I not be doing that
I ask because you are wiser than me

Smoking
Or
Being in two places at once

First selection please

Enter Cap

Darn
I have no caps on me
Can I have one of yours Damascus

I do not believe in carrying caps
They are too simple a way of getting things done
They and their kind are the reason so much wrong has been done
So much simple wrong
The great war was for diamonds
I almost killed myself for diamonds
So I cannot pass judgment

Diamonds were no longer beautiful during the war
They were a resource gems like fuel like coal like water like fire like ash like blood like life
You treat them rightly You should not compare yourself to them

Who

Oh
But I want to change the world
I want to do what you did with Faith
I want to change

Why

Because I am worthless if I do not

Yes
All of them think that

All of who

All of you

Who are we

The Worthy

What are we making

A city

Which City

Ask a longer question

Which City are we making Damascus

Would you like me to tell you which city we are making

Yes I would like you to tell me which city we are making Damascus it is certainly a high one

If you will wait just a moment I can tell you which high city this is
This tower is thick and odd
But that is the nature of this city this city has a reputation for architecture and industry for beauty and for filth all into one place
We are downtown east of the square so I must continue for a little while

Are you done yet Damascus can you tell me the answer

This city is black New Calvary but it is not over

Please don’t make me do anymore

Alright
I suppose you will be seeing it soon enough will you not
Or that is what you think

My plan is not going as planned
There have been many distractions along the way and even now we are distracted

Are they not worth your time

I looked at Ash refusing to smoke beside us and us is Caliber and I smiling
They look happier than they would be in the City of Rats
I am happier than myself in that city aren’t I

What is happiness and why do you think I can answer that
You know very well that I am not happy

Why did you do that to yourself
Watching it makes me sad

I had to lose them or lose everything

I suppose I should not try to answer that question for you
We will speak more later when we’re both awake

I might die before then

So may I

At least we have now built a fine city together

Damascus you have tricked me

Yes I have
I am not sorry

Just don’t go erasing this memory with some zebra in the clean mountains
Ha ha
What do you think of that one Damascus
Damascus don’t cry
It was a joke
I’m crying now thanks to you
Because I’m guilty
I suppose we both are by trial in the Stable
I do not think that was a joke
A joke for tears maybe
A clown at a funeral
A corpse with white makeup and a red nose
Laugh at the dead for they can no longer laugh at themselves
This is good advice Damascus you should write it down
Tears like ink on pages leaking
Black like tar like oil like hearts
Past the margin it goes sneaking
A whole is none without its parts
You need your memories
You need her
Her and Her
Rose and Marie
Rosemary

Damascus stood up as if to leave
He walked to the water he walked to the end of stone and earth and safety and me
I thought he would not sink that he would keep walking on
But he drowned

I was left alone with myself and the island
The House across was stronger than me but was filled with just as many ghosts

When will your window break when will you be tested

Never never never never never and forever

Your head is a more interesting place than you are

I am not a place
Please amend this

Your head is a more interesting waste of space than you are

Acceptable phrasing
Hurtful message
I liked Damascus more than you he was nice to me and I at least want his approval

You want your own approval too
But you will never get it

Grace is Gone

The Lake glimmered with more lights than before
Lights that moved by their own will
Not stars or even the cresting moon but lights that move near and with malice
The lights of revenge and death and snakes in the grass
There are always snakes left in the grass
Cut off all the heads you want

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I had to write it.
With only enough care not to wake Caliber, I leapt to my hooves.
There were reasons, I couldn’t remember them, but there were reasons to remember.
Corpses and long dried blood didn’t stop me from barging into the House.
The old house.

I found a journal, too quickly.
I had seen it yesterday, in the last bedroom, because I looked at pointless things.
Not so pointless now, I thought, as I paged through the abandoned endeavor.
This had undoubtedly been a project forced upon the old buck by his painter wife.
She would have said: “John, you should write down your emotions.” In a subtler way.
The first few pages had attempts that I would read later. For now I couldn’t be distracted.

Levitating a fountain pen, in aesthetic nature but not functional, I began to scrawl violently.
Amendments and edits abounded as I recalled things above things, impossibly simultaneous.
There was Grace and there was Damascus. Me, watching, myself, smoking, and I, judging.
After doing it once, I did it again.
The order had to be right, the shape.

The City of Gold, New Calvary, up a little, down, up, down, up, up, down, up a lot, down, up.
Was the last up a part of it? No. That shape was what made Damascus leave.
After that it was drivel, the ramblings of my self-hate, and a warning…
I hurried out of the house, looking for lights.

Nothing on my E.F.S. But lights could be the implication, they wouldn’t be the bars.
The bodies were like furniture now, familiar and forgotten, avoided with instinctual ease.
Dry blood like a carpet, or a tile due to blissful lack of fuzz, covered enough to mean nothing.

I shook Caliber awake, though I really wanted to climb back into the wolf-pelt with her, to be.
Last dream had warned me, too late, of the Zebras. I wasn’t going to ignore this one.
Ash was next, curled in her separate skin like a foal in a cot beside the bed of her parents.
New Calvary had been in the diner hadn’t it, a picture at least. Its skyline?

“Wake up.” I whispered, counter productively. The first mare was a light sleeper by necessity and was already packing up our things, no questions asked. It was still just dark.
“Ash!” This one had spent most of her life in cloud or comfort; so only snuggled deeper into the carcasses’ hide. Caliber hurried over and pinched her nose shut.

With a gasp the Pegasus awoke, stumps sticking out as much as they could. Still upsetting.
“Bah!” Was sort of the sound she made, though she was now fully upright. “Pardon?”
The ultimate morning pony once you got her up, apparently. Can I help you, madam?

“Pack your pelt.” I ordered, and then hurried to gather my own things.
I had forgotten the book, so after my coat was on and my saddlebags were strapped I hurried back into the house. “Wait here, watch the water.” Probably not good to leave that ambiguous, considering our past experience, but I did.

This was all for nothing, I bemoaned, as I hurried up the spiraling staircase.
They’re going to hate you for what you’ve done, for stealing their sleep. Next your going to insist that you swim over to that island with Damascus, and ban the use of punctuation.

“Anything?” I called, only sort of softly, out of the broken window. They nodded, so I left.
This was it, this was the last time I would walk through this house.
The feeling was surprisingly haunting, like I was leaving a home.

“What is it? The lights?” The mares were pressed against our headboard wall, not staring at anything but eyes frantic and active. Ash knew, it was clear from her heightened worry.

“Vipers.” She hissed. “It has to be them.”

Joining them against the expertly smoothened wood I pressed on. “What was in the lake?”

“Headlights.”

“Could be a cart or a car, its reflection was moving slow enough to be anything.” Caliber figured. “Must have started up at the edge of the ring over there,” she pointed east to the end of ruin and shore. “Then followed the road.”

“Where were they when you saw them?”

“Just nearby.” So I wasn’t a physic, just a very impressionable dreamer.
“Ash is sure that they’re coming here.”

I looked at her for an elaboration. “There’s nothing else.”
That was sound enough logic to base a panic off of.

“How could it be a car?” I asked, inappropriately curious.

“Some folks scrounge a living off of fusion cells or gasoline stores.” Caliber explained. “Though most ponies wouldn’t know what to do with one, even if it wasn’t totally decrepit.”

“Why don’t we shoot it?”

“We’re afraid, aren’t we?” Ash clarified. “We seem afraid.”

“Shooting our new car seems silly, don’t you think?” Caliber grinned. “There are a couple dozen dead Vipers in and around this house. Who d’you think should be afraid of who?”

“We’re going to steal it?”

“Inherit.”

Caliber didn’t know how to drive, Ash said she’d be able to figure it out if given a few hours with a comprehensive guide, and I had never seen a vehicle do anything but explode. This didn’t seem like a good plan, but it involved killing Vipers and getting to Cabanne, so screw it.

We snuck around the house, knowing full well that there were only hostiles awaiting us, rifles loaded and levitated. My E.F.S warned of four, which didn’t bother me as much as it should have. Raiders were different currency, in that they had an exchange rate when it came to odds. All in all the three of us, two of us at the toll, had killed nearly fifty of them.
Four to three was hopeless, four to three was pointless, four to three was easy.

Killing was becoming easy.

They stood out towards the road, their headlights cutting off behind them.
The light of the house held them, as it exposed the corpses on the lawn, the garden of gore.
Orders, clearly what that buck had come to deliver, a message from the Snake’s head.

He was muscle, but not brain, a neck, but not a head, strong, but not important.
I shot him in the chest, aiming for the flesh between clad leathers and rag, for the heart.
A few bucks could take that kind of shot, natural vests of muscle and bone warding, like him.
The other three came charging at our corner, rushing to defend their grunting commander.

If not for their own riflemare, we would have gunned the group down like unhinged police at a non-violent protest, but dying was also easy, so we took cover around the House’s reliable body. “Do we even need a plan?” I asked, wondering if this would be any more engaging than a slow crossfire, an exchanged race to the finish line.

“No.” Ash took the limbs off of an ambitious attacker, reducing him to a slithering stump.
She looked the same, as she should, in her new clothes and constructed battle saddle.

I would look at her differently, I could lie about that but it seemed better to be honest, to myself at least. She was a Pegasus; she was a foreigner, just like me.
Her saddle ratcheted back in another massive kickback, but she had already braced herself.
Unlike in the house’s bedroom… could that have been a mistake?

“You seem preoccupied, Shepard.” Our only real local cooed, her voice soaked in sarcastic concern. “Is this near-death experience not as riveting as your refined palette is used to?” she rolled away from the wall, firing her rifle with wild accuracy. “We could pretend the grass is lava, if it’d make things more interesting for you. Maybe play this one blindfolded, no guns allowed, make it a game of pin the knife on the pony.” Like a birthday party, I nodded.
“I really hope you didn’t mean that nod.”

Only two Vipers to go. I should probably contribute, at least finish off the one I started.
“Sorry.” I mumbled, like a stranger who bumped into another on the street.
I trotted out around the corner, still in another world, and readied the Fixit stick.

A mare seemed surprised to see me, long enough for her rifle to become meaningless.
I must be sleepy, I realized, as her head blossomed into a carnation for the night’s dark suit. Otherwise I’d care that her eyes had held pitiful emotion before they fell apart, pools of ivory thrown into a teeming chaos of shattered frame and lost perspective. I’d feel bad for the mare that I had just ended, for the blood and gore I’d spilled, if only I weren’t such a sleepyhead.
If only her cutie-mark hadn’t been a serpent writhing within a skull: a salty prison tattoo.

There was that shiver, that creeping undeniable feeling, a god-complex drowned in grief, the killer’s high. Some got off on it, some were torn apart by it, but in the wasteland it was the price, or payoff, of survival. I rode it for a little while, like inhaling cancer, and was awake.

I hurried over to the final, original survivor, who looked like he was in the middle of a cute-induced heart attack, clutching his chest and wincing. But blood leaked from around his grasping hoof, and even cholesterol was a preferable arterial clog when compared to a bullet.

“This thing works?” Caliber asked, appearing at my side. I looked at the car.

“Fuck you.”

It’s sharp, segmented body was cut into an angular chassis, extremities rising like shark’s fins on the rear. The headlights had heavy brows, as if level in an expression of wise frustration. There were parallel cuts running across the front, like neat furrows on a forehead. Four eyes.

It had been a convertible, but didn’t have the capacity to convert into anything other than an open topped, sleekly wind-shielded empty. The seats could’ve been quality material once, but were now stained and ragged, one open and spilling like a burst, fungal wound.

The wheels were shaped in compliment, but subtle within a cave of only slightly curved steel.
In the darkness, the knife-like car seemed to float. It was rusty, enough for its color to be described as such, if not as the faded chrome beneath.

It made me think of soda and cigarettes, the diner and the highway.
It was not a car for this curving stretch of ruined vacation homes; it was a traveler of open spaces, for gritty Equestria, for old-world blues. It was a product for pretty models, with crimson lips and disheveled hair, to sell, to present as a forbidden temptation.

“We’ll take it.” I shook the dying buck’s bloody hoof, too distracted to realize what I was doing.

“You give us the keys, we’ll put a bullet somewhere to make it hurt less.” Caliber offered.

“Don’t you mess this up, savage.” She yanked a glinting sliver of silver free from around his neck, tearing the tiny trigger off. “I always gotta be tested, doesn’t matter if it’s by venom or by yer bullet, I’m proving myself… gonna be a champion. You got no right to take that from me.”

I levitated the key into Caliber’s vest pocket. “Fair enough.” She closed the deal. “Keep your test, if you’d like. The car’s all we need from you, and I’m sure we’ll be very happy with it.”

We clambered into the Chrysalis, as the emblazed label across the vehicle’s flank claimed, and left the old buck to take his death defying challenge. “I don’t know it its good idea that I drive.” Caliber smiled wanly, I had ushered her into the hot seat, as it were.

“It’s not a good idea for any of us to.” Ash pointed out, as she curled up in the mild fluff of the torn back seat. “In fact, I think it’s a very bad idea that this car be used at all.”

“Behold, weaker beings! Though I bleed, I still breathe!” The Viper called.

“From a mechanical perspective.” She compromised. “However I, as a pony very eager to leave, am willing to ignore the risk of nuclear obliteration.”

“You’ve got the best reflexes, I’m sure, and besides the only thing we could really crash into is the Cabanne mesa, and that’s where we’re going anyway.” I assured.

“Yer going to Cabanne?” The buck wheezed, interrupting his own muttering conversation with some weaker being that I didn’t know. “That’s where we just came from.”

“Whaddaya want, a ride?” Caliber turned the key in the ignition, sending lifeblood coursing through the steel around us, feeding the machinery that now whirred with an excited energy. She slid her hooves into the steering wheel, which kind of looked like a black pretzel.

“You beasts dare to kill my brave companions!?” He screamed, rounding on us with what little strength he could muster. “And now you say that you are going to Cabanne?!”

“Yes: going, going now!” I hurriedly hinted to Caliber, kicking at the dashboard. The car jolted forward, lurching only a few yards down the road before coming to a violent halt.
The buck screamed behind us, a cry of bloodlust and anger that he couldn’t match with his enfeebled body. Though he was passionate, it wasn’t doing anything to help his heart.

“It’s an automatic.” Ash chastised. “What’s wrong?”

“I have to lower my seat.”

“Caeli, he could kill us.” She whispered, as if talking about the buck too loud would allow him to get us faster. If he had a pistol he had forgotten it in his blinding rage.

“I can’t reach the thingy, and that freaking Minotaur was sitting here before.” She excused.
“Just gimme a second… You’re being a back-seat driver.”

“At least I’m being some kind of driver.” Ash murmured under her breath, the words lost as she twisted around to watch the Minotaur’s gasping approach. “He’s gaining on us.”

“Everything’s gaining on us.” Caliber admitted. “I need a brick or something.”

“I’ll get it.” I offered, hopping out of the open casket. Big and Burly was shuffling down the sidewalk, leaving a thin trail of blood in his wake, screaming. It would have been frightening, the darkness, the leaking Minotaur pony and the suspense building behind our escape, if all of it wasn’t so ridiculous. He looked like an old buck chasing the kids off of his lawn, I giggled.

Everything was brick, cobblestone or cinderblock, rubble, ruin and remains, it was as if every house had been reduced to precisely the base reagents that we needed. I levitated a comfortably rounded chunk of marble, taking the time to pick it out of the wide selection, as if I was choosing the constituent material for a new kitchen counter.

I imagined beating the buck to death, for one terrifyingly lucid moment, and then hurriedly scrambled back into the car. My mind was still dreaming, still distracted, still Damascus. I promised myself an orb to sate the dream’s influence. After the radio tower, I promised.

“Here,” I carefully floated the brick beneath her hoof, propping it against the ‘go’ pedal.
The buck was straining just behind the car, as if touching it would be a victory in its own right.
He didn’t even reach that echelon of success as the Chrysalis lurched forward once again, this time picking up a steady roll at the end of the jolt. The road was level, arching around the lake shore ahead, so Caliber was now technically driving.

“Okay,” she whispered, wide-eyed and apprehensive. “We’re alive.”

Ash tugged a length of bandage from her saddlebags, her jury-rigged shotgun set like a fourth passenger on their shared seat. “The Vipers are going to be very angry.” At their mention I felt a certainty that there were nests of snakes beneath the seats, bristling over their lost masters.

“How many more of them in Cabanne?” I asked, as our driver cautiously attempted a U-turn, avoiding the pits of ruined foundation that marked the edges of the narrow road.
Though she almost hit a flickering street lamp, we were now backwards, or forwards.

“Less than there were here, when we arrived.” Ash estimated, voice muffled by the bands of white material. “They take residence just outside of the city, at the base of the mesa.”

So my virgin was still unspoiled? “Why wouldn’t they stay higher?”

“Cyrus says they have congregated around a large pit, which used to be a well or reservoir, but is now full of snakes.” She wrapped her middle in the soft dressing. “It is in what might have been the slums of the city, the place for peasants and passers-by.”

We passed the buck, who had now turned himself to the sky, crying out promises of strength and survival to the assumedly serpentine divines. He didn’t seem to care as we crawled by.

The feeling was admittedly unsettling, the unnatural movement of something around you, and your propagation despite sitting completely still. I didn’t feel nauseous, car-sick as I had seen it referred to; though the experience did bring an unpleasant sense of fearful wonder. A feeling that I was taking part in something that should be all rights end in my death.
Like riding an alicorn, but with a somehow maddening stability and comfort.

There was no adrenaline to mark the transversal of space, no immediate danger to overshadow the implied, no semblance of either control or chaos. It was like sitting on a couch, watching an all-encompassing movie, three dimensional, vivid and real.

“I’ll speed up once we’re clear of this rubble.” Caliber promised, to my anxious excitement.
“This is surreal…” she muttered, as streetlights danced away from us. “Like a dream.”

Ash mumbled some indiscernible agreement, her new wrap almost complete.

“How would ponies react?” I asked both of the mares. “If they saw your wings.”
They were stubs, subtle stumps of bone and featherless burns, but I wanted to be polite.

“Certainly not like you two did.” She smiled. “Thank you.”

“We weren’t jerking you around with that friendship stuff.” Caliber assured, nice and bluntly. “Travelling like this… it can get difficult with the wrong companions… we really lucked out.”
It seemed Caliber’s luck and Ash’s destiny were one and the same. “Bump!”

We were nearly thrown out of the car as it passed over a myriad of stone on its course to escape into the Plain. Quaking, teeth rattling vibrations were sent up the steel machine in rivets, and then the Chrysalis touched down on soft, golden grass. It was now a straight shot, barring a few sloping hills and half-submerged stones, to the Viper’s nest.

I sat backwards in my seat, front hooves hanging over the head-rest, watching the fading purity of night beyond the horizons. Stars died and clouds grayed as the sun’s influence cut over the expanse of Equestria. At this speed, I would lose my divines soon, as even on the highway the sky had been a tapering sliver between shifting roof and bristling earth.
Settling back down, I hung my hoof into the ocean of gold, as if cutting a ripple through the waters of the Northern Plain. It was like being on a sail-boat, the way Caliber cautiously drifted over the crests and curves of the shifting infinity, our gentle passage fueled by fear and unfamiliarity, but spurned by the Chrysalis’ purring desire.

Going downhill she would risk a rush, and cold wind would whip our manes, ripples of thick lavender fabric, short rising layers of golden bangs, and a bed of flickering red ruffles.

There was something so liberating about it, despite the confinements of steel and speed, it was freeing. Cabanne would grow and the land would lurch, my limbs staying blissfully unaware of progress, a body warmed and embraced, while my mind revered in the sights of seeping sunlight and repeating inconsistency.

By the time the mesa truly became huge, the clouds had lightened in misted morning, and our beaming headlights had all but disappeared. Walking would have taken longer than the emptiness implied, as you could not accurately estimate the size of an infinity.

Fires burned and smoke rose, billows of the gray waste pluming out from a great spillway.
Rock and boulder cascaded, frozen forever in a fall due to the impossibly strong hold of the earth, over the developed clearing. The city itself was walled, gated on the other side of the bluff, difficult to discern as anything but angular gray towers and stone extruding from stone.

This offshoot (what would now be called a suburb or outskirt) was low, developed in a clearing beneath a subtle overhang, as if the landform had been dug out to accommodate it. A wall, primitive timber latched by eternally frayed rope, formed a ring, contributing to the smokescreen. Its gate opening out to a subtle slope of dirt, a driveway.

The houses came out of the stone, some with thatched roofs of tawny grass, and others just simple carvings, with little definition apart from their pale surfaces and gaping apertures.
Living in one would have meant bitter exposure and looming collapses, a place for peasants.

Caliber slowed, not daring to announce our approach with Chrysalis’ roars or sputters.
“How many less?” she asked, following up on my earlier question.

“There were two hundred, in the very beginning, though that was their peak.” Ash explained. “Towns along the rails have been chipping away at their numbers, and the Vipers have never successfully taken any of them. Cyrus hunted many, enough for them to know him in bounty. As of now: I’d say there are only slightly fewer here.”

“Why would they send most of their… members to the lake house?” I asked, unsure what title a raider deserved for being a raider.

“They obviously found a lead on where to find Cyrus.” She assumed. “And once they realized that the house was abandoned, they must have used this car to occupy it. Perhaps to compensate for their inability to kill him, or perhaps to alleviate the cluster here.”
The fenced off clearing was certainly small, nestled between tumbled rock and mesa, almost beneath the city itself. “At the house: those were clearly novices, young and inexperienced Vipers, they may even have been planning to conduct an initiation there.”

“What happens in an initiation?” Caliber asked.
Perhaps she and I were the true foreigners. Just because Ash came from an impossibly different place, didn’t mean she hadn’t found a home, a stake, in the Northern Plain.
Maybe I was just desperate to find somepony who I could relate to my own exodus

“Well, it makes sense that they’d want to hold it elsewhere: it is nothing if not solitary.” The local elaborated. “They are challenged, forced, to inject paralytic, near-lethal venom into their bodies. Only the ones who survive are considered worthy of the Great Snake, needless to say: it is not helping their dwindling population.”

“So even if you get lucky and sur-vive the poison, you end up stuck in a tribe of batshit crazy raiders?”

“There’s no such thing as luck.” Ash affirmed, defending the Viper’s own belief as it briefly overlapped with her own.

“Yeah, tell that to Grace,” Caliber grinned. “She’s got it in extremes.”
I hadn’t even told her about the diamonds, and that had been a prime example of bipolar chance. You will be saved from being enslaved, but only if you almost kill yourself first.
Ash just gave me that knowing look, the spark glistening from within obsidian voids.

“We need to find a place to park.” I deferred, to which Chrysalis’ engines cut-off, subduing her subtle purring to a cooling silence. The car had already adopted a personality, I realized.

“This is your new Equestria.” Caliber smiled, as she kicked her door open.
“Walking for a while isn’t going to kill us.”

The wicker wood wall seemed to rise as we approached, looming over the dipping swell as we paddled through it. Smoke darkened the roof of the natural overhang, leaving itself in ashen permanence against the stone. The air smelt of saccharine meat, a smell I had come to associate with corpse-fires and wolf carcasses, with Zion.

The shoddy gate was open, though we sidled up beside the thin, splintering border.
Barking, the call of degenerated savages rather than genuine wildlife, and harshly spat words covered our ineffective creep. Ash could soften her hoofsteps against the familiar grass, but Caliber and I were left crackling, wincing at every brittle bristle. I was still louder, somehow.

“Children!” A mare called, using the term as a Confessor, rather than a parent. I ducked instinctively, as if the words were being thrown at me in assault. “Gather round the pit.”
The voice was coy, maternal in authority but seductive in its blatant tempting.

I ushered us on to the door, curious to find out, of all things, whether this mare was young or old. She had the wise assumption of a storied life, but the bubbling coy of a rebellious free radical. Peeking around the flimsy gate, I regarded the Viper’s priestess.

She stood on a pile of corpses, stacked before the expanse of a pit.
Her cloak was stitched of leather and bone, entire serpentine skeletons lining its hems.
On her head, over an indiscernible mane, was a great adornment, a near centerpiece.
Feathers, grandiose and colorful, rose from an oversized – hopefully fake- snake skull.
Beads hung from braided thread, and they jangled over the whispering fires of cremation.
Her coat was mottled, impossibly so, in varying shades of green, brown and red.
Eyes gleamed, yellow around unnatural black slits, like pierced stars.

“Before you are failures.” She gestured at the low corpse pyres, the cremations. “Those who burn fell to the intruders; those beneath me have failed to arise from the blessings of our Great Snake’s children. Some are charred; to cleanse them from outside influence, while these,” she stomped on the vertical graveyard. “Will be thrown, still sleeping, into the pit.”

“They’re only paralyzed.” I whispered, elevating my rifle at the ready.

“Don’t shoot her yet!” Ash whispered, and with sudden urgency she pushed my rifle off of its arcane axis. “She’s going to push them into the pit.” My telekinetic scrambling barely caught the gun. “They’ve failed to wake from the ritual. Why deprive them of their due punishment?”

“I wasn’t gonna, jeez.” I lied.

Sure enough, the serpentine Priestess rolled the first corpse, which had insofar served as a morbid pedestal, into the hissing obscurity below.

“I thought you said initiation either proved your worth or killed you?” I pressed.

“They also conduct a monthly ritual of paralysis. Any that don’t wake after seven days are cast into the snake children’s pit, as offering. This is also not very good for their population.”

“I’ll say.” The burning bodies followed in succession, and as the mare’s pile grew smaller the smoke began to form a pillar rising out of the earth, a black remnant to the meat below.
“Why did they burn some of them?” I asked, but Ash just shrugged.

“There’s something off about this.” Caliber stroked her chin. Ritual sacrifice? Off?
“They look tribal.” She was right about that. They were defined by furs, bone and leather; blades laced with gleaming venom and rusted rifles bordering on scrap.
“I’ve only heard tell of two working cars in existence, and the other was owned by some big hero in the South-West, kind of pony who exists more by myth and legend than anyway else.”

“What’s your point?” The smoke had almost become solid, and still bodies were sent tumbling into the blackening pit. The Priestess watched, with a sadistic glimmer in her unreal eyes.

“There are only about a dozen of them left.” She gestured, as there were more corpses than there were ponies discarding them. “How long could a massively self-destructive group like this hope to hold onto a functioning jalopy? And why would they even want to?”

“To get to the house.” Ash offered, half in asking.

“So they’ll subject their initiates to lethal venom, but won’t ask them to walk a couple dozen miles north?” she continued. “And besides, look at the survivors.”

They were slight, lithe muscular builds only apparent as they labored over their dead compatriots. Weary eyed, empty stomached… a dying breed. Nothing like the Minotaur.

“That isn’t the Vipers’ Chrysalis.” She concluded.

“Oh no…” I gaped. “No no no.” Sleepyhead.

“Then they were hunting the Vipers.” Ash said plainly. “Just like us.”

“We need to go back!” I cried, though I choked over my words, suddenly asphyxiating due to my own panic. The Priestesses’ broken, yellow eyes met my gold, but I didn’t spare her a second thought, instead toppling over myself to get back to the car. “Come on!”

That buck was going to die, that buck was already dead. I had killed the Minotaur.
Caliber and Ash sprinted alongside me, perhaps with the same flickers of emotion dancing in their dark eyes. Mahogany for spurning the flames of the theft’s initiation, coals for falsely assuming a known enemy. They had been hostile, I bargained, they had been red bars.

A bullet buried itself into my hind leg, just below my flank, sending me into a hard, tumbling collapse, punishing me. But they had been hostiles… like these, just as dangerous, just as deserving of death. Though I tried to comfort myself, there was the dauntless fact that I had to make sure… to acquit myself of the title that I had been so long associated with: murderer.

If only I could live long enough to do so.

I fired the Fixit stick (Name in Deliberation) wildly, dissuading the Vipers who rushed to finish me off with paralytic blades and bullets with a more permanent effect.
See Caliber, I though as she helped me to take cover behind the jalopy, Lethal Gun isn’t redundant. I was still alive, and for Celestia’s sake, the Minotaur had to be too.

A dozen Vipers had spilled from the primitive settlement, the ancient squatter camp, including the now battle-saddled Priestess. Three had already fallen, and now lay on display, filthy bodies rocking on the surface of the golden ocean.

“Kill the Priestess!” Ash eeped, her own weapon unable to overcome the mare’s guarded distance. “If she hits the car’s reactor it’ll explode.”

“I’ll get her.” I promised, as I pulled myself to the other end of the volatile derelict. “Just make sure the others don’t get close.” The Plain did not provide much cover, but the Vipers channeled their god’s sleek agility in combat. They maneuvered in a random coordination, dodging buckshot and rifle round alike to move ever closer to the stolen Chrysalis.

It was foolish of me to take responsibility for our imminent nuclear obliteration. Being crippled had its disadvantages, namely: I was now grossly disadvantaged.
Reaching the illusive mare, that herald of damning ritual and tribal suicide, would’ve been easy for Caliber, she probably could’ve made the shot from the jalopy, but I had to step up.
She was the one who had crippled me, after all… the one I could blame.

With a few pathetic lunges out of cover, spanning the extent of a frail stone’s toss, I raised my rifle in a golden-laced taunt. The Priestess ceased fire on the nuclear hot bed and, grinning, turned to gun down the mare who had interrupted her primal ceremony.
There wasn’t much honor on this battlefield…

I slid into S.A.T.S

The now unfamiliar sound of technology, the kind that shamed the laws of physics and time, the kind that made a dangerously nuclear jalopy, look like a… the kind that made absolutely anything else look like a dangerously nuclear jalopy.

Frozen, the world became drowned in a steely tint, turning the earth tones of tawny grass and splintering pinewood into artificial cools, the colors of the future – No - the colors of the past. Even her snake eyes soothed into the sleek conformity, though the savage lust still remained. Pierced stars stopped twinkling, reduced to the fractured silence of ice.

My Pip-buck claimed that I didn’t have good odds, but contradicted itself just by existing.
I had the best odds anypony could possibly have, that I could have, in this infinite moment.

I lined up two shots with her head.
A little ambition never hurt anypony… it was about time that it did.

I heisted before I let time resume, stalled by words dancing over the Priestess’ mouth.
Those who burn fell to the intruders; charred to cleanse them from outside influence.
The Minotaur buck had mentioned Cabanne, admitted that he had been here; he had become enraged when we had revealed it as our destination.

Time recomposed itself, and two shots fired from my rifle.
Rotting wood splintered instead of bone – of both snake and pony – rust instead of blood.
I had reprogrammed the shots to the Priestesses’ rifle, and the first had landed, immediately dematerializing the aged weapon rig.

She bit down on the trigger, less than seconds after it became obsolete.
The bloodlust died in her serpentine eyes, replaced with a fleeting worry.

I held the buffalo killer for all to see, its sights locked on the Viper’s matriarch.
Gunshots, too powerful to come from these decrepit raiders, sounded the death of her compatriots, the massacre of snakes in the grass… Cut off its head.

“Don’t move!” I ordered, hoping that Caliber would arrive to take over the interrogation soon. “I just need to ask you a few questions about those intruders.” It seemed the ‘God Cop’ was the role that I was born to play. But, looking on, I knew that it wouldn’t work on its own.

She spat, her saliva glistening in an unnaturally dark hue. “You are all the same to us.”

They were braver than raiders, smarter too; she wouldn’t want to help us with anything.
“Who were they?” Did they deserve to die? “I’ll let you go as soon as you tell Me.”

“Let me go where?” the slits in her eyes seemed to narrow. “To my empty home? To the empty vassals that are left? All I have waiting for me is the Great Snake.”

“You killed yourselves.” I deflected. “Left yourself defenseless and weak.”

“Wrong, the weak were the ones who were removed; the strong are all that remain.”
She began pacing towards me, ignoring my mocked rifle pokes. I must have looked so frail.

“You are all that remains.” I pointed out; trying to destroy whatever confidence was slowly driving her forward. “We killed your initiates at the lake; you may well be the last Viper.”
This didn’t work, the Priestess charged with newfound fury, seeking to avenger her slaughtered kin. After a moment’s hesitation, almost too long, I blew out her kneecap.

Paralytic, I thought, as the barely wielded blade disappeared into the grass.
She grunted, but had a remarkable recovery, rising to stand on shattered bone and cartilage. No walking, no further attacks, just an intensely hateful stare.

Caliber had appeared at my side, hurriedly joining me at the signs of escalating conflict.
“She won’t talk easily. She’s got resolve, they all did, wanted to seem honorable in front of their Great Snake.” The mercenary began to coo. “You’ve got nobody to protect but yourself.”

“There is a violence in your eyes.” The Priestess grinned. “I am interested in your threats.” Hello? Busted knee cap? Remember that? “Tell me… Why should I tell you anything?”

“There’s something in your eyes, too.” Caliber offered. “I bet it melts.”

She laughed. “Fair try, but this is a product of devotion and alchemy, not some contact lens.”

“Ocular fluid boils, all the same. It doesn’t matter whether you’re blinded by a coating of hot plastic or just a messy cauterization, I’m not picky.”

I kept my mouth shut, hoping that the Priestess would gift me with an early confession, before I had to stop Caliber. “You’ll kill me eventually, then I will be rewarded for my silence.”

“What good does keeping this information do your God?” I intermediated. “If you really wanted to please him then you’d keep the Vipers alive, you’d want to live on.”
I had to assume that we had really killed all of them. But what excuse did I have this time?

Genocide II: I have had it with these motherfucking snakes on this motherfucking Plain!

“We have failed the Great Snake, my survival doesn’t change that.” She refuted.
I looked to Ash for a more knowing perspective, but the counter-zealot seemed just as confused about their religion as we were. “His children feast on our failures.”

“Let me talk to her, Shepard.” Caliber purred. “Like at the toll, I’ll be gentle, maybe just apply some pressure to…” she pressed against the shattered joint, only inciting a wince, barely more than a smile, from the Priestess. “Old wounds.” It was going to take a lot more than that.

“No, that Slaver was dying already, she’s just crippled.” I justified. “We can’t torture her just because we made a mistake.” Caliber frowned. “I’m not changing.” I reaffirmed more to myself than to the invalid or the interrogator.

Same policy as at the toll: I was against it, but would have to let it go if it was unavoidable.
Now I knew the stakes, and I knew that Caliber wouldn’t do it unless I let her, I knew more about the wasteland… but it hadn’t changed me.

“Learning, growing, training… those are all kinds of change.” She argued. “We leave her then I bet you’re forcing us on a two way trip to the lake, in a jalopy with barely enough power for one. Assuming that buck is even alive, just because you think he matters.” She was incapable of acting without my consent, but would argue all the same. “We don’t have time for that.”

“The Vipers are despicable, you’ve seen it.” Ash chimed. “This mare was just pushing unconscious ponies into a snake pit.” And the Slaver was buying that family.

“I’ll kill her if she needs it… but I won’t allow you to torture her.” I affirmed.

“Letting me do this doesn’t change anything about you.” Caliber was looking at the Priestess with an anger that went beyond strategy or convenience. “For fuck’s sake, you’re travelling with a mercenary and a walking abortion clinic, how moral d’you have to be?”

“What is that supposed to mean!?” I balked. “Why would you call Ash that?”

They both looked at me in surprised scrutiny, like I had missed out on an important and obvious class somewhere along the line. Even the crippled Priestess looked curious.
“It was a harsh way to say it.” Ash admitted, making Caliber mutter implied apologies that were apparently unnecessary. “But it is technically true. Her point is sound.”

I just stared on in a blank, dead-eyed paralysis.

“The last mare in the lake house?” she continued, taking over the assault from Caliber.
You’re responsible for two lives.
“She was pregnant.”

“What!?” I backpedaled away from them, drawing myself closer to the Priestess. “What!?”

“She was a viper, Gr- Shepard. It’s no big deal.” I sat back beside the last of their kind, who just watched with a sickly smile as I hyperventilated, as I frantically swapped sides.

“That’s…” I panted; as trying to yell set my dying lungs on fire. “That’s sick! You murderer!”

Ash drew back, hurt. “Hey!” Caliber interjected, taking my adopted role. “Don’t call her that!”

“Get back!” I cried, tears welling beside serpentine eyes. “Don’t… don’t don’t don’t…”
They were completely depraved… they were wastelanders.
“How can you be so… so… you slaughtered a family!”

“Of raiders. I need not repent for every kill, do I? I live for the Goddesses to accept me.” She deflected. “In fact… I travel with you so that I can atone by my actions, do good to outweigh all my failings… all my years of blindness.”

“How are we any different from them?” I screamed, gesturing wildly at the corpses and their matriarch. “That mare was unarmed… pregnant, Ash! She was a hostage!” It had bothered me then… but I had been looking at Ash as an innocent: a victim, as well as a patient.

“We aren’t monsters.” The Priestess purred. “We love and regret just as you do, pilgrim. Our God demands the same obedience, the same devotion. We are not so different.”

“Shut up.” Caliber ordered curtly. “You’re not a part of this.”

“My people have been massacred!” The mare wobbled on shattered bone, bringing herself to eye-level with her prospective torturer. “That mare, that unborn foal, all of them… were my kin! Intruders have always come, following charges of zealous savagery and bloodlust, and now you have finally wiped us out, you have finally destroyed the Vipers! My family!”

Genocide I: Savages, animalist, brain-dead degenerates. Liberated a people, cleansed a homeland, and ended countless affronts of rape and violence. The Healing of Zion.

Genocide II: Religious differences.

“Ash, you said towns have been chipping away at the Vipers, that Cyrus hunted them…” I tried to reconstruct myself, though I still shivered beside my lonely crippler. “Why?”

“They are an affront to the Goddesses.” She stood, resolute. “To your Equestria.”

“There’s no torture, no terrorism, no besieging of defenseless towns or caravans.” No mutilated corpses decorating their camps, no signs of anything but heresy. We were becoming the sin. “The Vipers aren’t raiders… we are different from them… we’re worse.”

“They did attack towns, they cannot hunt, cannot sustain themselves.” Ash argued. “Everything they have was stolen from the ponies of the Northern Plain.”

The Priestess laughed, her beads and feathers bristling. “I won’t deny that we have no regard for filthy heretics, your kind serves no greater purpose than as offering to the Great Snake.”

“Kidnappings, culling, a false god’s claim to towns and settlements.” Ash continued. “You’re letting this monster win you over, and she isn’t even trying.”

“There is no reason for your pathetic moral distress.” The Viper whispered to me, unnervingly close. “I enjoy nothing more than wrenching your blasphemous filth from their homes, taking their food to feed my people, their bodies to feed the Great Snake’s children. Your only crime was following the wrong god, and for that… you are already damned.”

My panic was fading, but only to the point from which it had begun, losing its escalation to boil down to Ash’s crime. “Did you know?” I asked the sinner. “Before you killed that mare.”

“Yes.” She freely confe- no: announced. “It didn’t matter then, it doesn’t matter now.”

“I’ve killed mares with child.” The Priestess chirped, as if this were an abortionists anonymous meeting. “One I shot along the rails, a conflict in her sad little shanty town, a bullet in her sad little heart. The other I cast into the pit, as she failed to wake up from the ritual sleep.”

“Shepard did say that we could kill you.” Caliber reminded, only inciting another sickly smile.

“I’ve come to realize that there is still something I must do to appease the Great Snake.” I flinched away from her, expecting a sudden dagger or chokehold. “Not what you think,” she laughed. “But I will tell you what you want to know. I see that as you promise my survival, you will be unable to deprive me of it.” Those broken eyes tore into me.

I jumped at this. “Who were the intruders that came before us?” Did they deserve to die?

“The Libertines.” Her eyes narrowed, lids over slits, cleaving their yellow hearts.
I didn’t know if that meant anything, but I started pulsing healing magic into her shattered kneecap, drawing the pieces together as best I could.

“That… that sounds positive.” Caliber murmured, meeting my own hopeless eyes. I distracted myself in work, making reparations for the Priestess.

“It’s not.” Ash smiled weakly. “They’re anarchists; they follow impulse and pride, a band of rapists and braggarts.” The words sounded odd coming in such happy delivery. “Like Vipers, but with no doctrine other than besting each other’s conquests and pillages. That is no doubt why that buck was so intent on his test, he must have thought us Vipers, and was unsatisfied with the fight he had here. He saw no point in returning to his own unchallenged.”

I sighed, the weight of four lives lifting off of me. “Thank you.” The Priestess didn’t care.

“Pride…” Caliber repeated; worry fleeting back into her eyes. “What about when they fail? I’m guessing they’re not the type to go limping back home blackened and bruised without some kind of conquest under their belt.” I wrapped the Viper’s knee in gauze, still trying to distract myself from issues both new and old. “That buck might come after us.”

Ash nodded, the same concern dulling the relief in her eyes. “Worse than that.” She realized. “We’ve marked ourselves. Just like the Vipers must have done.”

“A challenge.” Caliber frowned. “Trophies.”

“If the other Libertines find out that we bested one of their strongest bucks…”

“They won’t only be coming after us for revenge...” The mercenary concluded. “We’ll be a trial, the next accolade for the taking.” I shivered. “We need to make sure he’s dead.”

“No.” I protested, blindly and instinctively. “Even if they deserved it, we still made a mistake. We’re not going to cheat our way out of this.”

Caliber sighed. “I’m sick of arguing, Shepard.” Her gaze fleeted to the Priestess as she used the pseudonym. “We’ve got trouble if that buck survives, too much unnecessary attention.”

“He might commit himself to us.” Ash offered in reassurance. “Too ashamed to tell his compatriots, too proud to let anypony else get his revenge for him.”

“Yeah, but we can’t bet on that. Besides: driving around in that car further south is going to draw the other Libertine’s attention anyway.” She had skipped over my protest. “We might as well use it one last time, there’s nothing in between here and the lake house.”

“I don’t want to go back there.” I pleaded, already trying to bury the abortion beneath the depths of my own guilt. “I need some time to forget this.”

“Don’t feel that you have to forget it.” Ash cooed. “When I…” The Priestess stretched out her stilted leg, and reminded us that we were no longer alone with our secrets. “I also found it hard to understand this kind of thing, once.” She amended.

Ash had killed a child, and clearly saw no need to repent…
Caliber had been a mercenary for nearly her whole life, and had lost something for it…
They were both capable of things, things that I saw as atrocities, things that were somehow justifiable in their minds, necessary or simply excusable to their minds.
Who was in the right? And could anypony really answer that?
They were strong.
I was weak.
I was good.
They were right.

“I… I can’t just drive off into the horizon, on the way to another fight.” I whispered, thin tears drying against my scarred cheek. “I need to think.” I can’t let it change me.

“My job…” Caliber held me at the shoulder. “Is to follow your orders, but, above and beyond that: I was told to protect you.” She tilted my head up, locking eyes. “Ash thinks the Libertines are a threat, that they’ll hunt us as they hunted the Vipers… for sport, for glory, they’ll come for us. My contractual duty is to make sure that that doesn’t happen.”

“Listen,” Ash interjected, drawing in to our odd circle. The Priestess still stared down the barrel of my floating rifle, waiting to be released, knowing that she would be. “This might not bother me, but I’ve hated the Vipers for as long as I’ve prayed. I’ve known to fear them for every relevant minute of my existence. I see a pregnant mare as another part of the machine, a contributor to the factory line, the bearer of another killer.”

“You can’t judge a fetus.” I argued meekly. “You can’t make that kind of assumption.”

“I can.” She gave me a pitying smile, thinking how hopelessly naïve I really was.
“But I see now that you cannot.” Caliber stood idly by, waiting for the instruction she needed. “You will not forgive me unless I let you, and I suppose it won’t matter if I force It.”

“If… if I forgive you then I-” Fail. “I wouldn’t have… in the Stable.” Her eyes were emotionless, almost uninterested. My judgment and forgiveness would never matter to her, at least, not in comparison. “But I can forget it… let me forget it.” Something her Goddesses couldn’t do.

“Fine.” She nodded, as if we had just agreed upon terms that she found acceptable. “We’ll go stop that Libertine buck, and leave you to Cabanne… to decide whether I can continue following you upon our return.” Of course you can, I wanted to say. Of course you will, but the offer of time… of a chance to bury this, was too important a prospect to deny.

“You’ll be stranded.” I reminded. “The Chrysalis will run out of power.”

Caliber shrugged. “We’ll figure it out, then meet you at the radio tower; give you a couple of days to sort whatever this is out.” We both knew that even she couldn’t help me. “I suggest you go talk to the buffalo after you’re done poking around the city, you’ll be safe with them.”

I didn’t want to be alone.
Left to drown in the infinity that was the Plain.
But I had to sacrifice one weakness to indulge another.
“I’m sorry,” I conceded, apologizing for my inherent failure to adapt. “Do what you need to do.”

They hesitantly backed away, edging towards the volatile jalopy.
“I won’t apologize for killing that mare.” Ash admitted. “But I am sorry that it hurt you.”

“Don’t- worry about it.” I tried to smile, waving them off as the tears ebbed on once again. “I’m sorry I called you a murderer… it’s just confusing… I’m afraid of-”

“Everything.” She nodded. “Me, the wasteland, yourself… I know.”
Caliber clambered into the driver’s seat, giving me a sad smile as she waited for Ash.
“Tell me if you couldn’t do it… when we see each other again. Don’t worry, just be honest.” The Pilgrim pleaded. “Tell me if I still need to work for forgiveness... to Atone”

“Okay,” I promised, crossing myself half-heartedly. “Keep each other safe… and, Ash,” I couldn’t help but to care for her then. “Come back.”

The abortionist… The religious realist, bowed in return of the sentiment, then joined Caliber in the jalopy. I had asked them not to leave me, then forced them to, weakness for weakness.

The knife-like Chrysalis rolled over golden surges, slowly disappearing into the North, to cross rail and road, returning to that great House, that massive, infallible grave of stemmed life and bitter memories. I would never see that place again. I would never have to be reminded of the failures associated with it, but I may not soon forget.

Foal killer, soul stealer, creeper of the night, hungry in the shadow, hiding in the light.
An old nursery rhyme, one to terrorize children into compliance rather than soothe them to sleep. I realized that the Vipers, this wasted tribe of devoted raiders, were the nightmares. Ash should get her forgiveness, as she was this story’s light, but there was still something soothing about being alone to think, something clarifying and simplistic.

The Priestess winced beside me, reminding me that I was crippled beside the head of a Snake, and promising that solitude and safety were both distant ideals.

“I can’t walk.” She hissed, wobbling on her feeble limb, as I tended to my own disability.

“I can’t deal with the loss of innocence.” The bullet spun out of its purchase in my flank.

“You win.” She laughed, innate sadism improving her mood. I felt she was very important then, as I had isolated myself for her decimated kind’s sake.

“Did you mean what you said?” I asked, cleaning the blood from my back leg. “About love.”

“No.” The more I hated the vipers, the easier it was to think about Ash. “My family,” she spat the word, as if it was a lie in itself. “Have always been failures. Now it has been proven.”

“What’s your Great Snake going to do about this?” I smiled, giving in to a sickly concord of friendliness with the zealous raider.

“The Vipers, myself included, are unworthy of his gifts.” She rubbed her eyes, reducing the serpentine design to a horribly chaotic mess of black and yellow, like bleeding Rorschach tests, turning her into something unnatural. “I would ask one more thing of you.”

“What’s that?” I stood, flexing my healing tendons.

“Take me to the pit.”

Footnote: Level Up!
Perk Added: Solar Powered: +2 health every 10 seconds from 6:00 a.m to 6:00 p.m, regardless of sun exposure.
(No strength bonus as Endurance is only 4.)

A SUPER SPECIAL MESSAGE:
Dear international audience, I am about to whore myself out:
And not in that way:
If you like this story, there's a button you can press.
If you dislike this story, there's a button you can press.
I urge you to do either accordingly, but for god's sake: tell me why you dislike it.
Find out where I live and write your reasoning on my house in goat's blood if you'd like... anything!
I feel there may be some haters we need to combat, even if I don't like to make an excuse out of this.
Anyway, let's use the POWER OF LOVE to defeat them! (Again: Not in that way.)

Chapter 20: Castles Made of Sand

Fallout Equestria: Sola Gratia
Chapter 20: Castles Made of Sand
“Blood has been spilled in the name of everything, from God to justice to simple, psychotic rage.”

“You want me to kill you?”

The Priestess wept, her Rorschach eyes leaking whatever alchemic infusion had turned them serpentine. Below us was the pit, an open grave of ponies, poisoned or paralyzed, collapsed over each other.
However the last Viper, a matriarch to the corpses below, was not crying for her fallen kin.

Disturbed, and confirming a psychopathic trend, the mare was choking over thick tears. Not for the loss of pony life, but for the focus of her offering. Buried beneath the bodies she had toppled into the pit, as well as the charred corpses following them, were the Children of the Great Snake. She was expending more grief for a pit load of suffocated serpents, than she had for the genocide marking her tribe’s destruction.

There had been a lot of fresh corpses given to the Great Plain, a lot of killing, and I had taken more than a fair part in it. Now it seemed as if the great golden ocean was calling for one last offering of blood.

I had my Father’s pistol levitated by my side as, even though this wasn’t much of a first kill, it felt wrong to assist suicide with a rifle. “Yes…” she gasped, genuinely distraught. “Do it…”
She had just murdered the offspring of her God, and in her mind, deserved the torture I had refused her. Pressing the automatic pistol to her temple, I couldn’t help but to hesitate.
As there, distinct and undeniable, was a part of me that felt like smiling.

Call it psychopathic, but I couldn’t deny that I was truly more content than I had been in a while.
Not because of this gasping raider, this begging evil, but for the odd peace that had settled.
Ash and Caliber were on a controversially necessary mission, one which involved little danger, only severe detours, and they had been kind enough to spare me from it.
The Vipers…

A single 45 round blew her mottled face into oblivion, tearing through bone and brain to burst out of her opposite temple, sending a blossom of heavy crimson feathers over the smoking pit. Her body toppled, with a little guidance, into the mass grave, falling to share in her victim’s tomb. The image of widening eyes, stained in impossible patterns of poisonous influence, burned into my mind.

The Vipers had been obliterated; the face of the Plain all but swept clean of their primal religion.
No more captives would be taken for fruitless sacrifices; no more settlements would need to fear for their prying harvest of religious fodder. Most importantly: Cabanne was clean, empty and waiting above me.

Alone, for the first time since that first dark walk to meet Caliber, I sauntered out of the ancient suburb. There was something unsettlingly peaceful, oxymoronically, about watching the ocean of gold by myself. Grass breathed over the swells, around the corpses, as mourning air brought the Plain to life.

I dragged them, one by one: into the pit. Vipers after viper, into the pit, follow the leader.
Being so close to so many dead, reminded me why burial was a ritual that was not only important, but essential. Lifeless eyes seemed so innocent, their soft, bleeding bodies like pierced sacs though their skin was likely thicker than mine. They were vulnerable, and the wasteland didn’t waste its time with the weak. Past sins forgotten - except if there truly were some astral court of judgment - for we all deserved a grave.

No more mistakes, I promised. No more blatant disregard or oblivious hurrying, because from now on, it all had to be perfect. Twice, over the course of just two days, I had yelled: We need to go back!
Once, for a headless buck, and again, for a heartless one.

Those Libertines could’ve been caravaneers, they could have been a family of travelling missionaries for all we had known, and yet we had massacred them. Thank Celestia they turned out to be primal douches.

I had come to realize that most civilization was very far from the very definition its name assumed.
Savages, raiders, Vipers, Libertines: they were all degenerates.
Not Ash and Caliber, no, they were good ponies. Good ponies, who had… adapted, degenerated to the point which the wasteland demanded, to the point of strategic cruelty and justifiable injustices.

I probably could’ve gone with them, though I doubted my mood would have been improved by reliving the last few days so vividly. Now I was free of guilt, for the most part, and free of mind.
Cabanne was quiet, and after this burial was done, I would find peace within its towering stone walls.

Ash would be relieved to hear that she might soon be forgiven, reconsidered, but forgiven.
She would no longer be the quivering innocent I had seen her as initially, she would no longer be a victim, and duly so. I was the juvenile, the naïve newcomer, if anypony needed to be underestimated: it was me.
They were stronger, but Damascus had taken to me for a reason. Because he and I shared a blissful idiocy, a Stable-born good intent, a sheltered perspective on how wrong all of this truly was.

It may be a rule for me, not to murde- kill a pregnant mare, but Ash had no obligation to my moral code. Torture, in my eyes, was abhorrent, but Caliber had selective knowing of those who were not above it.
There were times when I would defame the Princesses, perhaps thinking them to be largely responsible for the war, and there were times when I would lie, even to one of my only friends, or disobey orders.
So who was I to enforce my laws on others, when I did not even adhere to their own?

I levitated the diamonds out of my saddlebags, the triplicate of pristine perfection, and set to work.
Though it was difficult to bring the beautiful gems to dirt, I perforated the crude pit’s walls, digging deep and drawing multiple narrow tunnels beneath the earth, weakening its hold.

More by luck than by my measly digging skill, the earth collapsed inwards, piling dark soil over the smoking abattoir, drowning the corpses which had suffocated the snakes.
There was an old pony who swallowed a fly; I don’t know why she swallowed a fly.
That rhyme got pretty morbid after a few verses, so I stopped thinking about it.

The grave was concave, and like a whirlpool it collapsed inwards, but every still extremity was covered.
Plumes of smoke had left the overhanging rock above blackened, but the billows were now suppressed under cool soil, their kindling’s shoddy funeral marking their own death.

My Pip-buck labeled the entrance to Cabanne on the other side of the mesa, so I trotted at a hasty pace, rounding the massive landform of natural and artisanal constructions.

The towers of the city were unlike any other Equestrian construction I had seen thus far, like the houses in the Viper’s camp; they were made up of hard lines, angular and sharp, a design far off from the curving rises of Canterlot. It was almost difficult to discern the city from the cool stone of the mesa, save for its precision against the more unpredictable base structure of sometimes thick, vaguely talon-like holds.

Tawny browns and gold ran in fences or thatching across the ambiguous skyline, pine pillars and subtle staircases also set off the otherwise consistent grayness. There were no fluorescents, no technological extremities like lamps of pylons. The city was even more natural than the Plain surrounding it.

Scampering over rock falls and gravel beds, I arrived at the Great Gate of Cabanne, a towering guardian.
A gentle rise of grassy earth gave way to steeper stone as the mesa took its hold, quickly overcome in turn by the city itself. This massive barricade was only one potential gap in an otherwise all encompassing wall, which fed out of ridges and faces to wrap around the entire body of rock.

It was a grandiose, though admittedly compact, wonder. Populated sparsely, as was common in the ancient world, but developed painstakingly, every shape marking designated labor and laborious design.
I had had trouble with doors before, and now faced the God of all entrances, some kind of final boss.

Armies had tried and failed to enter here, I embellished, this Gate had held dragons and demons at bay, rebelling peasants, the fires of drought and the waters of flood, this Gate has bested ponies thrice my size and dissuaded invaders with my determination in exponential increase, what hope have I to enter here?

None, but there was a conveniently marked tourist’s entrance cut into one of the gate’s parapets.

Candy cane signs and modern posters immediately destroyed the implications of timelessness, the smiling models and cheery welcomes stole the sanctity of my virgin city, replacing it with the same marketed enthusiasm apparent on billboards and magazines.

WELCOME! TO THE ANCIENT CITY OF CABANNE! FAVORITE OF THE NOBLE PUDDINGHEADS!
- Tour the city with one of our extensively trained guides!
Information on the purpose of each building, from the foundry to the house of governance.
Stories from beyond the veil, a look into the early years of Equestria.
A complimentary meal and drink at our fabulous Cabanne Café!
- Only 150 bits!
- Chancellor Puddinghead’s Grand Inaugural Ball!
Fully replicated, including appropriate attire and ceremony. (Actual Ball occurred in Old Calvary)
You’ll barely be able to tell that you aren’t actually there! (Please Note: You Aren’t)
Dine like the earth ponies of old. Ball fully catered by the Food Court.
- Only 200 bits!
- Please visit Smart Cookie Souvenirs!
So you’ve heard of Smart Cookie square in the depths of Calvary?
Why not get a miniature replica of the monument, right here, right now!?

Why visit the actual first exclusive home to the earth ponies,
when you could buy miniature replicas of pretty much all of it?!

CABANNE! THE HUMBLER CUSTOMER’S OLD CALVARY!

Your awfully whorish for a virgin, aren’t you? I giggled.

Not only did this brochure make me less excited to see Cabanne, it was deflecting a lot of my interest to the old city nestled within Calvary. I swore to visit the new empty markers on my Pip-buck.
Smart Cookie Square: in the Eastern section of the distant city and Old Calvary: an abscess in the very heart of that sprawling metropolis, perched between a curve of mountains and the colossal new city.

I picked up a colorful map, childishly caricatured, and got some insight on Cabanne’s main attractions.
First, and regrettably foremost, were the Souvenir Shop and Café, in the circular courtyard just outside of this tower. I hurried over to a line of gated pay booths, glassed cubicles that looked like some primitive version of Stasis pods, which constituted a barrier, periodically broken with sets of odd, rotary metal arms.
I fumbled over one, but it spun as I bent myself into compliance, and quickly discarded me to the cobbled floor beyond. What kind of sadist decided to install that deathtrap?

Brushing myself off, I trotted out of the wide gateway tower, guided by the brightening morning light glancing off the faded stone of this first and foremost courtyard.

The plaza was wide, circular but for the buildings breaking into it. Its middle was ordained with a towering statue, the familiar form of Celestia rising, while breaches at its edge held relatively short, thoroughly stripped pines. The effigy was surprisingly pale, lacking the usual gold embellishment of religious tribute.

Cobblestone, unnaturally smooth, gave way to the occasional wooden deck or archaic lamppost.
Hello, technology, it’s good to see you again. I hadn’t counted on the reboot, which had turned this ancient courtyard into what could only be described as a mall.
An outdoor mall, valued customer! Some friendly looking topiaries reminded me.

Each store had a vibrant pastel sign, announcing its presence and advertising its contents.
Celestia’s Cross, the only remnant of aged ruin, was thankfully spared of colorful ordainments.
Even if they didn’t think that she was a god, nopony stuck posters to the sovereign ruler of Equestria.

Here were the thatched roofs, pristinely bound, light grasses with the benefit of wire and metal to contain them. In the city beyond, up the stairs which rose from beneath dead pines at the plaza’s far end, the buildings were bulky and crude, as that section had not been abominably reduced to a deadly tourist trap.

Although there was something soothing about the regurgitation of color and price tags, so I didn’t feel the expected urge to run from the courtyard with one hoof holding back disgusted retches.

A humble (relatively) coffee shop drew my attention, so I lazed my way over to its open deck.
It was set out like a fancy restaurant, circular tables with pristine ivory decorations and chairs crafted by a loving carpenter, a canopy of silky material extended over the cobblestone, shading it from the already diluted sunlight. The restaurant’ insides were, thankfully, not as fancy.

With none of the expected mahogany and pretentious artwork, it was a distinctly Equestrian coffee house. Like the diner, there were photographs of beautiful moving picture actresses, black and white, and cities lit up in nighttime brilliance. –there wasn’t a depiction of the great Calvary skyline, regrettably.

Patriotism had really gotten us in a hold, I thought gleefully, peering over the counter as if I were waiting for a boisterous, motherly waitress to come and ask me about my life, and eventually for my order.
Nopony came, so I hopped over and started tinkering with the machines.

It felt like a vacation, and though I still checked my E.F.S on occasion: It seemed this place was truly segregated from the wastes beyond, another, albeit more enjoyable, oasis in the Plains.
I was making myself coffee, for Celestia’s sake, history, and the making of it, could wait a little while.

Luckily, there was a training outline for the waitresses, so I got through the oddly foreign process.
Using some of my own water, I found that electricity was well and truly pumping trough Equestria’s veins, and boiled the questionable river refreshment to sanitized perfection.

After my concoction was done, I stole a few small containers of the unused coffee for later use,
(The Courtyard was so perfectly preserved that I actually felt guilty for my scavenging.)
then settled at one of the tables with Celestia Rising above it, her wings outstretched in a cross.

HEY KIDS!
DID YOU KNOW:
THE EARTH PONIES OF CABANNE ONCE SAW PRINCESS CELESTIA AS A GOD!?
It’s true!
Long ago, before and even during Nightmare Moon’s banishment to the moon, the North largely misconstrued our ruler as some kind of Goddess.
Isn’t that ridiculous, kids?
And you thought that adults didn’t have their own fairy tales!
In fact, there are entire Churches dedicated to worshiping her in many Equestrian Cities.
There were even ponies (Pegasus and unicorns too!) who believed this to be true until quite recently!
Now there is something that is hard to believe!

Here at the Ministry of Morale, we like to make sure that Equestrian education remains the best in the world. By contributing funds to train or hire dedicated and effective teachers? Of course not!
We do our part with factoids – little slices of truth – just like this one.
So if somepony tells you that Princess Celestia is some kind of Goddess…
Find an adult…, a smarter one at least! (But don’t be afraid to throw stuff at that crazy zealot first!)

THIS HAS BEEN AN EDUCATIONAL PAMPHLET APPROVE BY:
CHANCELLOR PUDDINGHEAD HERSELF!
A picture of… Pinkie Pie, I think, signed off the pamphlet.
JUST JOKING! IT IS ACTUALLY MINISTRY MARE PINKIE PIE!
published by the ministry of image.

Good thing Ash isn’t here, I thought, though the pamphlet, to be fair, was a little silly by its own merit.
Caliber would certainly have enjoyed this little remnant of religious persecution, benign as it was.

I had to admit: I didn’t care much. There were even fewer religious ponies around during the war than there were now, literally. To believe that Celestia was a god, even as she abdicated the throne of a country that may well have been losing a war, took a special kind of conviction.

I looked up the statue, as if to apologize for my internal remark.
Sorry Princess, I just don’t know what it was like, or even what really happened.
Bias and Censorship had made sure of that.

Apparently, an insurgency of malicious, highly sadistic, zebras had barged into Equestria and massacred an entire school-full of fillies and colts, essentially beginning the war that ended the world.
I had to hope that this was not how it really happened.
Though, the zebras in Zion had certainly been malicious… but murdering foals took a-
Never mind.

I thought Pinkie Pie ran the Ministry of Morale… not Image.

DID YOU KNOW:
THIS IS NOT EQUESTRIA’S FIRST WAR!?
Not technically, anyway.

This pamphlet already seemed more adult.

The Earth Ponies, Pegasus and Unicorns held many battles and skirmishes across the vast lands that would one day join to become Equestria… Against each other!
The story of Hearth’s Warming Eve tells of this trying time’s end, but before the fire of friendship defeated the winter spirits of war and united the tribes, there was massive animosity between ponies.
Cabanne itself, as an earth pony claim, had to endure many Unicorn and Pegasus sieges.
But… who were the bad guys?
If you had asked any of the tribes, they would have answered with any of the others.
Not like today! While the Zebras would surely point the blame at us, we know the truth!
The identity of the bad guy in this Great War is clearly black and white!

So enlist today!
DO IT FOR YOUR CHILDREN!
DO IT FOR YOUR COUNTRY!
DO IT IN HONOR OF CHANCELLOR PUDDINGHEAD’S EFFORTS TO UNITE US!
This time, Pinkie Pie posed in a resolute salute, with what looked like a pudding on her h- oh… I get it.
DO IT FOR THE WARRIOR’S RESTING IN THE TOMBS OF THE NORTH!
published by the ministry of image.

So the murals at Celestia’s Landing had been depicting ancient conflicts, and the tomb had indeed been home to their casualties. It wasn’t surprising, though a little upsetting, to know what those ponies had died for. Everypony had heard the story of Hearth’s Warming Eve, and it only made sense that all that tension could only have stemmed from decades of on-and-off warfare.

That enlistment propaganda had blindsided me, but was admittedly effective, especially after Zion.
I liked to think that I would have signed up, if the war ending wasn’t the reason I existed in the first place. Zebra’s were depicted unfairly in propaganda, but that didn’t detract from the fact that we were at war. Ideally I would support the rights of local Zebras, while making sure none crossed our borders, with Fern.

Though I didn’t really know what it tasted like, I wanted milk in my coffee.

Abandoning the abandoned, pamphlets I began to poke through the café, on an impossible quest for milk.

I didn’t feel guilty… and suddenly smiled, emerging from a drawer, with a pan on my head.
There was no whining subconscious telling me that I should be helping Caliber and Ash, no pining conscience reminding me that searching for lactose wasn’t saving any lives.
I was letting myself be happy… and I wasn’t used to it.

Slavers dead, save a family, Raiders dead, make a friend, Alicorns dead, make a friend, Griffons dead, Dj alliance, Savages dead, Zebra alliance, Poachers dead, Buffalo alliance, Vipers dead, help a friend.
Libertines pissed off… take a break.
It felt right, if only because I knew that none of us were in danger… except for the Minotaur buck.
Who probably deserved it.
Now… milk!

Leaving the violently tilting pan on my head, I ravaged the coffee shop.
There shouldn’t have been any rational expectation of milk, but I was nothing if not an idealist.
And in my naive view of the world: moo juice still existed.
The place was pristine, coated by the omnipresent dust, but free of that ashy fallout blanketing the wasteland outside. Although despite the sense of sanctuary, I felt a bitter resentment for its barren stock.

The last day must have been in the off season, I sighed.
There was no trace of any perishable goods, only an inexcusable abundance of tea.
Of all the-

This was Equestria damn it! A coffee shop, no less! Keep your fruity leaves you limp-hoofed…
Where did tea even come from?

After making myself another cup – cider mug more accurately - of black, bigoted patriotism, I settled back onto my All-Equestrian seat, resting on All-Equestrian flanks. I levitated the House’s journal from my saddlebags, which sat beside me. It was like a conversation, in some sad way, between me and the contents of my only remaining companion. I corralled my spontaneous and feral thoughts to focus.
The first entry from that old buck, of only two before my scrawled dream diary, was undated.

So this is what I’ve been reduced to.
Writing…

Things are too complicated for words.
Life is too fast to record, too short to spend half of it recording the other half.
But I bet your going to read this.
So I’ll try.
You’ll never let me forget how much I love you, huh?
Always have to make me prove it.
Thought you’d have realized it by now… it has been a couple of decades.

Scaffolding’s almost done.
I’ve cobbled the front yard. (Left you the space for that garden you wanted us to work on.
Although that’s something else I’m not surrendering myself to so easily. What’s the point?
You know I’m not exactly young, and we’ve already made much more impressive life than flowers.
… Slightly more impressive. When’s the last time those ragamuffins came to visit, anyway?)
Apart from that, wiring still needs tuning, but I want to leave the back bare, focus on the lake.

Who is this for, honestly?
We both know this stuff already.

Feelings…
What am I supposed to do with that?
I’m only in this mess because of feelings.

I smiled as I read the reluctant words; the buck was exactly as I had imagined him, stubborn but warm. There was something left of him in that house, his creation, the same resolve and bare emotion.
I wondered where the couple were buried, and hoped that they had died peacefully.
Fallout had reached the lake, which meant that that was painfully unlikely.
Maybe Ash’s congregation had found the bodies, curled up together like those skeletons in Acheron.

You don’t want me to write about the house.
You don’t want me to write about you.
I hate to tell you this, but there’s barely anything else here.
Just an old buck who wishes he was dead.
Not in general: just right now.
Don’t read into that… ink can damn well make a man give the wrong impression.
I just mean that this is not the way I dreamed of spending even a minute of my retirement.
What’s the use of words?
This stuff is all in my head anyway, probably in yours too, why do we have to go spreading it around?

I’m afraid for my country.
Is that a feeling, fear? Or an instinct?
Anyway, I’m worried about what we’re becoming.
It’s like all of Equestria has caught some disease.

Hatred.
There’s another one.
For the neighbors.
The real ones, not the zebras.

I once had a good friend who was a zebra.
Don’t know if you met him.
Kind of friend that makes you think twice before you make assumptions.
Makes you see the differences, but also the similarities, you know?

These preppy, rich bastards, they can go rot.
Most of them are packing up, cowards, but I’m not complaining.
As long as they don’t requisition this land for some idiotic military base, I’m perfectly happy.

Happiness is there.
Mixed in with nostalgia and… peace.
You’re happy, aren’t you?
Let’s hold on to it for as long as we can.

Way ponies are panicking… it’s like the world is gonna end.

I shuddered, repeating the last words in my head as I stared at the curling sky, past the frozen Goddess.
Of course they had known it was coming, of course they had... I wouldn’t exist if they hadn’t.
Bravery was watching it end, staying rooted where you were happy, instead of shivering in some hole.
There wouldn’t be anypony left, if they’d all been braver… fatalistic.

I can’t say I’m not happy with the way things turned out, in that respect – as we had survived for it – But I can’t say that I am. I know I’d rather be sitting in an ancient, exploited city with a pot on my head, than to have never existed. I suppose that made my decision for me.

Opening onto a fresh page, beyond touching reluctance and hurried recollection, I scribbled a few notes.
Not poetry, it was bad enough that I was sitting in a fancy courtyard drinking coffee.
I had tried to justify the experience by drinking out of a cider mug and spouting anti-tea slurs, but I was still either a tourist or a pretentious waste of time and space. I kept the pan on, that would help.

Ministry of Morale --> Pinkie Pie? or Ministry of Image --> Pinkie Pie?
Ministry of War-time Technology --> Applejack
Rainbow Dash: Unknown
Fluttershy: Unknown
TwilightSprinkle Sparkle: Unknown
Rarity: Unknown

I don’t know why I cared, but the mares had, in a way, been a part of my childhood.
To the extent that any nostalgic imagining, any painted hero, became to a foal.
They had saved Equestria at least twice, apparently, so they deserved some recognition.
I drew what I could remember of their cutie-marks beside each name.

Diamonds… huh.

There was something about these mares, an intrinsic goodness, which made me want to learn more.
I had read the stories, heard the legends, I knew about the Elements of Harmony, how they had saved us on more occasions than we likely knew. What I wanted to know was why, in the end, they had failed.

I didn’t understand how Laughter of Honesty could stop a war, or even win one, but I had come to know friendship, come to experience it in ways that I never had before. There was something to the myths now, something believable, something relatable. Maybe having friends wasn’t going to encase a Draconequus in stone, or purge a demon princess, and sharing a bond surely couldn’t go so far as to unleash a rainbow of concentrated good feelings and happy thoughts, but… I knew that it was important… powerful.

I knew that it could drive me to pull diamonds from the earth, and collapse a mountain on those who would hurt the ponies that I had come to care about. I knew that it was something Damascus had been wrong to discard so completely, to cast out of himself with that dark, foreign magic. I knew then: it would lead me to accept a mare who had done something that I would always see as one of the purest sins.

Maybe they had been metaphors, simplifications of great battles our spanning struggles, but the stories were starting to make sense. It was the opposite of realizing, after years in reverence and inferiority, that your parent’s weren’t flawless, that they had just as much weakness, as much sadness, as you did.
This was coming to know that your childhood role-models, juvenile gods, were still there to guide you.

The North was barren, a few towns along the rails – more like cardboard cutouts than actual places – some technological amenities – network and electrical pylons – and infinity. Zion had its tombs, its religious grandeur, and the Plain had its ancient city and gemstone mines, but the hold of history, was older than the war. These places had been lost in time for longer than I could imagine, and so had very little to offer in the way of apocalypse, the last pieces of history before it all became wasteland.

Calvary would have these answers, it had to.

I passed some time doing something that I shouldn’t have done, something that I am deeply ashamed of. Even as I was writing the uncouth, but somehow unstoppable story, I would occasionally pause to scope out the area, or check my E.F.S, not only for raiders, but also for literary critics.

The Bucking Fabulous Wartime Misadventures of Rarity and her-
I began, already blushing as if my entire class was leering over at this first attempt at storytelling. And what a deplorable story it was. -Special Friend Applejack! Perhaps my Stable had been right to damn me.

Once I had finished: I cleared my table politely, packing brochures and a despoiled journal into my saddlebags then floating my empty cup to the sink. Since I had the run of the place, I might as well keep it clean. Sitting for a minute, underneath Celestia, I stared up at the sky.

The statue was contorted by my perception, the wings becoming looming shadows against an almost white sky. Mist and cloud overlaid into a shifting pale, a bright morning’s chaos to wake up the world. I wondered what it would have been like to live on those collides and rifts, though whenever a gap appeared behind two ambiguous bodies, a reaching solidity could be seen, the true roof of Equestria.

The pines and topiary rustled, foliage blissfully alive, in the winter’s breeze.
No gunshots, no backfiring exhausts or rattling machinery, no whining fluorescents or distant voices, this was the closest I’d ever come to silence – except for the senseless void of Damascus’ sleep – and I felt a wanting for statuesque permanence, to become part of Cabanne, and to stay.

Souvenirs weren’t going to steal themselves, though, so I rolled up off of the cobblestone, setting my sights on the most explicitly advertised store. It crested in a triangular roof of thatched straw, its deck wooden and short, but entirely covered in signs and slogans.

Honk if you love Equestria!
Requested one bumper sticker.
Better wiped than Striped!
I caught myself wanting to nod, and tried to remember that Zionists didn’t set a standard for kinder kin.
I support the Ministry of Peace
I support the rule of Princess Luna
Next there was a wide banner with Celestia at the end, giving a mischievous smile.
Miss me yet?

I stepped up onto the drowning deck, brushing past steel plaques and plastic sachets alike.
The inside of the store was equally colorful, bright words jumping out from every surface, be it wall or door, counter or rack, it was smeared in propaganda.
I was all for patriotism, but this regurgitated rainbow was making me sick.

I took a second, getting my bearings and levitating the journal out, to scrawl Ministry of Peace beside Fluttershy’s butterflies… It didn’t take a genius to figure that one out.

There were action figures, disturbingly enough, of all the Ministry Mares, as well as a controversially caricatured selection of Zebra’s for them to fight.

I had never seen a picture of the six heroes, but it didn’t take me long to figure out which was which as, like the Zebras adjacent, their designs were exaggerated in either cartoon amplitude or lampoon.
Rarity and Twilight’s horns could light up, you could make Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy flap their plastic wings in stiff repetition, Pinkie Pie came with a party cannon, and Applejack could buck against gravity.

For politicians, they were awfully naked.
I could imagine that a lot of ponies had been sued for these burlesque figures, but the inevitable retractions hadn’t reached Cabanne in time, apparently. At least there weren’t any Articles of ridicule towards the Princesses, only jibing digs veiled as political slogans.

Caeli…
There were masks, plastic and pretty, of everypony who was anypony.
They were almost eerie, staring out from stacked sockets in a fixed expression of molded personality.
I levitated down Fluttershy and Applejack masks, strapping one to either side of the now floating pan.

“Oh… my.” I bobbed Flutterpan up and down as she spoke. “Your poor mane.”
Grooming myself in a mirror, intended for fitting the masks, not conversing with them, I spun the utensil around to the hatless Applepot.

“Leave it be, girl!” I drawled that shoddy rural voice. “Aint’ nopony here gonna judge you for pan-head!”

“I will!” Chimed Rarity, as she floated down from the display. “You poor darling, it looks like something crawled onto your head and died!” the mask floated around to my flanks. “Good Gracious! Your tail!”

“Why d’ya’ve to be so dang fussy!” Applepot rounded on the levitating Rarity, putting herself between the seamstress and my severed tail.

“Why can’t you have some regard for proper language? You just fused three words into one!”
Flutterpan said nothing, silently cowering behind Applepot’s… face, as they pulled closer to the deceptively happy looking unicorn. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“My, have you got gorgeous eyes.” Applepot cooed. “Y’know… Ah never realized how beautiful you are.” She drew in closer. “Until. Just. Know.”

“Darling?” Rarity was flustered, taken aback, not only by the suddenly impassioned country-mare but by the new, excited warmth welling within herself. “I don’t know that to say…”

“Then don’t say anything at all.” The mares came to be free from the repressed tension of a guarded friendship, finally submitting to the urge that each harbored for the other, finally letting themselves lust.

I bumped the masks together, making kissing noises.

Rarity was getting battered by the metal, but It could not stop their love, neither could the little screams made by the reluctantly involved Flutterpan every once in a while. “Goodness... maybe… I… Oh my.”

Strapping a Celestia mask to my own face, I saved the shy mare from her torturous prison of hot political action.
“What is going on here!?” I boomed, doing my best to sound royal and powerful.
“Rarity? Applepot? Explain yourselves, this instant!”

“Princess Celestia?” Rarity balked, pulling away from the accidental threesome of kisses. “I… I”

“We’re in love, yer highness.” Applepot swung to her side, nuzzling against the constantly smiling minister, flipping Flutterpan away into a sightless oblivion. “Marry me, right here, right now!”

“Oh yes, darling! A thousand times yes!”

“By the power vested in me, by the state of Cabanne and by… the freaking universe, I don’t know.” So I wouldn’t win any awards for my depiction of our great ruler, sue me. “I hereby pronounce you… oh wait, Flutterpan I’d completely forgotten about you. Do you take these mares to be your lawfully wedded wives, or at least, the lawfully wedded wives that you will remain attached to for all eternity?”

“Oh… I wouldn’t want to be any bother…” she eeped. “Yes… I mean… if that’s alright with you.”
Applepot nodded, so Flutterpan nodded too. They were already finishing each other’s gestures.

“Well shoot, I might as well get in on this.” Celestia laughed. “I herby pronounce all of us, wife, wife, wife and Great-and-Powerful-Supreme-Ruler-of-Equestria-Nearing-Godliness-but-also-wife.
“Now, let’s get some strippers for the bachelor party!”

“Hooray!” they all cheered, then went forth to live happily ever after on the display.
I kept Flapplepot with me, leaving Rarity and Celestia to spread their good news amidst the other masks.

For a second I felt guilty for cheapening Applejack and Rarity’s love by forcing in the other mares, but then I realized that I was playing with plastic masks, and my acting was already questionable, at best.
Plus, they probably never even got together in the real world.
Don’t say that.
It must have happened. In the story where Twilight was messing around with time travel, they were totally making it obvious; I mean come one, they were together for the whole thing. And the sleepover? Please...

Levitating my new, two-faced companion at my side, I scoured the rest of the souvenir shop.
Apart from an abundance of patriotic trinkets and political effigies, the store had little of interest.
There were miniatures, both of monuments and ministry mares, and a few genuine Cabannite… Cabannical? Souvenirs. Most unnerving were the colors, which made me eager to leave.
Deciding to indulge my imagination’s juvenile return, I floated Flapplepot out of the store with me, intent on finding out what they thought about the rest of the city. There would be much discourse and discussion on this adventure, considering that I had effectively conjoined the Ministerial heads of War and Peace.

Another barricade, with the same treacherous spinning spindles, barred our passage to the next tier of Cabanne, which was already promising in its less sickly palette of grays and tawny browns. There were two dispensers along the gateway, one for Sparkle Cola and the other simply labeled: Automated Tours.

On further examination I found that even the heralded tour guides had been weaned out in favor of these tapes, technology stealing what little expectation of life this place had left, for a preferable convenience.
Unfortunately, ponies of the old world had seen the flawed business model in putting a machine that excepted caps beside a machine that dispensed capped bottles, so the Audio-matic Tour Guide was going to cost me twenty five bits: more than I had ever had.

I hurried back to the souvenir shop, intent on getting the full Cabanne tourist experience, and clambered over the counter. As expected, nestled in the alcove below, was a bit register.

I tried to avert Applepot’s eyes, saving myself from her old-world scrutiny, only to replace it with the pleading sweetness of Flutterpan. Both weren’t used to wasteland law, having lived in this sheltered sanctuary for the last two hundred years, and being quite incapable of… anything. Still, I felt that they were going to be very disappointed in me, judging my behavior from beyond the plastic veil.

Stealing exactly as many bits as I needed, and no more, I headed back for the barricade, reminding the mares that they themselves were stolen goods, and had no right to talk.
The machine clunked and sputtered, struggling to ingest the golden disks, as its rusted insides were now unused to this kind of invasion. I gave it a swift kick, forcing it to cough up a black brick.
The device was similar to Ash’s long since discarded tape recorder, but wouldn’t play on its own volition.
Acting as the cheapskate it was, the dispenser had refused to give me the necessary earplugs.

I loosed the input cable from my Pip-buck, which had successfully plugged into both terminal and radio before, and jimmied it into my Automated, and decidedly mute, tour guide.
This was better for all of us anyway; Flapplepot would have been missing out if I hadn’t found a way to play this tape out loud, and I’d already upset them enough.

“Welcome to Cabanne proper!” The tape began, triggered by some unknown knowing. “This tape will be your extensive guide of the city beyond, and will activate at several marked locations.” I scrambled over the locked gateway, continuing on a crime spree that was probably ruining my Karma. “Do not attempt to ask this device questions or form any kind of relationship with it, and please take consideration for its safe return, if you have any anger issues or frustrations that you would like to vent, remember that this is only a recording, and cannot feel pain.” Ponies used to get passionate about this kind of thing, apparently.

Scampering up the stairs, which cut through a large rising rock face, allowing easy navigation over and around the mesa, I found myself in what looked like a pleasantly cozy town. Houses, most angular and non-descript in opposition to the slight definition on wealthier constructions beyond, lined a cobblestone pass. The wide road, never used by anything but hooves, was broken apart by solid benches, pine rises and a round fountain in the center of the residential area. Lamps had been subtly adapted, still appearing humble and primitive, to allow for electrical influence, but apart from that: things were genuinely ancient.

“This area may appear small to our modern expectations,” The tape chimed. “But it once housed the majority of Cabanne’s citizens, as each building often held one or more families at a time, and populations were much lower back then.” I peeked into doorways, unhinged and insecure, only to find dark unfurnished nothing beyond. “For insight into how ponies lived without electricity or other amenities, please consult the resources available at Smart Cookie Souvenirs.”

They really knew how to beat a dead horse.

The benches weren’t conveniences from modern restoration, I realized. These stone seats were remnants of the rock that had been otherwise cut away. Similarly, the fountain seemed to sink into the mesa, drawing from some infinite subterranean water source. It trickled on in a continuous babble.

“This fountain marks the centre-middle of Cabanne, and was an area of congregation for the great minds and personalities of the past.” The tape explained. ”Housing projects reach out from around it and, if you are lucky, you will now find yourself at the heart of one of Equestria’s greatest historical recreations.” Of all the things destroyed by the apocalypse, Renaissance fairs were not exactly what I mourned most.

Two notable buildings rose further up the tiered bluff: one sharp and regal, and the other almost reminiscent of an observatory. The city was built as a rise of courtyards and strips of smoothened stone, starting with the mall and winding up through the residential square, to conclude at what had to be a kind of town hall. The observatory leaned over the palisade walls, staring into the sky from its ridged perch.

Windows, many stained by both dust and design, prevailed in golden, syrup-like redundancy, unable to allow sight in or out. Down one stretch of the city to my left, was a planned cornucopia of botany open to the lake view beyond, which could only be described as a park, despite its fairly miniscule size.

“You may want to visit the Great Hall, which was converted into a church soon after Equestria was founded.” The market’s celestial statue would also have been a slightly newer addition. “Otherwise you may choose between the other three avenues of Cabanne. Notice that the city is vaguely structured like a broken cross, as despite the rises and necessary compliances with the landform it was built out of, the earth ponies of the past still tried to maintain this popular shape of design as the city expanded.”

I waited for an elaboration as to what each avenue led to. “If you are facing away from the main courtyard – as well you should be – then the Park lies to your left, the Observatory on an escalated terrace to your right, and the Great Hall at the head of the cross, straight ahead.”

The park seemed self explanatory, and I would leave the Observatory for last, as it overlooked the southern stretch of Plain where I expected to find the Buffalo’s camp, so I kept a beeline for the regal pinnacle of Cabanne. The city was layered, and to call it a cross was a stretch, as multiple echelons and extremities had been carved in and around the ridges and rock faces, architecture forced to adhere to natural structure. There were more houses than I had assumed, each individual in its simplistic shape, and it was feasible that this settlement could have been home to at least a few hundred ponies.

Still, it was compact, toppling over itself like the rock falls and landslides surrounding, and it didn’t take me long to get to the majorly, if unusually, wooden Hall. Dark mahogany broke out in bands from beneath an exoskeleton of grayed rock, and the entire roof was carved from the same dark timber, sharply reaching into the sky across multiple layers. The windows here were definitively stained, the recurrent gold sharing its purchase with hues ranging from green to royal crimson, depicting ambiguous stories in their basest form. Some looked like ponies, hooded and devout, while others looked like Equestrian familiars: the towering obelisk of Celestia’s Landing, as well as a depiction of the rising Cabanne itself.

“This building was often used as a meeting place for ponies of near royal stature – note the aesthetical improvements in the houses surrounding, superior design and craftsmanship to represent superior rank – but for the most part served as a place of worship.” Like the Lower Atrium. “Also pay attention to the fact that this is the highest point of the city, constructed at the very peak of its bluff, and views from within the houses are spectacular, though some pale in comparison to the northern overlook from the Park.”

What was best seen from here was the angled entirety of Cabanne below, beyond the arching avenue to the fountain square, and above the almost distant Great Gate near the landform’s base. It was not an over-cluttered space, as the number of houses was still far fewer than any modern town, and they were spaced out accordingly. Collections of cobblestone and ridge rock, pinewood and mahogany, grass groves and stained windows, each defined themselves comfortably, set into or against the straying bluff.

I stood before another great entryway, a tall door, dark wood carved into unintelligible symbols and runes. They gave way easily, swinging apart at my prompt to reveal the stretching hall beyond.

Unlike the monastery beneath Celestia’s Landing, this chamber was centrally focused, pews lining the walls like collapsed stands at a sports arena, and a centerpiece of ambiguous purpose. The rising glass obelisk, a natural, sharp prism to the rays of multicolored light, could have served any purpose: perhaps a ritual focus, a memorial, or even a simple, unavoidable crystalline extrusion from the earth beneath.

Flapplepot was struck silent, reverently taking in the internal beauty of rock and wood, majestic windows and gold adornments. Celestia rose once more on the opposite wall, in a tall antechamber that was devoid of pews, where ceremonies and sermons were undoubtedly conducted from. She looked like an enormous insect on the wall. The tape, however, had seen it all before.

“While there is no basis for the religion once followed by the ponies of Cabanne, their inherent culture of Faith has inspired many of Equestria’s ceremonial and architectural aspects.” Perhaps the tapes creators had feared for its safety in the hooves of some religious remnant. “Hearth’s Warming Eve, for example, was presented as a story of the Princesses’ intervention… though they hadn’t yet come to Equestria.”

In my, more contemporary, version of history, Equestria had been founded without the royal sister’s influence. But sh- the tape was right; even the Stable’s Faith had inserted their Goddesses into the story. ”Even in our modern recounting of the tale, the flag of the newly formed nation bears the remarkably impossible presence of both Princesses, even though they were not present at the time… except, as the old world claims, in spirit.” Then they came to us in physical embodiments to combat Discord, and secure their place as permanent rulers of the newly formed Equestria, saving us from our own incompetence.

“Now we know the true course of history, but do not think less of the Cabannites for their stoic belief.” This tape was clearly not produced by the Ministry of Morale. “This baseless idiocy was not their fault.” Never mind. “Back then, the Princesses were barely seen this far North and, for much of history, only the ponies of Canterlot and surrounding regions knew them as alicorns, or even knew that alicorns existed.”

I had settled down beside Flapplepot on one of the pews, and we watched the birthing light of morning dance across the prism’s facets, laced with rich colors by the stained windows across each wall.
“They saw the Princesses… as Goddesses, and never even knew that they lived, quite similarly to their subjects, In Canterlot. To them they were immortal, unfeasibly omnipresent, infallibly powerful and ultimately perfect, unable to be replicated or replaced, impossible to refute or to question.” Applepot scoffed. ”Can you imagine what they would have done if they’d seen the Ministry of Arcane Sciences?”

Twilight Sprinkle Sparkle: Ministry of Arcane Sciences
-Worked on considerably blasphemous projects or perhaps simply rebellious to Princess rule.

“Luckily, and as you know, religion has long since fallen away, and we are only left with buildings such as this to remember it.” The tape concluded, not before adding in a little profitable referral. “There are many resources that can be purchased in Smart Cookie – who wouldn’t have been religious, herself, as such – Souvenirs if you would like to learn more about the Faith. Don’t get too carried away, though! The Ministry of Morale is happy to make it very clear that the Princesses are not Goddesses.” The tape laughed a disturbingly malicious promise. “It must be understood that this war will not be won by divine right, and that each and every one of us must do our part to secure Equestria’s imminent victory.”

“Buy war bonds, or if you wish to truly make a difference, Enlist Today, there is a military recruitment office right here in Cabanne, waiting for the bravest of heart, the truest Equestrians.”
Way to rub it in, Pinkie Pie – though I doubted the voice was hers; it was too cold somehow, too dead. -

“You know I’d sign up if I could Applepot.” I floated my companion(s) at my side as we left the church. “Maybe if you were two hundred years less dead, and I could master Twilight’s time travel spell, you could give me a referral into the Steel Rangers, huh?”

Flutterpan didn’t like that. “I’m not really a doctor,” I argued. “And besides, I could be a field medic, that’s like the best of both worlds right?” I compromised, as we headed down the terraced city, towards the Observatory. “Maybe when I find out more about your Ministry I’ll understand your point, but so far, the only precautions I’ve seen were taken by Applejack and her Rangers, at the border security station.”

I thought for a moment, as Applepot gloated. “And by Pinkie Pie, even if her methods are a little creepy.”
“I just don’t see how a Ministry of Peace could have helped during times of war.”

“It’s like bringing an Animal rights activist to a good pig rasslin’.” Applepot agreed, drawing on her country wisdom to make very little sense. “Or Rarity to a pie-eating contest.”

“Shut up, you love her.” I reminded. “Whether you like it or not.”

Passing the fountain, the tape suddenly chirped up again, somehow able to avoid repeating itself on round trips. “Happy Lunch-Time visitor! Why don’t you take a break and visit the Food Court?”
I ignored its cloying. “You know, malnutrition was one of the leading causes of death in Cabanne!”

“You used to be a salespony, didn’t you Applepot?”

“Sure did, but Ah needed the bits to replace my hip.” That couldn’t be right. “Granny’s hip.” More likely. “Tried to sell my wares in Canterlot, but those hoity-toity unicorns didn’t appreciate good country cookin’!”

“You don’t dislike unicorns, do you?” I asked the expressionless disguise.

“Nah, Ah’m hopelessly in love with one remember?”

“Damn straight.”

Just had to make sure every once in a while.
“This towering structure is not only a great feat of manual architecture, but of great scientific strides.” The tape announced, introducing us the looming building ahead. “Constructed just against the palisade walls, it was used to observe the southern expanse of space. This is especially remarkable when we remember that buildings, just besides and constructed in the same period, barely had the basest utilities. Therefore these technologies are all but organic, no arcane influence or even electrical inputs, the mysterious properties of earthly reagents, glass, stone and the elements, are all that it had to work from.”

The building shared the layered style of the city as a whole; it rose like the bluff in periodic sections, walled and windowed, ending in an inevitably angular roof. From a modern perspective, it looked more like a medieval prison – with dark stone and guarded borders - than an ancient scientific marvel.
Familiarly intrusive pines broke through the stone near its base, lining the tall wall between us.

“Few ponies had regard for the explorative mission of this Observatory.” The tape justified. “So this wall, which once held an impassable black gate of metal, was put in place to protect the sensitive material within. If you are lucky enough to be taking part in a recreation, then watch out for the city guards!”
It kind of destroys the illusion if you keep mentioning the falsity of it, Tape.

We walked through the gaping expanse, from which the aforementioned gate had been wrenched entirely, leaving only its daunting frame. The entire city seemed oversized, each house built to sustain multiple families and every courtyard or avenue wide and empty to allow for far greater traffic than one mare and all her psychosomatic friends. Even the fountain was big enough to serve as a wading pool.

The statue of Celestia in the mall was actually one of the humbler constructions, relative to its importance at least. It was entirely possible that the one on the church wall was equally as large, but diminished in comparative perspective with the yawning basilica around it.

Now the grandeur was made clear by the pines rising in the Observatory’s small front garden.
They were stunted, if only by comparison, measly and meek, shameful to their kin in Zion, and even their compatriots in the Plain. While mountains rose around the wild forests, they were distant, far-off when compared to this city’s encompassed overshadowing of its more domesticated trees.

The front door, however, was much more humble, as Cabanne did not strive to belittle its citizens: it only sought to outdo the world outside, to defer its enemies and challenge the landscapes around it. When you were building a city in infinity, you had to build it big, if only to avoid it seeming insignificant.

Cabanne was an anchor, the heart of the Plain, a sunken ship in the ocean of gold and stone.
It may have been all that kept me sane on first exposure to this emptiness.

“Relatively.”

“Please be careful when you enter the Observatory, it is encouraged that you do not dawdle on the lower floor, as there may be other visitors above. Likewise, it is important that you do not drop anything when reaching the higher levels. If one or both of the rules are followed: the Observatory is perfectly safe.”

I lit my horn, bracing us against the creeping darkness that breached as I pushed open the front door, further proving that the apocalypse had arrived in the off season.
A winding scaffold wrapped around the inside of the hollow building, leading up to some unknown finality. It seemed purposeless in its size, as there was nothing between this floor and the highest, save for a means to ascend. Perhaps the telescope worked better when lifted out of the city’s dim haze.

There was a rat on a box, staring at us.
Barely visible in my restrained illumination, it seemed almost statuesque in the depths of its focus.
Black eyes glinted, evidence of life – or expert taxidermy - and seemed to move after me as I walked.

The rest of the room was uninteresting for the most part, almost circular by way of numerous faces, and barren save for a few cobwebbed boxes, haystacks and indiscernible figures in the darkness.
The silhouettes of furnishings, rather than inhabitants, leaving me alone… but somehow crowded.

The Rat followed as I took my first steps up the reinforced pathway, a single helix that must once have been even more perilous than it was now, without the metal braces to keep tourists sturdily alive.
He was… (It?) It was mottled and frayed, but not maleficent, and pursued with obedience rather than malice, politely waiting as I paused to observe it, as if sentient.
Its eyes were bright, curious and invested, to spite its unpleasant body, its archetype.

“Please do not attempt ascension without being validated; the Ministry of Morale is not accountable for injury sustained by unregistered visitors.” The Tape warned, as if speaking very specifically to me.
I gave the Rat a look for good luck and continued on, tempting the unpredictable rings of scaffolding.

“Can’t we help the poor dear?” Flutterpan asked, breaking her silence. “He looks very sickly.”

“It’s a rat, Sugarcube.” Applepot dissuaded. “The kind of varmint that ruins winter stores and digs up tenderly grown crops in the summer, a nuisance the whole year round. It’ll scavenge itself some food.”

The Rat seemed to be enjoying my kitchen-utensil, plastic-caricature puppet show, and kept close.
It was unsettling by nature, the seemingly rotted fur and yellowed claws, but its eyes glimmered with an oddly personable shine. He was following out of some curiosity or interest, unthreatening and even childish in its clumsy scampers, eagerly loyal… like a baby duck.

“Congratulations, you are almost at the top!” The tape cheered. “Thank you for not getting yourself killed! The Ministry of Morale wishes to personally express our gratitude for your consideration.”
Within just one morning in Cabanne, I had become more popular than I had ever been in my entire life.

The winding woodwork drew to a brightening close ahead, concluding in a rectangle of smoky light, defined against the darkness of the ceiling around it, a ceiling of splintered rot and barricaded in steel, held aloft by the influence of the Ministry of Morale, or whoever had reinforced this place against time.

Applepot hit her head as we stepped into the gray haze, but she didn’t make any more noise than a metallic clang – I wasn’t that invested in the pantomime – as I swung her back to float at my side.

The room was circular, spherical even, as the roof curved outwards. The illusion of sharp angles created by the outside walls had refuted the true shape within. A wide slit cut through the ceiling, on the southern face, allowing a sectioned telescope to peer out of it, an eye to the gray void beyond.

On thick metal legs, curved and anchored, the device stood, reaching from the rickety floor to the convex roof. The walls were concrete barred with pinewood, and the telescope had been constructed in the same material pattern, with rusted metal replacing stone. Its barrel, for lack of a technical term, seemed to balance on a gear, and was manipulated by another, smaller gear at its side, angled to survey different stretches of space. The eyepiece, a crude default at the narrow end of the conical barrel, was high.

Organized chaos filled the rest of the room, scraps of blueprint and data alike, strewn about in coordinated discord, to keep the room real, while prompting tourists to keep their hooves to themselves. Books stacked on desks, some with no feasible relation to sciences of the stars, or even observatories.
Ancient devices, wooden tools, compasses and parchment maps, covered the work stations.

The rat scampered to perch on one of the barren crates, resuming his intensely curious watch, never letting me out of his beady, black stare. I kept Flutterpan facing him.

“This… is a telescope.” The tape explained. “It was once used by ponies, easily more than a dozen centuries ago, to explore the stars. To think that it has only been ten years, eons after this observatory was built, since we developed the technology to actually visit them.” Who, the stars? “Our ancestors shared our curiosity. Just because they hadn’t the means to achieve what we can now, doesn’t mean they didn’t try. Though there were many, especially those of the Faith, that tried to hinder their work.”

“You guys could go to space?” I asked, speaking to everyone but the Rat.

“Princess Luna went to the moon over a thousand years ago.” Flutterpan reminded.

“Didn’t sound like she meant it like that.” I pressed, not expecting any answers, as they were technically the same ones asking the questions. “I think she meant spaceships.” I could’ve been buried on the sun.

“The Church of Cabanne made it very difficult for the scientists here – or anywhere- to conduct research, and records indicate that they were intent on getting this observatory shut down.” She moved on. “If ponies as important as Smart Cookie, or even Chancellor Puddinghead, were faithful to some precursor religion, you can imagine how hard it must have been for the progress of science, arcane or otherwise.”

It added another aspect of marvel, to think that this place was constructed entirely without the aid of magic. No telekinesis to lift the bricks, no sealing spells to hold the walls, not even any other source of light but for the sun and torches. I couldn’t even comprehend how they had built a curved room like that.

“Regardless, our kind learned a lot in those early days, things that we take for granted today. For example: as soon as Equestria was founded it was considered to be the most important place in the world, if not the only place, but this facility discovered the vastness around it, the insignificance of a solitary place, also disproving the theory that anything far beyond Zion was a sunless void.”

I could imagine the controversy this had caused, considering that the monument of Celestia’s Landing was once largely considered to be the place behind which our sun came to rest.

“Perhaps if the observatory had been built long before the church, before Equestria and the Princesses, we would have record of what guided their arrival, of the unicorn’s control over the sun and moon. Perhaps we would have understood Discord better, if we had observed him in his prime.” The tape was getting awfully existential, and slivers of a personality were seeping into its tinny voice. ”Maybe if we hadn’t been so self-interested, we’d have developed a better relationship with the Zebras, maybe the wa-“

The word was severed and I had the horrible image of Pinkie Pie pressing a silenced pistol to the back of Tape-mare’s head, just before she could finish her thought. She’s watching you… Forever.

“Did you know that the Equestrian military has ample need for more scientific minds?” The voice returned, chipper and promotional once again. “The Ministry of Arcane Sciences is known to combine its efforts with those of the Ministry of War-time technology – or even the Ministry of Awesome – to develop new archano-technology. Nowadays our potential to discover is infinite, and the ministries’ fields of interest have often crossed to take some of Equestria’s greatest steps into the future.”

“Unfortunately, and as you should know, the pursuits of space technology and astronomy have been all but shut down, their funding retracted to support the war and technological revolution. But why send a couple dozen ponies into space on a shuttle when you could get every Equestrian into a new Chrysalis? When you could create the greatest weapons in the world, and have our country safe once again?”

I stood at the base of the telescope and stared out into… into a wall of clouds.
The Enclave had gotten their cruisers, but they hadn’t needed the ability to traverse space, they had found their sanctuary in the sky. The Kingdom of the Skies was a cowardly oligarchy, and it seemed even the Kingdom of the Stars was nothing but a long abandoned dream.

“Don’t use that word, Sugarcube.” Applepot berated. “It sounds too much like Olive Garden.”

“You really needed all that money?” I asked, with no accusation in my tone.

“Building an army of super soldiers ain’t exactly cheap.” I impersonated. “And it’s not like digging up moon dust would’ve helped us win the war.”

“Yeah.” There was something deeply depressing about how we had come to lose ourselves. The Telescope had been one of our first steps, towards the future as the tape would put it, but we’d changed our course during the war, had started walking towards the holocaust, no longer heading for a long, prosperous future, but to apocalypse, to something that had sent us spinning around the rim of an ending.

“Consider this my enlistment.” I said to the tape. “I want to make our country safe again, I want to give us a chance, make all the deaths mean something.” Stop the ending.

“We need the brightest minds, the strongest hearts, the truest Equestrians.” she repeated.
“With the fullest bellies! Why not get a snack at the Cabanne Café on your way to the enlistment office? We certainly don’t want any hungry soldiers out on the field.”

“May I?” Applepot asked, as I imagined a coy grin slowly crossing her molded face.

I tossed the Tape into the air, even as it continued on its tirade of motherly, monetary fretting.
Applepot swung in a wide arc, Flutterpan screaming quietly behind her, and hit the device with a muffled combine of wrinkling plastic and ringing metal.

“You know malnutrition was…” The tinny voice tapered off as its herald went soaring out of the telescope’s high window, spinning through the hazy air and disappearing as a tiny black dot, drowning in the void.

I mulled over some of the last information that it had yielded, then recorded whatever I could decipher.

Rainbow Dash: Ministry of Awesome
- Did something, apparently.

The list wasn’t difficult to finish, though I felt a pang of guilt for the exiled Tape, seeing as it had been so helpful, if a little badgering. I had even started giving it its own personality.

Ministry of Morale --> Pinkie Pie
- Worked in tandem with MOI on war awareness/publications and seemed to handle enlistments.
– Involved in many sectors, e.g.: tourism. Pinkie had her hooves in a lot of Pies (harf harf).

Ministry of Image --> Pinkie Pie Rarity
- Mention or reference to this ministry’s purpose is a RARITY.
(Note to Self: This is ink; please do not try to make jokes. You will only regret them later.)

During the war, religion was pretty unpopular in Cabanne.
Unlike me. Rats are not as bad as you thought they would be – look into their eyes.
Old Calvary sounds interesting – be sure to check it out.
The Ministries drained most governmental funding – look into science stuff.

Feeling Patriotic – Save Equestria

Possible name for book: The Book that Love Guilt
Get it? Because of: The House that Jack built.
And the old buck… for his….wife…

- Find Pencil

I enjoyed writing in the book, it seemed that as soon as that dream was out of my head, I felt a lot better. Until the whole Foal-killing thing, of course.
But Cabanne had done its job, and I had certainly had time to think.
Perhaps too much time, I thought as I performed unhurried triage on Flapplepan’s indented face.
Applepot’s face was all but smashed in, so I decided that it may soon be time to retire the old girl.
I’d leave the masks back in the souvenir shop on my way out, but first, I had to find the Buffalo.

The telescope jutted out of the slit in the ceiling, meaning that it would be impossible to aim down into the Plain. Setting my two-faced puppet gently aside, I focused my telekinesis on the elevated eyepiece. Without the subtle system of lever and gears, I never would have been able to move something so heavy, but as intended, the telescope bent itself to angle nearer to the floor, lowering the eyepiece to my level.

There was nothing to see but gray, a mass of it, barely even shifting through the magnified perspective that I was given as I looked through the great machine. I then found a much less honorable use for the device, however, and clambered onto the barrel with a short hop and a panicked flustering, thereby forcing the wide end of the cone to knock against the tall window’s upper frame.

Weight distribution didn’t seem to affect its orientation much and, even as I slid myself up onto the wider half, the telescope wouldn’t budge. Rust or design held it still, and so I had to use magic to interfere.

This time I set the barrel down on the window’s bottom frame, turning it into a, much less terrifying, horizontal slant. How had earth ponies done this? Probably had a partner work some contraption in the gears. Actually, they were likely more interested in looking through the telescope than straddling it.
To them I would have looked like a drunken mare who thought that she was at a rodeo.

At the very brink of the barrel, I found myself looking out over the world, and was taken by overwhelming waves of numbing terror that fell into rhythm with the breeze. There were no palisade walls beneath me, and the city was all but invisible below and behind. Only curved rock-face until the ocean took its hold once again, lapping up against the sloping landform, breaching only to the rise of stone and earth.

The golden bristling seemed, at least in my mind, to be a manifestation of waves and shifting currents, forces of erosion that sought to submerge the insolent Cabanne, to take the great city to its watery grave.

There was almost too much to look at, but there was one thing that made it easy to choose a focal point.
A glimmer, dull in the filtered gray of daylight, was just visible above the southern mountains of the Plain.
Towers… in the clouds?
That was Calvary, it had to be! I shifted excitedly, craning my neck to overcome the mass blockade of rock. I might’ve been able to make out the skyline: the reality of my crude dreams and cruder scribbling.

Though I only succeeded in making it much more difficult to see, getting harder by the millisecond in fact.

I was falling.

Stupid

St-
Footnote: Level Up!
Perk Added: The Way of the Cabannite: Decreased spread and double critical chance for .45 Auto pistols.

A VERY humble message FROM THE CLOSEST THING YOU HAVE TO GOD:
The Christmas Obstacle:
How you doin’, people of the world! Feels pretty damn good to be a human, doesn’t it?
Just think of all the inferior animals we get to eat! …Delicious!
I hope you’re all sitting down, because what the hell else would you be doing at a time like this?

As you may know: Christmas is coming (And, more interestingly/ethnically: Kwanza!)
For your humble author/deity, that means travelling thousands of miles just to get somewhere with less of this obnoxiously comfortable African sunlight and a much higher chance of hypothermia.
Anyway, point is: New Chapters are going to land every two weeks, instead of every Friday.
(So Chapter 21 will be out on the 21st, in case you measure your weeks differently)

This may go on for a while, with the occasional exception, because I’m going through a lot of changes come next year, which I’m told is only natural at my age.
You can take solace in this chapter’s ridiculous, hard-to-find Easter Egg, and perhaps an upcoming Christmas special.

Lynch mobs form on the left, more traditional torch-and-pitchforkers on the right.
Let’s keep this civil, people.

Chapter 21: For What It's Worth

Fallout Equestria: Sola Gratia

Chapter 21: For What It’s Worth

“Jumpin’ Jesus on a pogo stick! You’re the first one to make it through alive.”

Good evening Miss Knockout.

My eyes fluttered open with the disjointed sentiency that came when your entire body was numb, but still intact enough to reflex. If it weren’t for the cinders, flickers of glimmering gold and crimson, dancing through the air, I would have been looking up at emptiness.

But there was always something, if you paid enough attention. ‘Emptiness’ was a lazy summation, a way to bypass the impossible task of truly describing such a void.

Night clouds, black but brilliantly moonlit at their seams, made up this particular infinity. And this time it was truly endless. No horizons, no landmarks, no clear sky or Cabanne… only embers.

The throb was there too, another familiar symptom of waking unconsciousness, a pulsing of denied pain. It was a deprived feeling induced by anesthetic or simple detachment of the mind, but there were no memory orbs at work here, and no medicine effective enough to truly blunt the surrounding pain.

Beyond the throb was every message that it had failed to intercept. They screamed at me, claiming that I was in a worse state than I could possibly imagine, promising death were it not for whatever was causing the numb. It said broken bones and torn sinew, bruised skin and a scarred hide.

A cloud was swallowed by another, darkness consuming darkness, like the overlay of shadows, or fish.

Fish eating each other, that is, like a big fish eating a little fish, you know?

Would I be able to feel it if I had brain damage, or was nonsense like that evidence enough?

I wasn’t cold, so either I was too numb to feel it or I was being cared for, not simply repaired.

Like a car being fixed by its loving owner rather than some blasé mechanic.

That was better, right? Than the fish?

I’ll not start this again; Dash went the way of the river serpent, so let’s leave it be.

I tried to cry out, not for assistance but rather attention, as I was beginning to worry about where I might be. But my voice wouldn’t obey, nor would my magic, so I couldn’t yet get to work on healing myself.

“Looks like our lil’ starlet’s wakin’ up again!” cried an impossibly familiar voice, though it was augmented by guttural wetness, like it was coming from a mouth filled with blood as well as molasses. “Mac… Mac!?”

Dream away Old-world Glory, you’ve gotten yourself into another existential mess.

“Your hero has awoken!” The prairie dog continued, though her hollers were broken by wincing gasps. “Shepard rises, so look out evil, look out ya‘dang miscreants… look out Cody, Ah suppose.”

“You seem to have recovered, Poacher.” The thunder came, strong compared to the howling gasps that bade it. “Would you like to be released now?”

“Aww-well about that, Mac.” I could almost hear her saccharine grin. “Ah’m thinkin’ we forget this whole deal, Ah mean: can you honestly say that ah was in a stable state of mind when ah made it?”

“You didn’t have any say in this deal.” He growled. Both were still invisible to my lucid mind, so I tried thinking about what they looked like, to coerce them into the dream’s sight. “You simply refused to die.”

“I might want to retract that refusal.” She laughed. “On second thought, maybe I’ll wait until after I see my Stable-baby’s beautiful golden eyes one more time.” I was apparently not lucid enough to refrain from stroking my own ego. “Would’ya cut me down, Mac?”

“You’ll stay there until you die or recover. And I’m not helping you do either… not yet.” The Chief trundled over to me, and I could hear his steps quake the dusty earth. “You’re awake for good this time, Shepard?”

I looked into his eyes, and could see inherited crimson buried deep beneath the black, feel the heat of his steaming breath breaching against the cold. This was too real. “I’m awake.”

The mountain chuckled, shaking my only bearing against the sky, making my world rupture. “That was quite a fall; I’m beginning to believe that you ponies are a great deal stronger than you look.”

“Y’know that’s a fact, Mac!” Cody contributed, in an almost sing-song cheer.

“Thank you.” I worked out, forcing myself to speak, grateful to whatever influence had kept me alive.

“We gave you some of the Poacher’s medicine, left the rest up to you.” He said with uncaring humility.

“Yer wel-come!”

“Why is she alive?” I groaned, starting to get a feel for my body, regaining control. The mare sounded too high up to be so obviously injured, and I wanted to investigate.

“I can only give you the obvious answer: She didn’t die.” He said, in a tone that implied a shrug, thought it was a gesture which he could not perform. “And my kind have… not respect but… regard, for such an accomplishment. She won’t die until she is well enough to fight us again.”

“Why not give her the medicine?” I pressed.

“Our bodies are capable of great things: All of us. We let them tend us to health, so she will do the same.” The looming Buffalo explained, as he disappeared from my line of sight. “Or she will die on her own.”

“If ah could, ah would!” I craned my aching neck, and realized where Cody’s voice was descending from. The mare was strapped down to a smooth post, held just about her own height above the campground.

A fire danced between us, tall in adherence with its enkindlers, licking up at the night sky.

“How you doing, sweetheart!?” she cried, wriggling as she tried to wave an imprisoned hoof.

“That’s… strange, Chief.” I compromised, trying not to judge too hastily.

“There is no pride in beating a dead horse, and if you’d seen her when she got here, you’d understand.” Her body was incredibly bruised, barely the same prairie-pale, but instead a richer mottle of reds and blacks, bruises and cuts taking dominance over her naked coat. She still had her hat on.

“And I’m not about to promise her release. Even if her heart proves strong, it cannot hide its blackness.”

“How far are we from the mine?” I realized that her smile, once slovenly and almost charming, was now permanent, horrifying. One side of her face had all but disappeared, leaving a skeleton’s grin.

“Count the wounds.” Cody slurred. “I’d say about a yard for each… more or less.”

“Cabanne is directly to the north, fortunately for you.” The Chief explained. “Unfortunately for her.”

That was a long way. Even in the Chrysalis, in comfort and ease, it would have felt like quite a commute.

“Is this your home?” I asked, peering over myself. There were a few tents, wide and circular, ordained with the pelt’s of their constituents. Feathers and beads, like on the Fixit stick - and the Viper’s Priestess - seemed to have become the staple of the Northern Plain. Hulking forms loomed in the outlying shadows, just removed from the bonfires light. The camp went on for a while, but not far enough to keep a full clan.

“Temporarily, yes. Only the female’s camp stays in the same place for very long.” He huffed, somewhere near Cody. “That may change, once we’re rid of you.”

“Why do they stay in a different camp?”

“Good Goddesses girl.” I watched her writhe as she desperately tried to make the gestures that she would have become so familiar with. “Y’sure do ask a lot of questions.”

“This may not apply to your kind,” The Chief ignored her. “But our females are not warriors; their roles in child rearing and crafting keep them in need of a more stable environment.”

“Hey! Mac! That’s not fair, we have rights… well, ah know ah don’t, but other women do!” Cody chastised. “Women who seek to be equal with men lack ambiti-“

Something shut her up.

“How long has it been since you last saw them?” It seemed wasteful to postpone their victorious homecoming just because one Poacher refused to die.

“We usually only converge to mate.” He shrugged, again in voice and not in body. “Or to collect supplies, such as these tents or a longer hunt’s rations.” The Chief helped me up, propping me against one of the surprisingly turgid structures, my limbs bent uncomfortably in front of me.

“If a male calf has reached maturity then we may take him with us, but otherwise the clan halves stay separate. The females and their young are kept safe this way.”

“You may take him with you?” I levitated my own superficial medical supplies, no potions left, but enough dressing to cover my whole body, if need be. Thankfully, my horn started to respond with mild interest.

“It’s no good having an incompetent slowing us down; we are not only hunters, but warriors. The strongest come with us, any who are too weak are on their own.” A weak buffalo was still a whole lot better off than most wastelanders. Not all of us have hides like steel and the resilience to treat bullet wounds like insect bites. Some of us had to rely on good old Equestian cheating, I thought, as my healing spell began to take effect. No anesthetic: I wanted to stay as conscious as I could be for a change.

“So, if there not… big enough, you just turn them away?” I speculated.

“Size doesn’t matter.” Cody had gotten rid of whatever had been gagging her, and now rejoined the conversation with no consent. “Isn’t that right, Mac?” she laughed. “Ah’m a lot smaller than ya’ll, but ah’ve got at least three of your kind’s skins in my jacket alone… which Ah’d really like back by the way.”

“We burned it.” He grinned, unfazed by her cruel estimate. “We expect an initiation of sorts, in which strength of character and mind is judged alongside strength of body.” He skillfully lassoed a rope around Cody’s neck, keeping her quite with this silent threat. “One young bull brought us two of the Poacher’s corpses and a host of wounds on his own body, hoping to join our hunt.”

“It didn’t seem that hard for you to deal with them.” Cody’s silence was testimony to the veritable massacre that we had both watched. “Did this bull get in?”

“Yes, as it is harder to track and outmaneuver a Poacher than it is to actually best them in combat. If he had killed just one it could have been luck, but two shows genuine skill, it means he managed to find and run down the second coward after it ran from its comrade’s side.” He pulled gently at the rope, letting it brush Cody’s neck as he circled her post. “Perhaps we’ll have to track this coward down too.”

“Ah know you ‘aint gonna pull on that rope, Mac.” She smiled, both sides of her torn mouth rising to show that it was intentional. “Y’all haven’t done a mite of harm to me since ah got here.”

“Facing an opponent while they are bound doesn’t make for much of a fight, but silencing one who is tempting us to harm her, may prove necessary.” It was good to see someone who would probably look down on torture. “Would you really rather die on that post, than in a true battle?”

“After seeing what ya’ll did to my associates at the mine? Boy I’ll tell ya: I’d rather eat this post than fight.” That made me giggle before I could stop myself. Cody looked at me with what could almost be described as a warm smile… half of it, anyway. “Feeling lonely, sweetheart? I could use some company up here.”

“What happened with Ascella and the earth pony?” Caliber would probably be hurt, as our shared complex’s fixation didn’t seem to remember her name. The Chief still warmed me with his vaguely paternal presence, as he had a protective nature about him, despite the Buffalo battle lust. One that made me feel blissfully irresponsible for my own wellbeing.

“Her name was Caliber,” I corrected, without indignation. “And they’re both earth ponies, sir.”

“I never said that they weren’t.” He chuckled... Uh oh. “I only asked what happened between you.”

“Well, they needed to take care of something… we needed to take care of something.” I amended. “But I had to be alone for a while, to think, and I’d wanted to explore Cabanne anyway.” I grasped for reasons. “There was a car they had to get rid of, and… and their not in any danger… they’re fine… we’re fine.”

“You’ll be seeing them again, I should hope.” The Chief nodded. “Clan is all that matters anymore.”

"It’s impressive that you’ve held onto your traditions for so long.” To be fair: So had the Zebras, but there’s were less appealing. A clan spirit and cooperation were surely more valuable here than bigotry, militancy and territorial fervor. “They must make the wasteland an easier place to survive.”

His eyes brightened. “In truth, the war was the best thing that happened to my kind.” Even Cody, now quietly wary of the rope around her neck, looked skeptical. “Our values have only become stronger; we have become stronger, for it. It is a test, and having to prove yourself worthy of survival, constantly, is a welcome challenge. There is no longer any place for weakness, for corruption, not if you want to survive.” He gave Cody a referential look, making her an example of the failures born in immorality.

“So you’re uninterested in an easy life.” I guessed. “You want to struggle?”

The other buffalo had begun to congregate, proudly listening as their ‘leader’ explained. “In a way: Yes. At some point we must all suffer, or have the shadow of pain and loss waiting for our first falter so that it can swallow us. In this way we remain resolved, we use our pain, and we exploit the instinct to be safe, to make it so. But the perfect thing about this new wasteland, is that you are never truly safe.”

“So you’ll never stop fighting to be.” I nodded, finding the logic in his strangely optimistic and accepting outlook. It was similar to the Zebra’s hatred for cowardice, their pathology to take the road less easily travelled, and their contempt for those who didn’t. “What do you think of the Stables?”

“Careful, Mac…” Cody cooed. “My little Stable-baby can collapse mountains with her mind.” She would have ruined my chance to get an honest answer, if the Chief wasn’t so good at not giving a damn.

“Those inside are weak, ultimately, but not everyone can handle fear.” He confirmed, unapologetically. “Many succumb to it, and that is likely why the world has come to this.” Peering off into the darkness, he continued. “It was intelligent to build them, to use them to escape the fallout, but an intellect does little good now, and most of the Stable-born would die very quickly out here, were it not for their advantages.”

“Advantages?” Cody was improvising a soft little song about me, which was sweet, but really quite terrible. It consisted of a lot of references to Stable-babies, golden eyes, and not much else.

“The reason we hold initiation, is because one who grows up in a safe environment – such as your Stable or within our female’s camp - has not yet been challenged, and has already survived the part of their life wherein they are most vulnerable. In our case, the calves are rarely much stronger than any other Buffalo, but the Stable keeps you fed and healthy, lets you grow as one in the old world would.”

“And that kind of strength… is a weakness?” I blamed my confusion on the Poacher’s distracting ode.

“Privilege can be a weakness, as it may well prove fatal were it to be taken away.” He corrected. “The same things that kept you fat and healthy have made it harder for you to face starvation and disease.”

The word: you in a general sense, of course, he certainly wasn’t saying that I was fat… definitely not.

“The Buffalo were similarly spoiled, but the war came to test us, forcing us to become strong once again.”

I began wrapping gauze around my head, just above my eyes, to patch up some shallow, wet wounds.

Honestly, I was hoping to subtly show the Chief that I could take care of myself, though he didn’t seem to hold much regard for the medical field either. To him, doctors were probably just another undeserved luxury. “It’s not like your kind used to live in cities, is it? How much better off could you have been?”

“Corruption was our weakness, greed and selfishness grew as our lives became easier. There were no hunts - no Poachers or Vipers - only Equestrian reparations, income that we never truly earned.”

“We paid you off?” I asked, instinctively throwing myself in with the country, as if I had been involved.

“For what?” I’d never read anything about Buffalo oppression, though maybe the compensation had come on the condition that it was all to be forgiven, or at least forgotten.

“Our land. Not to say that it was all ours, but many stampeding routes and cultural sites were claimed by your Equestria, especially in the deserts to the south.” If we had taken any of the Plains land, we certainly hadn’t done much with it. Even without the void of darkness we’d only be able to see another empty expanse, apart from wherever Cabanne rose. “For this, our entire race received atonement, luxuries.”

“Claimed… by which you mean stolen?” I sighed; we wouldn’t have had to pay out an apology if we’d been polite about claiming their claims.

“According to your laws: No. But by the definition of the word: Yes.” He smiled; glad to see that I wasn’t completely naïve. “Though we did little more than complain, and were soon silenced by promises of an easy life… a pathetic life.” The familiar harrumph came again. “Which we, surely enough, received.”

“So that’s when the corruption began.” Strange that it might have been our fault, in part. For a nation that built our history off the magic of it, the Chief didn’t seem to think that we had been very good at friendship.

Cody had finished her little ditty, and almost seemed interested in our conversation.

“This is when the idea of Chiefs and superficial names like Running Water or Falling Leaf came about.” He scowled at the ashamedly ridiculous names. “Tourism was another way we paved our way to greed, as we quickly became subservient to your government… Equestria’s pets.” No more laughter.

“You mentioned that you had lost a part of your culture.” I nodded, easily seeing how much more I respected this new lifestyle. It almost felt as if I had no right to respect them, that they were so reserved that my feeble opinions – even my consideration of them - were more of an insult than anything else.

“The Clan Chiefs grew fat and lazy, obeying every order passed down, changing our ways to adhere to Equestria’s desires. Wealth was gained and lost, as culturally we were dying, but the money kept us complacent, the ease made us lethargic.” He scoffed. “They called it Tribal law, as if our beliefs were primitive, as if our kind were the misguided. We were often seen as savages… though that term may even have been a compliment, as to say it truly: we were domesticated.”

“At least mah Poachers understood that we were hunting more than game.” Cody pointed out. “Sounds like you wouldn’t’ve been given even that much before the war.”

“Yes, even then we were bordering on extinction.” The two finally exchanged something other than smoldering disdain. “Purely by age-old pony influence. And after some peace had settled between us, surviving didn’t take any strength, just the consent to be demeaned.”

“You know ah love you hulking bastards.” Cody slurred, pretty much ruining the mutual understanding. “But, like yer sayin’, money is the root of all evil.” She shrugged, in voice, not in restrained body.

“Greed.” The Chief corrected. “Something that we have since freed ourselves from.”

“Don’t get high and mighty on me, pal.” It wouldn’t be long before she was reminded of the noose around her neck. “Ah’ll have you know that ah’ve seen Buffalo mercs and merchants alike!”

“All males, undoubtedly, rejected from the Clan for that very quality, that old-world nature harbored within them.” I’d only just begun to consider that, just maybe, pre-war ideals weren’t what every race or faction tried to live up to. Not all of it, anyway “This exorcism lets me say that, with no doubt: the Clan is pure.”

“Why help us with the Slavers?” I wondered aloud. If they valued the wasteland so much, for all its flaws, why would they want to make it any safer? “Aren’t they a part of the test?”

“Survival is only a meager victory. Battle, the drawing and yielding of lifeblood, is our truest proving ground.” The rest of the buffalo huffed in proud agreement. “The Slavers have little interest in us, but we are always eager to fight, even if it is without a personal cause.” That almost sounded dangerous.

“Raiders and Libertines alike are wary of us, so it has been too long since we’ve faced anything more dangerous than these cowardly Poachers.”

“What do you know about the Libertines?” I hurriedly asked.

“They share a thirst for battle and pride, but they have no standards.” He spat. “Their own initiations are no more challenging than settlements or caravan guards, their greatest victories are over savage raiders.”

“Not true, Mac.” I began to set my legs, drowning them in as much arcane healing as I could muster. My neck and forehead were already bandaged, all bruises and cuts addressed, leaving only crippled limbs.

“They’ve been movin’ up the food chain, as it were, ever since the Vipers went into decline.”

So we hadn’t exactly wiped out the most formidable faction, in fact, we’d pretty much killed a bunch of initiates and only a dozen real Vipers. If surviving a venomous coma even meant anything, it certainly hadn’t translated to better combat skills. Caliber and Ash had wiped out the group at the pit in only a few minutes, and the Priestess had been almost amiable… she’d even died by her own terms, her own will.

We’d fallen into a silence, the Chief and Cody having nothing to say to each other as I retreated into my own thoughts. I wanted to see my friends, I realized, I needed to know that they were really alright.

Being alone had been… a revelation. And in a way, had proven that I shouldn’t often let myself be without companionship. I had stayed with the Priestess, not only to fulfill my promise, but just to have somepony at my side within the great golden ocean. In Cabanne… well, I hadn’t exactly been lonely.

The difference was: I didn’t pine for the Priestess, I didn’t miss Applepot or Flutterpan (Thankfully, as this was my only redeemable proof of sanity) the Tape, or even the Rat, who had at least been fairly sentient.

I missed Caliber and Ash. It was an odd feeling, not like grieving, more like a desired vulnerability.

I wanted what the Chief inadvertently gave me, this implied peace of mind that persisted despite my broken body and proximity to a mockingly amorous Poacher, who seemed incapable of death.

But I wanted to give it too, to know that I was being appreciated as well as appreciating.

Friendship, I think, was what I wanted. Something that I had too hastily deprived myself of.

Just because Ash had been passionate about something, just because she had finally submitted to the emotions surrounding her Pilgrimage… her family’s mass suicide. Celestia, what had I expected?

The mare had scarcely cried, and the audio tapes had been the only direct grieving I had seen. Of course she’d wanted closure, of course some fetal raider wasn’t worth a damn shred of mercy, not from her.

It was my morality, if I’d known I would have stopped her. But now my scrutiny didn’t mean anything, now it only served to deprive her of that closure, made her wonder if she still had to atone for another failure.

What mattered more? Whining over some potential sadist’s extermination, or being there for my friend?

That should’ve been obvious.

The silence, so far only broken by the crackling bonfire and milling Buffalo, was stolen away in a cutting whip crack, as a wound cut through the air in the now familiar report of a rifle’s discharge.

The Buffalo began to rear and disperse, not in panic but in seeking, as the sound echoed on distant stone and deceptively near city walls. Urdmat Machk, Chief to me and Mac to Cody, disappeared in a bellowing charge for the darkness, following instincts that outdid even my E.F.S, which was still purely ivory.

Even the Poacher, who seemed more worried than sadistically pleased, was marked non-hostile.

Neither of us could move, both crippled and equally immobile save for the added restraints keeping her body still. We could only crane our aching necks in a pathetic search, fruitless as we could now only see each other, not even the hulking shadows once waiting around us.

More shots rang out, though few enough to indicate a single rifle, if it were just faster than the Fixit Stick (Since Cody was alive I’d ask her if the gun actually had a name… After things settled down, of course.)

Shouts followed, most heavy and powerful: The battle cries of charging buffalo.

I imagined that whoever had been stupid enough to attack them was now realizing how much they regretted the life decisions that had led them to this point.

Finally, with a distinctive roar, the impossible force of a Buffalo warrior’s shotgun kicked back, likely inducing more of a flinch from us than it had its owner.

“Why can’t ah get that kind of treatment.” Cody laughed. “I sure as anything deserve it.”

I couldn’t help but giggle with her, violence trivialized by the Buffalo’s incredible mastery of it.

“Ah know it seems like ah’ve fallen head over hooves in love with you, Shepard.” She slurred. “But I treat everypony a little lustily when ah’m drunk.” So always. “If ah was sober, though, ah figure ah’d genuinely think yer alright… certainly would’ve hired you …were it not for the whole selling-you-into-Slavery option”

“Well... thanks, Cody.” I was just glad to know that she wasn’t actually enamored with me.

“But surely you can’t still be drunk.”

“Think about it this way,” she grinned. “Every time ah lose blood, mah level of alcohol concentration gets a little higher. So ah imagine its getting nearer to one hundred percent by the second.”

“Soon enough I’ll have nothing but ethanol pumping through mah veins.”

I felt a little pang of sympathy, as if I didn’t really want her to die.

Cody had never even fired a shot at me, and it was sometimes hard to remember what she had done to deserve this. Not for the Buffalo, certainly, but I couldn’t help but to lose perspective.

“We’re going to have our fight!” I head the Chief’s voice calling as he approached, and my irrational sympathy actually made me worry that he meant to kill Cody. “Pack up the camp, brothers!”

He slid me away from the tent as it collapsed behind me, propping me up neatly near the fire.

“Let us finish this hunt by beginning a new one!”

Sounded like yet another rag-tag band of idiots had made the mistake of pissing them off.

“Ah’d be happy to put out that fire for you,” Cody offered. “Just tip this post in there and I’ll start rolling.”

“I might as well throw a case of whiskey over it.” The Chief laughed, getting a smile from even the drunken prairie-dog. “But, I will be giving you a chance to die.” He began to stomp – with a ferocity that made him look like he was stampeding in place – and cast dust and dirt over the dying pyre.

“The Libertines just killed one of my warriors, and you know where they are.”

The smile on his face provoked the false assumption that nothing bad had happened. But nearby, a mountainous, collapsed silhouette was being dragged away. They had managed to kill a monolith.

“Let’s git those bastards, Mac!” Cody cheered, wriggling in her bonds.

“Teach ‘em not to mess with the Uzmat Clan!”

The Chief chuckled as he casually uprooted the entire post, propping it against his solid body.

He maneuvered the lasso against a knot near the log’s peak, freeing Cody’s neck but not her strapped body, and set the post down pony-side-up. “Climb on, Shepard, you’ll be jolted into pieces if you ride on my back.” Even this proved to be an arduous task, due to my crippling injuries as well as insecurities.

I warily avoided getting to close to the enthusiastic Poacher, whose silver eyes glistened in anticipation of a promised death. “Get this post onto my rig!” he ordered, implying that he planned to carry us himself.

We were lifted like speared hogs at a luau, and set onto the Chief’s gargantuan shotgun, nestled into the metal frame of his battle saddle. The Buffalo barely faltered as the weight pulled down on his left side.

I worried about the jolts, but it was better than being dragged behind or carried atop his charging body.

Cody was still bound; face up, just beside the Chief’s ear, ideally placed to be a navigator or a nuisance.

I huddled into his warm side, though it was as unyielding as a reinforced wall, and tried to set my limbs into the safest orientation possible, all the while just beside Cody atop the huge armament.

If he fired the gun before we were clear, I had no doubt that we’d be torn to pieces along with the post.

“Untie her when we get there, Shepard.” I had redressed myself, and my combat knife was now holstered within my father’s coat. I hadn’t once tied a knot, but I could certainly cut stuff.

“What happens then, Chief?” Cody piped up, eager to know how she could finally get herself killed.

“You fight. Whether you’re with us or not is up to you. If you’re lucky you’ll perish before it’s over.” He surmised. The mare simply nodded, as if they, both disturbingly calm, weren’t discussing how she would die. “I recommend you side against us… ponies seem to lose quite consistently when they do that.”

“You’re not goin’ to be so lucky, Mac.” She dissuaded. “I’m with you til’ the be all and end all.”

I almost though to offer her her rifle back. “What happens when we win, and I’m still alive?”

“Let’s hope we won’t have to find out.” He grunted, beginning to pace around the rapidly disappearing camp. The post rocked, gently, merciful against our aching bodies. The trip might hurt, but it beat walking.

“And I’m sure you can guess what’ll happen if you run.”

“Assuming y’all can track a cripple leaving a clear path of blood and flesh and the scent of whiskey behind her… I have theories.” She assured, ending the morbid conversation. If nothing else, I was glad that she would be on our side. “So, you think ah know where they are?”

“Unless you didn’t really make your fortune selling my kin’s carcasses to them.” The campfire had been reduced to the embers I had first known it as. “In which case, this has all been a huge misunderstanding.”

“Fair enough, ah always said that it would take a dang’ Buffalo drag race to turn me into an honest mare.” From my angle the skeleton’s grin seemed to dominate most of her face. “There’s a road, not the big highway, which runs from the lake down to Littlerock… y’all know it?”

“Yes, on the Eastern edge of the Plain.” I could no longer see the Chief’s face, but his voice was expressive in its own right. “There isn’t much on it.”

“Except…” she hinted.

“The old country club.” Immediately knowing, the Chief cried out the location to the rest of the warriors, and was already beginning to charge. “We break through the walls; hit them from within. No hesitation warriors! Let us only leave when the Libertine’s bastion is in ruin, and their corpses lie buried within!”

Let us hope that I have time to get off this ride before it goes crashing through any walls.

“We finish this hunt tonight! Shepard has given us another battle to fight, with the black train known as the Coltilde, and so we are free to end all we once knew here. Poachers, Vipers and Libertines alike will have known us in battle, known us as the greatest power in the Plain! The greatest warriors in the North!”

Despite the title having nothing at all to do with us, Cody and I cheered, and the stampede began.

Two cripples would be lucky to survive an ambitious attack like this – at least, one would be lucky.

As the Chief had predicted, my seat on the post was blissfully benign, and did little to hinder my body any farther. I could only hope that I’d be able to walk better by the time we got there, hope and heal.

“Cody!” I cried, as the night air raced by us, left in the dust of the Buffalo’s charge. “Can I heal you?”

There was little doubt in my mind that the Chief would have forgotten his concern’s for Cody’s health, perhaps he’d already started to put her out of his mind, replacing the end of the hunt with the Libertines.

“Ah don’t know, can you?” There were well upwards of a dozen Buffalo around us, I realized, much more than there had been at the mine, but still fewer than there were across the entire Northern Plain.

It irked me that the females were kept so separate, but culture was culture, and they seemed to have it easier anyway. At least none of them were banished to a life of lonely, clanless mercenary work.

I began to wrap Cody in a golden glow, lighting up her silver eyes, and casting horrific shadows across her mangled face. Wearing the rawhide hat, she looked like the epitome of death in the desert.

The visage that came to dying travelers, teasing them with canteens or oases, watching them burn.

We were far from such a place, though, and the cold almost stung as our carrier cut through it.

I could see Cabanne, so I wriggled myself into a sitting position on the post, keeping one leg locked between it and the Chief’s shotgun just in case – the city reminded me to take this kind of precaution. Lights, dim and hazy, shone out from the stone, golden windows reflecting the newly installed street lamps. The Church had had work done on the inside, and glowed in its own spectrum, stained apertures implying richer colors against the black. Knowing its shape, how it all fit together, made me care for it.

Cody whistled, long and slow. “That’s a long way down.” The Observatory was very dark, but as we passed its silhouette defined itself against the city lights. She was looking up at the church, a whole level above the place I actually fell from, but I didn’t worry enough to correct her. “We sure are tough, ‘aint we?” Her words made me swell with a misguided sense of pride, as if Equestria was somehow especially good at birthing hardy citizens. Or, looking at Cabanne was simply making me feel patriotic.

“Gravel and gravity.” I smiled, indulging in some camaraderie with my fleetingly temporary ally.

I didn’t know if the Chief could hear us, but he probably wouldn’t mind. The Buffalo had already afforded her a great mercy, compared to the alternatives.

“Yeah,” she chuckled. “Bring ‘em on.”

“What’re you going to do for a weapon?” My inexplicable concern for the mare would not go so far as to make me give her her rifle back, but I still had to ask.

“I’ll be fine!” she cried, over the rumbling stampede. Though I knew she truly didn’t want to be.

It had to be liberating to know, going into a fight, that death was the preferable outcome.

At least she could have some fun before she left.

“What’s its name?” I asked, nodding to the rifle (Name about to be determined) at my side.

She glanced at the weapon, then at me, with a quick kind of fondness. “I always used to call it Louisa!” And to this, I could only smile.

As quickly as it had appeared, Cabanne was fading, its ancient lights hidden by even older stone and the timeless night. It had been cheap, almost superficial in some aspects, but it was the only place I had felt safe in a long time. Somehow, it had been even more comforting than the Stable was in my final years there, perhaps because I had had nopony to worry about but myself, nopony to impress or live up to.

Live up and away from, as the case had been for my father.

I’d never seen Hell, never known it as anything as dark silhouette shrinking away from an approaching monster, a dangerous place, an uncertain place… certainly not a comforting place. Even Acheron seemed preferable to it, if only for the light I had been lucky enough to have there. Though it too was lonely and unkind, riddled with traps and surrounded by threats, bleak and deceptively barren. Everything between the Middle Passage and Zion – which was very easy to rule out as a warming place - had been far from welcoming. Even MASEBS, the place we had used for both bed and breakfast, had been consistently perilous. The tower was just one example of how rare a truly safe place was.

“We’re passing the radio tower, aren’t we?” I realized, now suspecting that my true goal in the Plain was likely disappearing away, just beyond a charging wall of Buffalo.

“Ah suppose so, yeah.” Of course, it meant little to her. “If not then we will be soon enough.”

I couldn’t exactly ask a stampede to make a detour. Besides, Ash was the only one who could repair it, and I had promised the DJ a chance to make up with Caliber.

Honestly, I didn’t want to take any steps forward unless we took them together.

Maybe, after he was done with the Libertines, the Chief would help me find them.

Though I was afraid that he wouldn’t, and with Cody dead, I’d be alone.

Then I’d realize how important – how merciful – having Cabanne had been, how much I had needed it.

Then I’d miss Applepot and Flutterpan.

“Cody,” I didn’t know how long it would be know, but I was already frightened.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” she arched a scarred brow, pulling at the morbid mask that her face had become.

“If you survive… find me.” The Chief would want to hurt her, he needed to hurt her. “I’ll kill you.”

“Thank you, darlin’.”

She was a deplorable mare, a greedy, inconsiderate, violent drunk.

But, whether through desperation – a need for a surrogate- or naive ignorance, I was starting to think that she was my friend. Because nopony was perfect, and even those who clearly deserved to die, were not definitively damnable. It might not mean that they shouldn’t be shot, but simply showed that things weren’t always black and white, in fact it was possible – perhaps likely – that they never were.

I desperately needed to tell Ash, not that I had forgiven her, but that I had no right to.

In the distance I could make out the familiar, and somehow comforting, glow of fluorescents.

Streetlights, dotting the implied horizon like fireflies, calm and unconcerned despite the surging stampede that was approaching. This was the same road that ringed the lake, the very road that the first Libertine’s had used to crawl to their deaths, to invade my dream.

What if they hadn’t killed that buck? We were so near, I could just see the lake glimmering as another horizon, meaning it was completely possible that he had made it back home, to warn or waylay.

Maybe he had killed them. After a moment, wherein I tried to visualize the heart-clenching Minotaur pony somehow getting the advantage over Caliber and Ash, this idea seemed ridiculous, almost funny.

The Stampeded roared, hoofbeats and heartbeats rhythmically sounding the charge to battle. I could feel the Chief’s fervor, his passionate war cry rousing from deep within, his heart and soul complete enamored with the coming fight. He had jumped at the opportunity, automatically converting the grief into anger.

Libertine’s would undoubtedly be poking their armor-clad heads out of the resort’s windows, searching for the source of the roar, and seeing the wave cutting through the black ocean, roaring mountains crossing their warning border of fluorescent light against striped tarmac.

“I’d get us off this thing.” Cody warned, though she was almost laughing.

A smaller, simpler road was disappearing beneath us, receding as the stampeded bore down on its victim. We flew by a tall gate, already collapsed by the Buffalo at the crest of the wave, those zealous frontrunners that cared not for any other strategy but force and might.

I carefully drew the knife from its holster, jimmying my way up the doomed post as I did.

Cody wasn’t stupid, even though she was immortally drunk, and didn’t second guess my intention.

She sucked in her gut as I set to work on her bonds, cutting from below so as not to risk plunging the knife down into the imprisoned mare.

As I finished, I swung my anchoring leg out from between the Chief and his blissfully unfired weapon, and we toppled off of our carriage together, holding onto each other in a cripple’s embrace.

I bit down hard on the knife, not wanting to let it go sailing to find unknown, inadvertent victims.

The Chief, though caught up in a cultural bloodlust, was not without consideration or forethought.

He had slowed back to the rear of the stampede, so that we wouldn’t fall beneath its pummeling charge.

Instead we were bruised by the earth, though it was carpeted by short, dark grass and long tended soil. The dismount wouldn’t score any points, but it didn’t do any more serious damage.

A gentle hill tapered up to the resort, once used for garden parties or galas, it now only served as deposit for partially healed invaders – who were certainly not the ones that the Libertines needed to worry about -

and would not even be used as a battleground.

I holstered the knife and stumbled to my hooves, dancing on quivering limbs as they struggled to reestablish themselves, as pliant and unpredictable as stilts.

“Y’alright, Shepard?” Cody actually asked, as she rubbed a small bump on her mottled forehead.

I nodded, dumbly, as my insides warmed for the mare’s concern. “Let’s get in there then.” She smiled.

The Buffalo, with a cascade of wood and glass following each resounding crash, had beaten us to it, and were already tearing into the walls of the double storied resort.

If the house on the lake had been humble, and Cabanne had been superficial, this place was making a very expensive attempt to look cheap. Wood, likely to be of a costly variety, made up most of the building’s face, though there were many decals and armaments of concrete and steel.

It may have been white, once, but was now an ashen dark hue, as if it had been burned.

The Libertines had made attempts to toughen up the building with patched reinforcements of rusted metal crudely nailed over gaps or even areas that simply looked too unthreatening. Operable turrets lined a balcony on the second floor, but the Buffalo had been too quick, especially considering the time.

Raging mountains tore the barricades away with ease, as if they were shoddy hay bales rather than solid raw materials. I could see slivers of the interior, glass chandeliers glowing with an unfittingly warm light, illuminating the indiscernible rampage below, curving cases of carpeted stairs, and what once would have been considered works of art, now hanging defamed by cursive, cursing graffiti and mysterious stains.

Cody really didn’t seem to mind being unarmed and had already began to help me up when we heard the all too near shouts. The clan was providing one of the best accidental distractions that we had ever seen, but it was almost too effective, and a few Libertines had taken it upon themselves to flee the house.

They clearly hadn’t been sleeping; this was made evident by both their almost preemptive escape and the considerable armor encasing them. Three, a triangle of panic, were now pelting down the hill, not yelling at us but rather in yelping disarray, at each other and to their respective divines.

Clearly, having a death wish made you a formidable opponent, as Cody proved. It turned you into something even hardier than a Buffalo, something impossibly brave and disastrously fool-hardy.

The Prairie-dog truly earned the name as she pounced onto a startled mare, growling, with no regard for spikes of steel or even the blades holstered across the Libertine. Although, I was absolutely sure that those weapons would prove to be that pony’s demise, rather than her salvation.

I levitated the 45, having taken a liking to its domineering power, and joined the charge, bounding forward on very reluctant legs. The two bucks turned away from their wrestling compatriot as I fired wild.

Most of the shots only dented their formidable plating, and even one satisfyingly perfect headshot was denied its rightful place, prevented from embedding itself into bone and brain matter.

The first clip expended, and neither had fallen, but their cowardly appraisal was giving me time to reload.

Cody slashed at the mare’s neck, with a stolen blade surely enough, shouting muffled curses and taunts all the while. The bucks were slow, peering dumbly from her to me in an almost innocent disbelief.

They looked like suits of armor, with the heads improperly attached, and almost seemed to creak with each twist of the neck. One had the presence of mind to hurry to the dying mare’s aid, leaving only a single cow-eyed opponent for me to deal with.

The lights of the increasingly open-plan house glinted against the polished segments of his crudely sectioned protection. The steel was strapped on, sometimes by strong leather but most often with cheap rope or gauze, his shoddy helmet was set low on his head, covering the top half of his dull eyes.

His cutie-mark was painfully vulgar, making me wince as I rounded on the exposed flesh.

The first shot to the flank got him moving, and in a sudden, fluid motion he had me off of my hooves and crumpling away into the soft grass. The strike had admittedly surprised me, as I had begun to assume that this buck must have been lobotomized. It seemed that he was simply shocked by the attacking pair of crippled mares, arriving only seconds after he had just barely escaped buffalo trampling.

I pistol-whipped his jaw out of place. Each movement sent rivets of pain through my own damaged limbs, tendons pulsing with a resounding protest to their forced involvement. Spittle flew from his filthy mouth.

His helmet didn’t cover the base of his head, that ever vulnerable hollow where neither skull nor tough musculature stood guard. After beating my pistol against the metal, denting it just enough to intrude over his eye, I got back to my hooves, thankful that my telekinesis was so effective compared to my limping body. Also reminded that Cody would likely want… No: need my help.

The automatic found purchase in Caliber’s old recommendation, and only left after unleashing a world ending round through the buck’s mind. It was surprisingly clean, an anticlimax, as the bullet could not pass through the now futile helmet, and so it and all its gore was contained beneath it.

Cody held the last buck, staying close to avoid the lethal spray of his assault rifle fire, which he released with little regard for aiming or conserving ammunition.

Once his clip was dispensed, I helped the Poacher topple him to the grass, and loosed the rest of my own clip into whatever gaps I could find. Cody had stolen a pistol from the bleeding, but not dead, mare and aided in my dishonorable discharge.

The buck writhed as he was perforated, soon kicking and twitching in a shallow pool of blood. This was how the gangsters in True Police Stories killed ponies, I thought, feeling strangely cool rather than guilty. His cutie-mark, while less vulgar than his companion’s, made me sure that I was doing something right.

It was a mare on a pike… yes, that way, and yes… less vulgar.

They were not above such sexual conquests, I realized, shuddering.

The surviving mare gasped over her slit throat, each breath manifesting in a disturbing spurt of crimson warmth from their wounds. Her cutie-mark was obscured by the armor across her flank, though she’d have to be pretty depraved to keep the company of her two fellow escapists. Cody finished her with the stolen 223. Pistol, and then spat it out, leaving it with its departed owner.

“I’m thinking there might me prisoners in the house.” I said, drawing from the newly proved sexual sadism.

“We should check it out before the Buffalo’s collapse the whole thing.”

“Nu-uh,” she shook her head. “You saved mah life.” Usually something that makes a pony want to stick around. “Ah’ve got a better chance alone.” It was odd, getting used to her polar opposite goals.

“Come on, it’ll be dangerous.” I was getting into the spirit of this, disgust for the buck’s horrible cutie-marks manifesting into my own personal bloodlust. The opportunity for heroic rescue had also gotten me riled up. “You really want to die alone?” I… teased?

“Swear you’ll keep to yer promise.” She insisted, as if it were a strict business deal.

I nodded grimly, actually feeling a flicker of hope for the mare’s death by somepony else’s hooves.

“I’ll bet there’s a basement.” The buffalo were going to bury it soon enough, so we’d have to hurry.

We limped up the hill, in a meek sprint that made it look like we were trying to touch the ground as little as possible. While my limbs were the only persisting injuries, Cody’s entire body still looked flayed and raw.

Another attempt was made for escape, this time by a pair of mares, though they were clearly not the Libertines’ prisoners, but rather the sadists’ themselves. A buffalo came barreling out of the wall, completely ignoring a gaping hole already made just nearby, from which the mares had left.

He flung one of the runners, using only his horns around a loose strap of leather, and quietly proceeded to pummel the fallen mare. I drew… Louisa, and capped the second in the knee, sending her collapsing into the upturned soil, persisting in my vaguely Mafioso theme of combat for tonight.

The buffalo bellowed in what I took as thanks, appreciating the added time for crushing that I had given him. We left the mare to her undoubtedly messy fate and hurried into the house, Cody by way of the Libertine’s portal as I took the Buffalo’s, avoiding shards of steel and splinters of quality wood.

As conflicts went, the resort’s entrance hall was a veritable warzone, several walls already collapsed, frames and facilities torn from their hinges or holds, callously added to the piles of ruin and rubble amassing with sporadic order. Battle cries, both from buffalo and the remaining, brave Libertines, rang out across the expansive room, and in several cases, were cut short just as audibly.

The only advantage the ponies’ had was the second floor, and fire rained down from above, rounds from the best weaponry I had seen in some time cutting into hide and armor alike. But the staircase was wide, and suddenly resurging from a distant room, the Chief went charging up it, intent on saving his warrior’s from the barrage, and avenging those who had already fallen.

Some of the Libertines retreated into the narrower hallways, but for the most part they were sent flying as the definitive bear broke through their ranks, crushing bodies and banisters as he went.

I fired a few relatively inconsequential rounds into the fray, not allowing myself to move on until I knew that the Chief was safe, and tried to suppress a possible return from the Buffalo-inaccessible halls.

He wasn’t so infuriated to attempt the impossible, and came tearing down the stairs just as quickly as he had ascended them, crushing them into collapse in his wake. It seemed we would have to deal with our distant kin, or they would be simply stay blockaded until the house collapsed.

Many of the Buffalo had gone charging off into the night, chasing after the fleeing, cowardly Libertines, ensuring that none would even live to tell of their obliteration. It would be terrifying, I empathized, to know that at any moment, something impossibly fast and utterly inescapable would come to claim you.

Deciding that the Buffalo would soon cause the resort to implode, I urged Cody to follow me in search of a basement. I had to find her first, as the mare had no concern for the Chief, and had eagerly dived into the chaos of the entrance hall, putting herself at greatly enjoyed risk.

She was sad to go, but didn’t protest for long, like a child who wanted to stay up despite their actual exhaustion. I could see the fear in her eyes, not of death, but of the Chief, which kept her at my side. Once the battle was over, she was fair game, and would rather be closer to her killer than her captor.

I felt a shiver of suspicion, which I was not blind enough to ignore. It was very much in her interests to kill the Chief, to pick off what buffalo she could before turning tail. No matter how fatalistic the Poacher became, she would undoubtedly take any opportunity that she could find.

“Any idea where we can find a way down?” I asked, hoping that she’d come this far in her trading.

“Probably somewhere out of the way, seeing as it’s a resort. Maybe in the more sectioned-off areas.” I nodded in approval. That was some sound Caliberesque logic. “A kitchen or storage room, y’know?”

I bemoaned my lack of intelligence – it was temporary, mind you - as I realized that my Pip-buck could tell us exactly where to go. The local map displayed several exits (though it was unaware of the newly formed, Buffalo-friendly portals) but only one didn’t seem to lead outside.

“Down this way,” I said, arbitrarily gesturing down a long hallway. “Last door on the right.”

A whining drone flew past my ear, the sound itself inciting a nearly painful feeling, though its source had ultimately failed. All along the passage, doors were opening. We had stumbled onto living quarters.

The Libertines were cautious, more strategic than… possibly any enemy I had ever fought, and did not charge out into the hall as I half expected. Instead they poked out of the frames, sometimes lunging to take a shot with their battle-saddles, but most often poking out their pistol-clutching muzzles.

Cody and I dove for opposing corners, though she quickly made a shooting gesture with her hooves and scampered off. I could only hope that that message didn’t live up to its ambiguously translated threat.

I used what little advantage I had, my magic, and floated Louisa around the wall, periodically glancing out to take aim. Every time I heard a shot; I returned fire, hoping to catch a retreating flank or head, then quickly took a look to see where I could aim next.

One pained howl let me know that my strategy wasn’t utterly futile, but a mist of plaster and dust loosed into my surveying eyes by a near-fatal shot, encouraged me to adapt.

I had already expended two clips of 45-70 govt’s so, drawing the automatic pistol, I sprinted for the opposite wall, releasing a short, six rounded hail down the hall, aiming everywhere that I could.

For every opponent I killed, another was waiting to take their place. These quarters had housed more Libertines than it had guns, and so the ponies beyond had to essentially wait in line for their turn to fight.

One foolhardy mare – perhaps an optimist – came charging down the hall, combat knife gripped tight in her jowls, murmuring muffled, bloody murder. As strategies went, it was not very long-term.

Even as she rounded the corner, she had become a corpse, moving by life’s dispersing energy, a neat wound in her exposed forehead.

For some reason this failed assault had encouraged some of the others to do the same, and in some illogical mirroring, another pair came pelting at me, almost as if they were racing.

It was pride; I realized as the first fell to my 45. They were still trying to best each other, to prove themselves superior, if only by risking death.

If you could even call it a risk, and not a guarantee. In either case, I would let them have their competition:

The second made it closer, but she slid more.

Cody returned, with a suspiciously Buffalo-looking shotgun. “Relax; he was dead when I got there.”

I bristled, drawing myself back into the corner as she stole my focus. “The Chief?!”

I’d kill her right now, I would.

But she laughed, and despite the vivid image of tensing tendons and gnashing teeth, it reassured me. “No, but It’s good to know that you swing that way.” I just smiled in relief. “Some gals are too intimidated.”

Let’s keep fighting and not analyze this too much, alright?

A grand total of six Libertines had come charging down the hall, blocking their comrade’s fire as they practically sacrificed themselves. Cody let me take them out with the rifle before they got too close.

My E.F.S could now clearly discern how many were left.

“Four!” I announced, once for each doorway, one for each weapon.

As a buck leapt out of the nearest frame, battle-saddle ready, he and the door behind disintegrated into a flurry of fragments and splinters, a cloud of spontaneous sawdust and sanguine fluid.

Cody went flying, her entire torn body wrenched from the space where she had been standing, as if plucked from existence by some divine hand. Her body crashed through a wall, actually breaking through the plaster and wood and sprawling out on the other side.

That kind of kickback would have killed Ash; it would’ve torn my very torso from its limbs.

But this was the mare who couldn’t die, no matter how much she wanted too.

“Damn it!” she confirmed.

At this angle I could make out a Libertine peeking at her dissolved comrade, a pistol hanging loose in her gaping mouth. My rifle’s round missed its mark, but cracked through the target’s weapon, shattering some of the teeth that grasped at it. The mare ducked back, mewling in muffled anguish.

Cody soon returned with a much more manageable 223. Pistol, perhaps the same one that she had first given up on. “Tu mo?” I nodded, after using my newfound expertise in translating earth pony mumbles.

The penultimate Libertine was decapitated by Cody’s shot, his entire head detached in a neat evacuation by the heavy pistol’s round. Luckily, these ponies were barely dressed compared to some of the others.

We charged the last, immediately reacting to the note of a stumbling reload, both attuned to the sound’s meaning. A Buffalo came crashing through the walls ahead of us, on a course set for demolition rather than combat, intent on bringing the Libertines upstairs down in a collapse of expensive rubble.

He crushed the toothless mare, who I had all but forgotten until her mangled body came tumbling out from beneath the destroyer’s hooves. Unfortunately, this massive distraction ended up worked against us.

Reload complete, the final Libertine, a sickly yellow mare messily dressed in a loose collection of armor, delivered a perfectly imperfect rifle round into the meat below Cody’s shoulder, causing the mare to cry out in disappointed anguish and charge, stumbling towards the mare in a pained inebriation.

She casually knocked the rifle off and aside as it fired off another attempt, then delivered a curt slap to its owner’s face, knocking her to the ground just as she had done to me. “Y’all couldn’t hit the side of a barn.”

I hurried over before she could deliver her final punishment. “Wait!” Her tongue froze on the trigger. “Libertine, are there any prisoner’s down in the basement? Are they guarded?” I realized that this was the first time that I had truly spoken to one, without misidentification and intent to steal a car, at least.

“I’ll tell you, if you let me fight a Buff-“Cody blew her ear off, the shot tearing cartilage away from its base.

“Nobody hurts the Buffalo!” …Don’t say it. “Except me!” The mare whimpered and nodded, already reduced to a spluttering coward. The Libertines were bullies. Ponies with quality guns, armor and lodging, who played the wasteland like a competitive sport, but were frightened juveniles in the end. Cody killed the mare, tilting her pistol at the slightest fraction to hit brain… It hadn’t been much of interrogation.

“We couldn’t have believed her anyway.” I reassured myself, gesturing to the basement door beyond.

What would I do if Caliber wanted to torture somepony again? I’d thought that I’d had some kind of moral epiphany, but I was still unable to answer that question with anything but: Stop her.

I suppose giving a mare permission to excruciate out information was vastly different to the Ash issue.

I pushed open the basement door, my eyes always fleeting back to Cody. Blood trickled across her breast and over fresh bruises that took the shape of a gargantuan shotgun rig. She wasn’t armed back then; I reminded myself, how would she have gotten that, if not from a corpse? She couldn’t have. Leave it be.

“My E.F.S is picking something up.” I whispered, as we tried to quietly descend the creaking, rotted stairs. “Three Hostiles, five friendl-” One of the white bars disappeared. “They’re killing them!”

Silence forgotten, I tumbled down the narrow passage, tripping over my own disobedient limbs.

The walls were made of a mossy, more likely stained, gray brick, rounded rectangles set together in a deceptively loose hold. Everything seemed to shake, an earthquake cause by the rampaging Buffalos above. We had neither time nor caution, and toppled over each other to get into the room below as fast as possible. I was rushing to save lives; Cody was rushing to lose hers.

The floor stretched out before us, messed in unpleasant hues, rusted steel instruments and splintered carvings lay scattered about it, giving us even more to trip over. There were mannequins, oddly enough, and everything from breadknives to corkscrews stuck out of their decorated hides.

The three libertines were ready for us, and immediately started firing – in one’s case- or charging.

We hadn’t heard gunshots until now as the murdered prisoners, of which there were three; lay with their necks neatly slit. These new wounds were almost forgivable compared to the canvas across the rest of their bodies. It wasn’t mercy, but it had served the same freeing purpose.

I scurried beneath a nearby table, which did little to dissuade my nipping attacker, an unarmed buck who had loosed whatever weapon he had once held in favor of biting at my scrambling hooves.

Cody ran in circles around the pistol buck, her own frantically persevering legs just visible below the table’s lip. I didn’t know if all the reports were form one weapon, or even if all the sounds of impact were parts of an exchange, rather than a one-way barrage.

Beating my own barking assailant back with the Poacher’s rifle, I found myself under attack by the third Libertine as well. Her blade whirred with an unnatural vibration, its edges running in a circuit like a treadmill… Like a chainsaw.

I hooked a hoof under the table’s lip, ignoring my aching body’s pleas to stop and let myself die already, and flipped the small surface away from the wall, putting it in between the Libertines and I.

The living knife came digging into the wood, sending sawdust and splinters out in a rising slit.

The buck pushed against the table as he attempted to climb over it, pushing the thick legs back into the wall, and moving the increasingly dissected tabletop against my own bruised limbs.

It was almost a strategy, to their credit, as if they were actually working together to keep me pinned and in peril, but as the sickly purple buck clambered onto my side, he yelped, and his eyes began to scream.

Too much pride to show pain, and too much determination to avoid it, the Libertine continued his approach, despite the miniature chainsaw digging into his belly, slicing it with infallible ease.

With a lurching, disgustingly moist, sound, his guts evacuated, quite literally. The organs themselves, already appearing devoid of life in their gray shrivel; fell away onto the grimy floor, joining us in my tiny makeshift cubicle. Although his digestive system lay desiccating below, the buck pressed on.

His hooves pressed against my bruised chest as he climbed onto me, closing the gap and becoming immune to my wide rifle swings. Breath like a corpse, a cadaver being dissected, he began to crush my ribs. Disturbingly enough, I was actually surprised to find that he wasn’t trying to chew on my face.

The Libertines were foolhardy, almost idiotically proud, and sadistic, but they weren’t savages.

I reoriented the rifle, rounding it to the back of his skull, and then floated it to the side so as not to drench myself in gore… and to avoid accidentally shooting myself in the face, of course.

It seemed that my biggest advantage was that, in the North, nopony expected a unicorn.

As the barrel pressed against his head, the buck turned, expecting to find some saddled opponent, not a glowing, seemingly animate, inanimate object. He died, facing his bane, but not its wielder.

The chainsaw had cut off, as had the pistol reports, and cautiously dancing around gore and guts, I hopped over the table into an unexpectedly peaceful room. Two corpses, four prisoners, no Cody.

Both Libertines had sustained 223 rounds to the head, but I didn’t need any more forensic evidence, I had a pretty good fit for a suspect. It seemed foolish for her to run now, when the battle was so audibly nearing completion. Maybe she thought she’d try to get trampled, or crushed as the upper level collapsed.

This thought got me moving, and I hurriedly picked over the bodies, searching for a key.

The prisoners were eerily quiet, some propped up in manacles, and other’s simply shackled, bent over with their faces to the floor. Three mares, all scarred and severely malnourished, stared at me with almost loving eyes. Looking at where their bruises were focused… a crawling chokehold wrapped around my neck, like some invisible creature were groping and clawing at me, fueled by disgust and empathy.

One buck sat, curled into a ball, in the corner of the room. The lack of… bruising, implied that he had been a plaything for the Libertine mares, a tool to use in depraved competitions and games of ultimate humiliation. ‘What a lucky buck.’ Some would say. ‘Sounds like fun’… but they’d never seen his eyes:

Dead, while even the mares waited - hope flickering across their faces as I searched for the key ,one going so far as to identify the Libertine who had worn it - this buck was detached, uninterested in me or my rescue. Hopefully he wasn’t alone, for as soon as these prisoners were free, I would have to leave them. Or, more accurately, I would have to get them to leave as quickly as possible.

I left the chainsaw knife, for fear of what it may have been used for, but found some ammunition and healing supplies. I couldn’t help but think that this medicine was used to keep the torture victims on the brink of life, to ensure that no matter what pain they endured, they’d survive to suffer another day.

I found the key, and the mare’s gasped in excitement, even though I had made no promise to help them. “You need to get out of here as fast as you can.” I explained, unlocking the first bonds. “Together.”

The buck watched, still sallow and empty, as the first mare silently hugged me, flinching at the contact.

I chocked over my next words, actually harboring tears. “The Buffalo… might not realize that you’re not hostile, they’re the ones making all that noise. They’re about to collapse the house, so you need to hurry.”

After I freed the third mare, I spun around on the spot, in reaction to a whirring sound, a revving that implied more spinning blades. For a moment I regarded the freed mares, as if they would’ve attacked me, but the automatic knife lay undisturbed on the mottled floor.

The sound passed as quickly as it had come, and I realized that it echoed from above.

“What is that?” I asked, thinking out loud.

“Sounds like Minotaur is back with his car.” A painfully young mare whispered. “Please… hurry!”

“Yes!” I laughed, making the mare’s eyes widen and pale in fear and a dying hope. “Yes!”

Freeing the last buck, who was thankfully uninterested in my inappropriate reaction, I began to giggle.

They stared on, likely thinking that everything they thought they had been given was a lie, that they had once again been teased with a freedom – a fleeting happiness – that would never come.

“It’s my friends!” I cheered, which did little to comfort them. “Caliber and Ash?”

Y’know the Caliber and Ash, of Grace, Caliber and Ash, of Zion and MASEBS? Damascus’ super team?

Have you not been paying attention this whole time?

Instead of bordering on narcissism by actually expecting them to know us, I regained my composure, trying to reaffirm a kind, merciful warmth in my excitedly glimmering eyes.

There was no way these ponies were accepting a ride from me, or even an extended offer for a Buffalo transit. They needed to know that they were free, they needed to be free, but most importantly: we all needed to get out of here. “I’m not even going to ask you to trust me, but I’m truly sorry for scaring you.”

Pangs of guilt shot through me as I watched the young mare quiver, nearing a breakdown at the death of hope. “You can go; I came here to rescue you.” They hesitated. “You really should go, actually.” I smiled weakly. “Grab some supplies from the kitchen across the hall if your homes are far away… only if you have to. This building is bound to collapse soon.” Maybe giving orders wasn’t sending the right message. “The Buffalo only came here to kill the Libertines, so you’re free to go!” I announced.

“The… car?” One of them mumbled, fearful at the very mention.

Of course! They had likely been hunted down in that Chrysalis; why wouldn’t they be terrified of it?

“My friends… are like me, they aren’t Libertines. In fact, we actually stole the car from them.”

The mares began to smile, one brushing up against the buck, trying to incite some relieved reaction.

“Really?” she whispered. Her eyes were bright with the newborn hope. “We can really go?”

I nodded, and they erupted into a – still eerily quite – exchange of smiles and excited hops, even the buck’s eyes sparked in recognition. Watching them made the tears ebb once again, but this time I was overcome with an odd mixture of joy and pride and gratitude. It could’ve been the greatest gift of feeling that the Equestrian wasteland had given me, rivaling even the broken, liberated family at the toll booth.

The DJ had thanked us with acceptance; the Zebras with cold debt, the Buffalo had celebrated with an act of formidable violence, as none of them had felt saved, only assisted. They were all powerful figures in their own right, even Ash had helped herself more than I had, but these prisoners… had been broken.

I almost didn’t want to speak. “Now,” I choked. “Quickly.” They met my now serious gaze and obliged, scampering together for the stairs, buck in tow, waves and smiles of thanks left in their wake.

Imagine a whole Railway’s worth of slaves, in that same pained loss, that same dead eyed emptiness.

Freeing them would be like an overdose… and it’d probably be good for them too.

It became surreal in the basement, cold and lonely, my E.F.S clear save for an impossibly fleeting bar of white that passed by with ever rumbling charge from above. There were reasons to leave, very good reasons, but I felt myself lingering, clutching onto the high of happiness.

Caliber and Ash were back. I didn’t want to find out that this might not be true, that the car might’ve been stolen right back, and that my friends might be laying face down in the pale dirt or golden grass somewhere. I didn’t want to watch the prisoners being crushed beneath the collapsing house as they followed my scavenging advice, and preferred the idea of waiting in the darkness, only to crawl from the ruin once it was all over. Like a coward, like a rat, like a Stable-pony.

Another displaced whir rushing by from above pulled me to a much more logical attention.

Sprinting up the stairs, I realized that the bricks were coming out of place, that the very walls of the resort’s underbelly were being displaced, that the house was truly shaking to its foundations.

It wouldn't be long now.

I ducked and dived over corpses and around stampeding demolitionists, bounding through a hallway giving way to splintered walls and quivering instability. My E.F.S foretold the Libertine’s final stand, their last front of cowardice in the rooms and passages above, from where they would collapse, to be buried along with their desecrated home. I heard the shotgun’s sounding out, sending one red bar after another into oblivion, quelling the Libertine’s final attempts at prideful proving as they charged downstairs.

The survivors were likely the most intelligent – or the least committed – and could see the folly in the fading fight below, submitting instead to the threat of unsteady walls and dusted plaster.

Some attempted evacuation through the windows, and I could hear panes of glass shattering in passionate cries, screams of a farewell to the world.

I heard the revving as I reached the entrance hall, a vague humming which sounded out from my left, just between the staircase and the front door. Headlights, fractional behind the shattered walls, made me squint under their harsh, white influence. The growl grew as the blinding became absolute, and an overload of sound and light peaked as the Chrysalis came crashing through the leftover wall, sending plumes of smoke and sawdust, cut apart by shrapnel and splinters.

“You’re crazy! You’re crazy! You’re crazy!” Ash cried. Hooves over her eyes as shards of wood and metal deflected against the windshield. She was riding shotgun, quivering beside the slyly grinning driver.

Caliber was wearing a police hat.

“Yes!” It was perfect, they were perfect, and the hat was perfect. “YES!” I cheered, drawing their attention to me, gaping shock replacing their looks of wild indulgence and rational fear respectively.

Grace? Caliber mouthed, eyes on me, as the jalopy went crashing through the opposite wall, breaching through an already fractured plane of luxury wood. I hopped in place, skipping on my hooves, an almost sickly joy filling me, a swooning light-headed excitement. It was all beautiful, absolutely everything.

The Chrysalis returned, screeching to a halt against the rich carpeting, leaving black skid marks on infinitely polished wood and fraying material alike. Their ride had barely stopped when the mares pounced over each other, throwing themselves from the jalopy to embrace me mid-stationary-skip.

We rolled together, bouncing against soft coat and hardwood, giggling as if there wasn’t a single reason not to. Falling apart, we lay face up, staring at the empty space where chandeliers and artwork had once distracted, and now only ruinous destruction remained. Set out as we had been beside the river of Zion.

“We thought you were dead!” Ash laughed, actually pulling herself closer to me and initiating a hug.

“Ash!” I cried, not caring about anything else apart from putting her mind at ease. “I was wrong!” My tone was not apologetic, but light and relieved, a cheer, as if I was just realizing that this was exactly right, that this was all that needed to be said, and things were far simpler than I could have imagined. “I’m sorry.”

“How’re you here?” Caliber crawled onto me, her warm body pressing against mine, locking her impossibly perfect eyes to my own overrated Stable-babies. “Where have you been?”

“What does it matter?” I laughed, though her smile was giving way to a searching confusion. “I was…”

“Buffalo!” I screamed, not as an answer but a warning, as a mountain charged into my peripherals.

Luckily she say the panic in my eyes, and together we pulled the giggling Ash into a wild scamper away from the solo stampede, running in its swallowed path as if it were a great, rolling boulder.

He intended to charge through the wall ahead, perhaps breaking the last bond that held the house from gravity’s greed, and we were forced to dive, barreling out of a gap in the barely-there.

We landed at the brink of destruction, where the warmed glow of wooden floorboards met the short, soft grass of the gardens beyond, the place where outside and inside were proven to be meaningless.

“It’s coming down!” A thunderously triumphant voice cried from the house’s rear.

Creaks sounded out, marking the reach of scars that appeared in the ceiling, desperate tendril grasping to save the upper levels of the house. The entrance hall took up both levels, and remained solid, braced and solitary as the back of the resort began to fall away, slowly pulling the ceiling down with it.

As I directed Caliber’s attention back to the Chrysalis, which would soon be buried along with the remaining Libertines, we were blinded in the vehicle’s reawakening. Its headlights burned us away, frayed our world at the edges and reduced everything to pulsing pain, turning us into silhouettes, ash shadows.

Once again we dove away from an incoming mass, this time of steel and roaring machinery rather than flesh and boiling blood. The jalopy flew by; almost pouncing out over the sloping hills of the resort, and, sounding its passage, were the driver’s victorious cheers.

“Is that…?” Ash steadied herself, rubbing her eyes like a waking filly.

The resort was crumbling behind us, collapsing in a hail of fractured wood and cutting steel, but all I could focus on was the escapists’ hijacked vehicle. She must have heard it in the basement, realizing the roar’s true source as soon as she killed the chainsaw mare, waited for an opportunity, then found one… so pristine, so perfect, as if it were planned.

“For fuck’s sake… Cody?” Caliber squinted, a smile touching her voice as she watched what must have seemed like an entirely random resurrection to her, a fun little impossibility from the wild, wild wasteland.

But it wouldn’t last, not this time… I made her a promise.

I hastily leveled the Buffalo Killer, for this weapon had yet to outlive its past, had yet to achieve more than it had in the possession of that Poacher, it was still haunted by the spirits of its deliverance.

The gun would live on; it would have a chance to redeem itself, to atone, starting now…

If she hits the car’s reactor it’ll explode.

The gifted weapon called after its master, screaming in a series of reports, announcing its vengeance… or its cries of apology.

At first I thought that I had missed, there was no grandiose explosion, no satisfying conclusions, only a stall. Then I saw the shards of plating, digging into the soft soil as they fell away from the car, and the lapping flames that rose in their absence. Ash gently pushed my rifle down out of the air, with a nod.

The Chief roared at my side, appearing with an impossible subtlety, only to break his stealth with the furious battle cry. He knew who had to be driving that car; he knew that the hunt had begun again.

“Machk!” I cried, stopping him mid-charge, the callous use of his name and the severity in my tone stalling him on his course to revenge. “Just watch.” I had made them both a promise.

A long dead Libertine’s Chrysalis crashed through the resort’s perimeter, barely stalling as Cody riskily broke away from the enclosure, leaving a waste of brick and fencing in its wake.

As if the wall was the final trigger, the night lit up in a sudden pyre of rising fury, in parts blacker than the darkness, but almost blinding around a screaming heart of gold and carmine, the lights of nuclear death.

Smoke and shrapnel broke through the calm winter air, polluting it, dissecting it, and the Chrysalis, as well as the billowing torrent of its destruction, had soon disappeared into nothing but heat and tire tracks.

One shadow fell slowly, wafting and weaving down into the ruinous nothing: A lonely hat, dancing away.

Though we all stared into the void for what felt like an immeasurable amount of time – as three reunited friends and a Buffalo Chief - the dying house behind only served to disturb the surreal peace.

It screeched and sobbed, metal snapping and wood creaking, as its upper level gave way, dragging the rest of it into collapse along the way, leaving a hollow skeleton, and barely that.

“Comb the ruin!” The Chief called, though there was laughter in his voice. “No Libertine leaves alive!”

He charged off towards the journey’s end of a longtime enemy, as it was hard to believe that, after all this, the mare who could not die was finally gone. But there were only three living pones left, almost as if we were the last survivors of the Plain, were it not for those few prisoners.

No Vipers, no Libertines, no Cabanites or Poachers, only a single Pilgrim, a Mercenary and a Stablebaby.

Caliber tilted the perfectly blue hat back, setting it almost vertical on the back of her head, like some sort of modern cowgirl, a new-world sheriff. And, Instead of gnawing on a strand of straw or chewing a lump of sour tobacco, she lit a cigarette and delicately wrapped her lips around it, making it glow with each inhale. She was beautiful, they were beautiful… absolutely everything was absolutely beautiful.

“This is perfect.” I whispered, as I had to say it. The word was racing through my mind, dominating it in an endless conflict with ‘beautiful’, never letting me think – or feel – anything else.

All that could distract me from the perfection were the aspects that solidified it, my friends.

No plastic masks or diseased curiosities, no discreetly amoral allies or timeless tapes: real, flawed, imperfect perfection. There were scars, wounds, new to me, as I had come to know those made before.

Caliber’s black eye looked to have faded, unlike the seemingly permanent bandage on her forehead.

Ash’s swatches covered her body, burns above and beyond the bandages, beyond the cauterized stubs.

But there were also unfamiliar scars, some aged and dry, others fresh and raw, bruises both fading and forming, injuries that were older than they could possibly be, wounds telling stories that couldn’t be true.

Red hair, a ruffled mane blazing from beneath the newfound hat, too long, just slightly, curling at the tips. Where were the scars from Ash’s defenestration? Where was the myriad of little cuts, the incisions and invasions across her body? These anomalies were more than a distraction from perfection; they were the destroyers of i: Flaws that mattered, changes that couldn’t have happened… inexplicable.

“How could you think that I was dead?” I laughed, though it was entirely fake, a superficial cheer that I was attempting to drown myself in, using to seek that same infallible contentment. “It’s been like, a day.”

“Grace,” she looked at me, dark eyes sparkled in a lost knowing, in pity, in every emotion but happiness.

“It’s been a week.”

Happy Holidays Miss Knockout

Footnote: Level Up!

Perk Added: Thought you Died: Your Pipbuck logged your death at a mass absence of vital signs.

The Status and General Sections have reset. This has dropped Karma to 0.

+10 health per 100 Karma. +10% damage, +50% resistance to criticals.

You have been all but forgotten, though it’s not like you ever made much of an impression anyway.

So it’s not that bad.

Except you missed out on some really cool shit going down… seriously, it was awesome.

Chapter Christmas: In the Meantime

Fallout Equestria: Sola Gratia

Chapter Christmas: In the Meantime

“I will give unto him that is athirst of the fountain of the water of life, freely.”

The Buckner Tavern made for a decrepit establishment, to be sure. Its walls held ragged tapestries and peeling posters that, more often than not, served to cover up sections of rotted-away wood, and to protect from the cold, thought it was not as if a paper shield had ever done anypony much good. The counter was more likely to leave you splintered than it was to keep you steady, and had softened from decades of swashed cider and the necessary repairs endured after drunken brawls.

The place was no more torn and aged than its owner and bartender, if I were to tell it true. The building was long across to compliment its countered bar, behind which were stacked rows of empty bottles in every color– most cracked, but still labeled to announce a wide variety of inebriants- and a large window to the kitchen, which hadn’t been used to allow the passage of food for more than a century by my guess.

Now, despite its entire right side having collapsed and the biting gusts of night air that came uninvited, my tavern was bearing witness and host to yet another half-minded argument. I had missed a lot of this day’s dramatic happenings, but could see that I would get no reliable explanation tonight, not from this worn collection of survivors, judging from their state of weary mind and weary heart, and from my sales.

“You’ve gotta be kidding! Dey saved our asses!”

“Saved us!? From what exactly?” Rawhide always spoke straight out of his ass, but when his scruffy beard was wetter for cider than for spit, well, that’s when you really had to steer clear of the old bastard. “From mah recollection, train done pulled outta town long before these two little birds came waltzing in asking after their damned Sheep herder!” I had learned to ignore this kind of rabble, and kept my voice well and clear out of the great debate between the drunk and delirious.

“So dem fires just put theyselves out?” Jon was an idiot, plain and simple, but he stood by these new girls with more passion than any other… which didn’t say much for their side of the argument. “An’ all ‘em bleeders? How’d the Doc patch up their holes if t’wasn’t with these darlings’ supplies?”

The girls were awful quite, considering. It was clear enough which was in charge… Hard to believe, but clear. Wasn’t often you seen a mercenary leading the pack, but this black-eyed, brown-eyed mare seemed to have no employer in sight. Maybe that’s who they’d come a’poking around for.

Rawhide wasn’t going to let this die, and I had to admire the newcomer’s wisdom and restraint in sitting quite. Red definitely had experience with rambling alkies, and stayed cool to spite the heat. “How many dead, Jon? How much’ve we lost? You call our asses saved?” The little lavender dove, on the other hoof, looked terrified for all the attention, hostile or otherwise. “We’re dead in the water… whole settlement’s in smoke, not long until the raiders come sniffing ‘round for they scraps.”

“Raiders already come… and gone in one hell of a hurry.” Jon could be dumb as a post, likely was, but this point would still hold up. The merc had done more than you could ever expect from her kind, and the littler girl hadn’t seemed so soft when that monster shotgun at her side was letting itself be heard at the Viper’s heels. The both of them had done quite enough to break the expectations following them.

“We’d be pickings, weren’t for them.”

“That’s a load of bull and you know it. No raider runs from a mare. They saw us men with our knives and eyes burnin’ up for the wreckage we used to call Buckner and turned they tails faster than a shot.”

“It took more’n a couple shots to get ‘em hightailing, from what I saw.” I added. Business would not be quite so smooth had those raiders come, so my stake in the argument had needed planting. “Most of which came from these two.” I tipped the glass, empty save for my cleaning rag, and got the same from Red. The other one had been ignoring her warm milk like someone who knew where it came from, which was fine by me, seeing as I was making no profit due to the ‘tab’ I’d offered them.

You treat the ponies that folks call ‘heroes’ right and it serves well as most any other promotion, and all of the survivors needed something a lot stiffer than Brahmin milk. Lot more profitable, too.

“Aw, whadda you know, Sixsmith?”

“I know that you tend to shut yer braying’ mouth when the watering well begins to sing a tune against yours.” This got a strange kind of giggle from Red, a kind of filly’s sound that took me and the others by great surprise. She covered It up with a draw from her complimentary cider, but we’d heard it well enough. “How ‘bout you just’ let ‘em drink in peace?” I said, before someone could comment on it.

“For free?” Ah, so that was his problem. “While I sit here, a tired old veteran, and pass my last few bits on to a lecherous cider-bully?” What Rawhide had in determination: he wasted on inconsistency, as his mood was running wilder than a Buffalo with something to prove. “Sixsmith… my dear friend, my fellow in this living death we all must make our way through.” He could get pretty filly-sophical too. “Would you have these pretty young smoothskins held high above and over your most loyalest of customers? How could you be so cold? …For damn near a quarter century I’ve drunk beside you.”

“Been drunk beside me, more like.” I pushed him away with the glass that I’d been so long cleaning, accompanied by far too generous a serving of whiskey. The bastard was telling some truth, and in a place as wholly depopulated as Buckner had become today: you had to keep what friends you could.

“How many could you make a count of, Jon? How many are left?”

“Over a dozen… but that’s includin’ Rawhide and a few much too much like him.” The useless, in other words. Not to hold myself above that description. I too had been left behind, after all… along with the dead, dying and decrepit. The Coltilde had killed more than it had taken on, from the corpses I’d seen and still could see out on the street. Dark as it was, fluorescent streetlight made limp silhouettes clear enough.

That wasn’t usual. Slavers were always hungry for the greatest profit they could turn, but from what folks had been saying… from the recountations that I’d been overhearing from behind this counter…

“And what of the stories?” The girls had arrived, true to Rawhides memory, long after that black train had left, and would know of the attack no better than I.

Jon froze up, his eyes staring right through me as answer enough. “Sovereign…” he mouthed.

“Forget it.” I said, as he struggled to form another half-word. “I’ll hear it straight tomorrow, when we’re all a little less shook up.” He nodded, still staring on at the bottle racks behind me as if he’d found some fresh wound through my head to use as a peephole. “I’m cutting you loose now, Jon. We’ll be needing someone with a mind clear as water, come morning’.” The boy had been drinking as much as Rawhide… and that was certainly something to say. “Go on off and get some sleep, alright?”

He nodded again, dumbly as ever, and walked straight out of the bar, moving more like a dead man than any ghoul or mythical Sovereign soldier, exciting by way of freshly broken wall rather than doorway.

“Goddesses’ sakes…” I almost asked the mercenary what she thought of the stories folks had been stammering this bitter night, but thought better of it. The words of frightened survivors were unreliable enough when coming from their own mouths.

“Where were you?” she asked, willing to talk now that the aggression had all but run off. Most of Buckner now sat hunched over in the shadows of my broken bar, disguised as barrels or sacks of sawdust… No, most of Buckner lay bleeding on the street… blood just as dark as they, under moon-bright night clouds, a ceiling of black broken apart in bright scars of starlight. In any case, the praise and contempt for these new coming mares had gone to bed or booze, didn’t really matter what the sky looked like.

“I was here…” For a mercenary, she seemed awful opinionated, and looked at me very harshly, as if waiting for a better explanation. “Knocked cold in a little dispute over some passer-by’s tab… big ol’ buck smashed a bottle of whiskey over my head… to make it worse, the damn thing was full as full ever is.” She smiled at this, becoming a pretty little girl again. “He and his party are probably dead or taken now.”

“Sounds like you got lucky.” Her friend murmured something at this, but I couldn’t make it out. Her face was now buried within crossed arms atop the counter, a pose much familiar to me, though not so much due to warm milk. “Right.” She was apparently used to whatever muffled opinion had been expressed.

“Don’t mind me saying, but you two make for a strange couple if ever I’s seen one.” I could almost feel the little dove blushing, as if she had warmed the very woodwork of the bar. She stayed bundled up in herself, though, and Red was left to talk things over alone, as must have been common.

“Yeah, well, there isn’t much usual to the folks you’ll meet in bars.” It wasn’t rare for mercenaries to offer their services in places like this, and from Red’s demeanor I could tell that this had been more than true to her. “But…” she shot a sly, sideways glance at the mess of lavender. “We’re very happy together.”

At this, a little bit of a panic was being taken part in somewhere beneath the thick mane. I wondered why the girl wouldn’t want their relationship to be out in the open to the likes of me. Their kind wouldn’t find much protest to that lifestyle here… unless one of those overzealous religious types had come around.

“You certainly make a pretty couple.” I offered, with no intent. It had been years since I’d last chased after mares, decades even, but there had once been a time when the pair of them would have given me a few lofty ambitions. “Too pretty to be involved in this sort of business… what’re you doing in such a place?”

“We were looking for someone, but we started following that train soon as it left the Middle Passage.” Her marefriend straightened up in interest, and returned to milking her milk as she listened. “From what little I’ve heard here: I figure we ought to follow them… seems their especially interested in unicorns.”

“Sovereign… I think that’s what ol’ Jon was calling them.” I nodded, noting the stark absence of my usual horned customers. “But I wouldn’t believe anything I heard told tonight… I can’t believe it.”

“I hear you.” She bumped her glass against mine, though I had only been cleaning it. I realized that the mare was a little drunk, not to extents that I was used to, and certainly to no great length when compared to the town’s survivors, but tipsy all the same. Perhaps this had softened her up from the usual, more professional mercenary attitude to informally introduced bartenders and their questions.

Now that I was really looking at her, I could see the roses that had blossomed beneath her cheeks, and the slight lilt of head and hair that came from both exhaustion and inebriation. She wore a scrappy blue police hat, tilted back out of place until its lip seemed to be rising from the bed of fire that was her mane. She was pretty, if damaged, and I felt something forgotten stirring in my belly as I watched her smile.

“I…” I had always been made stupid by the attentions of a drunken mare, with all their friendliness and familiarity left out in a haze of whiskey… though it had certainly been a while since it had affected me so. “I didn’t catch your name… either of your names.” Something about the vulnerability of such a mare, I think, paired with my guilt as the cause of their state, left me feeling… responsible.

“Well, it’ll be good to meet you at last, Sixsmith. I’m Caliber and this fine example of the Goddess’ perfect design is Ash Ascella of Caeli’ Velum.” The smaller mare seemed awful embarrassed, and, all the same, pleased that her challenging name had been so well pronounced.

That nostalgic, sickly feeling left me, as I shook away the cloud of memories from my younger, wilder days. These mares had each other, very surely, and for once I could serve drinks without a mite of concern, except for the cost to myself… this Ascella made for a shining pillar of sobriety that even the most dangerously drunk could lean on, if only to remain upright. Red would not be needing my help to get herself bedded, which was a responsibility that, to be honest, I was quite happy to avoid.

“Hold on… Ash Ascella of Caeli’ Velum… that sounds like a Faith name.” Which would explain the milk. “You one of Cyrus’?” The buck wasn’t one to preach any kind of bigotry and discrimination, but it was strange to think that one of his flock could have gone so far as to run off eloping with a mercenary.

“Yes,” She looked me straight in the eye for what might have been the first time. “How did you know him?”

“Oh…” I said, recognizing the meaning behind her question. “That there’s funeral talk… what happened?” She plucked up tight, and just gave me a sad shake of the head in answer. “Sorry to hear of it anyways. He and I got to know one another during the Great Tribe War, after we’d gotten sallied up with some southron ghoul… Canterlot, by the looks of him, aside from the lack of Cloud leaks.”

“Let me guess: you fought on the side of one Uzmat Machk…” Red smiled, taking uncommon enjoyment in having deduced that. I had to wonder if she hadn’t earned that police hat.

“Eeyup, but we all went along our separate roads after the Zebras and Vipers had scurried off to their respectin’ hideaways.”

“It is good to have met you, sir.” The dove chirped up, perhaps realizing that we shared some common ground, after all. “Cyrus spoke of the tribe war, but he never told us that the Zebras were involved.”

“Oh yeah, everyone had thrown their hat in by the end. But when old blue-eyes paired us railway towns up with the Buffalo, well, things got a whole lot easier. Those grueling battles of the early days made way for long chases across the golden straits, and we gave those Zebra a solid boot at the flank, sent ‘em cantering out of the Plain like a bankrupted drunk from a saloon.”

It was good to have their shared attentions on me, reminded me of my first few years behind the counter, when ponies would come for both my cider and my stories, when they still saw me as a kind of hero in some respects. The rest had all wandered off, so most of the glory had fallen into my hooves, along with all the caps that glory’s worth, if only because I chose to stay local.

“If you’ve met Machk, then you ought to know that he’s got the run of the Buffalo tribe combine now, and if you’re one of Cyrus’ then you must have seen the lake house up North.” They both nodded, bobbing their heads together for both the warrior and the preacher, interestingly. As if they had been together long enough to have visited both the migrant tribe and the northern shores. “But blue-eyes, the ghoul Damascus, walked a strange path, indeed.”

“To the Middle Passage… What’s so strange about that?”

“This was many years ago, Red, and our understanding of the term ‘many years ago’ might vary greatly.” I offered to refill the merc’s glass, but she waved me away. Ascella accepted some more milk, though. “Two decades, longer even, if my count is still good.”

“But Hell was empty only a couple of years ago.” She argued, as if this trumped my personal recollection.

“How could it have been empty before your Damascus got there? I thought this place was a town?” The pilgrim made a fair point, no northern settlement sprung up that fast, not even if that old pioneer was involved… But I could tell Red did not like the line of questioning that she had just laid herself open to, not one bit. I’d never heard of any Hell or town in the Middle Passage, and, call me sympathetic; I still felt I had a responsibility to save this mare from the pitfalls that my cider may well send her stumbling into.

“I don’t take much mind about this Hell that you’re telling of. All’s I know, and I know it well, is that Damascus went north after his little war was done.” This truth served well enough to draw their attention back to me, and for it I got the rosy-cheeked image of gratitude.

“With Cyrus?”

“Nu-uh,” I shook my head. “With the Zebras.”

------------------------------------------

That bombshell set the girls silent from then on, which was a good thing seeing as my answers had just about run out alongside their questions. I couldn’t tell you whether old Damascus had painted himself black and white and started making the Zionists call him ‘Decurion’, or if he’d simply decided to start walking until the soil became sand and the always-sun drove everyone under it to the refuge of open palaces and palm leaves held by pretty, striped, dancing girls.

They mopped up their last drinks and said that they needed to be going, and I wasn’t foolish enough to believe that my words, or even the crummy atmosphere of broken walls and broken drunks that had fallen over my bar, were the reason why. Red was looking for somepony, and I honestly couldn’t tell if she was under contract to kill them or take orders from them. Either way, they were sure as shit going to be found.

Her little friend was a lot easier to understand, what with Cyrus dead. I wouldn’t have been surprised to know that all his fledgling flock had been spread across the wasteland, like baby birds caught up in a storm, and would have now have to latch on to whatever provider they could find.

Say all you want in the way of praise for the pilgrims: It doesn’t change the fact that they are easily lost. I’d never seen anyone break apart as bad as a religious type caught in the throes of a crisis of faith, not even the most quarrelsome drunkard or beaten down mare. They held what they had high, so were left dejected and scarred after losing it. Not like us regular folk, who got ourselves high to forget all the rest.

A part of me hoped that Red was using her for better things than you’d first assume, and would be making more of her than a warm body to abuse in the dark of night. They seemed happy enough in each other, and I was surprised to find myself believing that it was real: That they were together in something like love rather than lust or lucrative, contractual agreement. A part of me didn’t want to see them go.

But they did, and I found some relief in knowing that there’d been no bill for them to pay here, that I had showed them a small part of what gratitude Buckner owed. It wasn’t much, but neither were we.

“I’m taking a walk.” I called out to drooping ears. “Don’t any of you animals come climbing behind the counter!” The usual act wasn’t doing much to rouse their spirits, and I was sure – for maybe the first time in my life – that my bottles and bits would remain untouched in their guardian’s absence.

“But…” I added, the scraps of an idea forming in my head. “Milk the tap for all its worth, won’t ya?”

This drew one buck’s attention, at least. “Sixsmith?” Rawhide slurred. “Sixsmith, you’ve finally gone and grown yourself a heart! Oh, what magic is at work here in the carcass of Buckner, what wonders there are to be seen!” Whether the old ghoul was being sarcastic or serious, I’d never know.

“Don’t get too excited there, Skinfree.” These dredges had finally got to their hooves, already stumbling over to the bar for their fair share of the cider. “I’m fixing to make this the Buckner Tavern’s closing sale, 100% off of everything that we can’t take with us.” Some turned, slowly coming to terms with what I was meaning. “We’re packing up shop, boys! So grab all that you can carry… but, in return for this generosity, could you keep your filthy hooves off of my cashier, and try not to break the colored bottles?”

I could only hope that they’d listen, and so I hurried out into the night to rally up the other survivors.

We weren’t going to sit around and rot while the towns ahead were left in the same mess, and so, call it the guilt-fueled, mad ambition of an ageing bartender; we would be leaving Buckner on this very night.

This train would leave a trail of broken homes and thirsty ponies behind and, for once, I wanted to follow the thirst to some advantage that wasn’t all my own. This Sovereign was news to me, and I’d still have to find some reliable recounting of them, but damn them if they didn’t drive ponies to drink.

“Jon!: I called out, my voice breaking the eerie peace of fire and snow and blackness.

“Get over here, boy!” The pale buck emerged, rubbing his eyes like a freshly wakened colt, from the husk of his former home. “There’s been a change of plans.”

I sent the youth off to gather all who had the misfortune of surviving this night sober, those over-encumbered family mares and crippled caravaneers who could only curse their bad timing and luck. Today had not been a day for the loved or beloving, and those who had more to care for than themselves were more than likely loath to have survived it, and would do little but mourn in these skeletal houses. Whether it be a well-broken Brahmin set loose to the winter winds or a curious child left bloodied in the snow, their losses had stayed their hooves… not any fondness or love for Buckner.

It was not my place to offer a young mother, blanketed foal in hoof, a flagon of even the finest whiskey, and it wasn’t likely that they would take the offer as anything but some attempt at a new promotion. To be fair, I had ridden my lust for gold and luxury with pride and perseverance, thinking all the while that past triumphs and heroism made me deserving of this one indulgence.

Now, as violence and death crept back into my life, it was time to stow away the vice of these later years, and bear the sins of the past instead. A hard hoof turned from beating the bits out of these few, sordid characters, to driving us all on from Buckner.

A few motley groups were beginning to congregate along the rail, all avoiding whichever corpses they had known best to stand beside the snow-laced carcasses of strangers. Jon ran in a flurry of white, disappearing in and amidst the shivering few, until all fractured houses had been investigated.

I didn’t bother taking count, as I couldn’t have kept track of all these foreign faces. If only someone had told me that most of my regulars were going to be massacred in the passing of that black train, maybe then I would have made more of an effort to build more bridges than I had burned.

Now, angry housewives and fatherless children stared at me. The mothers wore nothing but contempt on their blemished faces. They knew me as the buck who had stolen their husbands away, a sower of destruction upon the value of family spirit to rival even Buckner’s mares of the night. I was at least consistent; those red-light strumpets could leave a man halfway to Calvary before his wallet ran dry, while I would always kick them to the same patch of snow come morning… or dirt, depending on the season.

Every father came stumbling back home after indulging in my services, eventually, but the same couldn’t be said for those who’d been seduced into the clutches of Cherry Cola and her girls. They could change a buck; make the very pillar of responsibility and maturity become young and stupid again. I had to wonder if any of them were still alive, as I would take any familiar face over these scowling strangers, no matter how dressed up in make-up and fake, seductive smiles.

“I think that’s all of them.” Jon said, suddenly appearing beside me. The kid could be quick as a whip, while remaining dumb as a post all the while. To say that he was a whipping post might not be taken all that well, though… Especially considering what the Slavers had done. “Exceptin’ the bar bucks.”

“I’ll handle them.” There was a moment when I considered exempting what I wanted to say next, but decided that now was not the time to hold myself back in any regard. “Help me, Jon. My eyes aren’t as sharp as they used to be… it’s difficult for me to see in this light.” The young buck peered around, already looking for someone that I hadn’t yet named. “Did’you count Cherry Cola with the dead?”

“You should be so lucky.” I was getting snuck up on a little too often for me to like tonight. Her voice was older than she, her body younger, leaving only that gray-streaked wilderness of dark red mane to set a marker anywhere near her real age. “I hear you’re responsible for this morning’s excursion… would you like to tell me what the hell you’re thinkin’, Sixsmith?” She didn’t sound angry, she never did, but I was made tense as she circle me, brushing me by with her hogtied mane and pear-shaped flanks.

“This Sovereign business won’t stop here.” I explained, my eyes still locked on the stagger of bucks who brought my finest stores out in a few, roughly patched-up crates… An open tap certainly inspired loyalty.

“Since when do you care about any other business but your own?” She purred, sidling up to watch the same sorry scene that I did. “Don’t tell me that Rawhide finally got it right.”

“If you sift through enough of his shit, you’re bound to find some gold.” I could speak from experience, having listened to the bastard ghoul ramble around his stories, which were mostly made-up right off the bat. “We ought to rally all the survivors along the rail, start making our way to New Calvary.”

“Why do you expect any of this pious rabble to follow you.” She kept close, which I wouldn’t complain about given the cold. I’d have paid for this kind of treatment most other nights, after all. “They hate us, Sweetie. We’re the reason that they last saw their bucks smiling wide and singing in some gutter just yesterday morning. Hell, we might just be the reason that Buckner couldn’t stand on its legs and fight.”

“I’m not going to ask ‘em their opinion.” I walked over to my stockade of inebriants, well aware that it could not be trusted in the hooves of such boozehounds for long. They were satisfied now, thanks to my wholesale giveaway of the tap cider, but it wouldn’t be long before they were chomping at the bit for just another hit. “Me and my bar are leaving!” I yelled, drawing from the fires in their sullen eyes. “And, if things go our way, I figure we’ll get a fresh start down in the big, black city. Start up the first New Calvary branch of our very own Buckner Tavern, and drink those rats right back under their tables.”

There were some cheers from the only ponies capable of cheering at a time like this, but the little congregations remained quiet, but for a few wailing babes and sobbing widows. Sovereign had killed all the men, who’d resisted, and taken most of the younger girls, but the demographics here still seemed odd to me. It was as if their kills had been made off-hoof, as they gunned down anything in their way… or did whatever it was that these legendary soldiers did. The only corpses were out along the rails, and yet every single building had been put to flame. They’d done a better job of displacing us than destroying us.

“The rest of the towns along this rail are going to get hit just as hard as we did, and I’m thinking we’ll be better off together.” Cherry Cola still stood at my side, which was probably not doing much to win the more peevish listeners over. “I’m walking to New Calvary, and I’ll take anypony who chooses to follow: Be it because they want to help, or even if they’re just hoping to get a free drink along the way.”

“Like you’re so noble!” cried one of those damned widows. I couldn’t fault them for being a little bitter, but there was no reason to go dragging my good name through the mud like that.

“There are ponies out there who could benefit from a drink even more than you, Ma’am.” I waved her off, and led my sorry trail of alkies along the rail, like some red-eyed lion’s pride whose queen was a whore and whose king was a washed-up old war hero. “Who’s to say I’m not just lookin’ to make a profit out there in the big ol’ broken world.” This brought them to a hush. As far as I’m concerned: There’s nothing worse than false modesty… except for false airs of nobility. “Now, you can either stay here and die with Buckner, or tag along for this pilgrimage of prostitutes and pugilists… It’s no skin off my back.”

Somehow, I knew they would follow. It seemed the old days had left me with more than a hunger for bits and an impressive display of battle scars. Who knows? Maybe, some of Damascus’ ability to inspire loyalty had rubbed off on me, or maybe ponies just got a lot easier to steer during hard times, and buck’s like us were just lucky enough to end up holding the reins. “Jon,” I called the boy to attention. “Keep an eye on my stock, would’ya? And you might as well make sure no one’s left passed out in the snow… while you’re at it.” He ran off, saluting me into a role of command.

“Would you look at that… It’s like the Tribe War all over again.” Cherry laughed.

“I think things might be much worse than that.”

“Oh come on, Sweetie, don’t you get all grim with me. If I’m going to get caught up in this mess again, then I’m hoping it’s with the same lion-maned buck I saddled up with the last time.” She drew in close, which I was glad for. It seemed we were both starting to feel the stirrings of our younger days. “You were always a lot more fun than those other boys… Cyrus wouldn’t touch a mare who hadn’t been thoroughly dipped in holy water, and old Machk daddy treated ponies fair enough… but wasn’t so inclined to us, if you take my meaning.” I certainly did. “You know… I even went after that fella Damascus once.”

“That couldn’t have ended well.” I chuckled, hanging back to let my eyes explore a little.

“I could tell that he was more open to… sins of the flesh, shall we say.” We shall, I thought, still exploring. “But he apparently had a real special girl out West, ‘neath the capital if the rumors were anything to go by.” They usually weren’t. “It’s a pity: He wasn’t bad, for a ghoul… not bad at all.”

“You always had a thing for the strong, skinless type.”

Speaking of which… “Why, Hello there! My dearest friend.” The ghoul slurred. It was good to know that Rawhide could still stay on his hooves, seeing as he served as a standard for the ‘Worst Case Scenario’. “Me and some of th’ boys were talking, and… well, there are some awful disheartened souls back there.”

I had stubbornly kept to staring straight along the rails, except when leering in the pursuit of newly fed fires, or glancing at shadows that moved between the falls of feather-like snow. “Those crates are staying closed until we reach the next town over, unless you’re willing to pay the transit tax.” I winked at Cherry. “It’s national law that the mobile sale of alcohol is done at an astounding mark up of prices! It’s shocking really, and as a honest Bartender I can’t say that I endorse it… but, the law is the law.”

“Never mind the drinks, Sixsmith.” I’d say the whiskey was getting to him, but it had already gotten to him a long time ago, and had stayed put ever since. “We need something other than spirits to rouse these spirits... I’s seen you and Cherry hitting it off up here, and… well, me and the older folks were wondering if you’d do one of them songs you used to do so well… Y’know, back when the Buckner Tavern and the Buckner Brothel was all snugly fit up into the Buckner Saloon.”

Some of the much older folks if it was told true. Those were the days right after the Great Tribe War, when all my bits and battle scars could keep me neck-high in Cherry Cola for all the hours I could possibly wish for, and the customers only paid for a little cider to go along with my stories: To wash ‘em down, as it were. “Oooh!” she squealed. “Oh, we just gotta do one for the boys, Sweetie. We just gotta!”

Call it an old veterans attempt to take himself back to the glory days, or even just another rolled dice in the mating game, but I signed myself up without even a stutter. “Fairytale of New Calvary?”

“Seems only appropriate…. And I’m sure the foals will love it.” She nodded, smiling like a fresh-faced filly who’d just bussed herself out to that two-faced city, and now spun in circles with stars and streetlights dancing in her eyes. “Get the old-timers to hum us in, won’t you Rawhide?”

The loyal old bastard ran off to gather our chorus of the drunk and disorderly, and we could soon here the beautiful cacophony of deaf tones and lost rhythms rising all around us.

And then, for the first time in decades, I started to sing.

T’was Hearth’s Warming Eve, babe

In the drunk tank

An old man said to me: won’t see another one

And then he sang a song

The Rare Old Mountain Dew

I turned my face away

and dreamed about you

Got on a lucky one

Came in eighteen to one

I’ve got a feeling

This year’s for me and you

So happy fire’s light

I love you baby

I can see a better time

When all our dreams come true

We could do nothing but sing the next few bars of music, but the rises of haggard, torn voices couple with a few sweeter singers further back, made instruments seem crude and cold in comparison.

I looked back to make absolutely certain, but surely enough, all the widows had not only followed me, but were joining us in our butchering of the greatest winter’s carol ever written.

Then Cherry, young and happy and free again, took up the lead.

They’ve got cars big as bars

They’ve got a river of gold

But the wind goes right through you

It’s no place for the old

When you first took my hoof

On that Hearth’s Warming Eve

You promised a new day was waiting for me

You were handsome

You were pretty

Queen of that black city

When the band finished playing they howled out for more

Ol’ Sapphire was swinging

All the drunks they were singing

We kissed on a corner then danced through the night

The boys of the NCPD choir

Still singing “Stolen Bay”

And the bells were ringing out

For brighter days

Cherry and I swerved through our motley lion’s pride, skipping and swaying in the snow, and passing nothing but smiling faces as we all waited for a return of that world-ending chorus.

Although, and I think she’d say the same, this part of the song was our favorite to sing together.

You’re a bum

You’re a punk

You’re an old slut on junk

Lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed

You scumbag, you maggot

You cheap lousy faggot

Heart’s Warming, your arse

I pray God it’s our last

Again, our voices joined by all of Buckner, we sang the very last thing that every drunk forgot.

The boys of the NCPD choir

Still singing “Stolen Bay”

And the bells were ringing out

For brighter days

I could have been someone

Well so could anyone

You took my dreams from me

When I first found you

I kept them with me babe

I put them with my own

Can’t make it all alone

I’ve built my dreams around you

I had loved her then, and as we came together from across the rabble of somehow joyous survivors, I knew that I loved Cherry Cola again. Red had reminded me of her, just like every other broken and beautiful mare that had come and gone over the last few decades, never filling this void. Now, thanks to all the death and fire and ruin behind us, we had finally found each other. There would be no Buckner Tavern in New Calvary… but the Buckner Saloon would be getting one hell of a grand opening.

The boys of the NCPD choir

Still singing “Stolen Bay”

And the bells were ringing out

For brighter days

Buckner sang on into the night, even though we had already run out of words.

Fallout Equestria: Sola Gratia

by AwesomeOemosewA

Chapters

Chapter 1: Where the Light Is

Chapter 2: Grace is Gone

Chapter 3: Road to Damascus

Chapter 4: Night Train

Chapter 5: Ashes

Chapter 6: Radio Nowhere

Chapter 7: Gravedigger

Chapter 8: Where is my Mind?

Chapter 9: Video Killed the Radio Star

Chapter 10: Lullaby for my Favorite Insomniac

Chapter 11: Ghosts of the Garden City

Chapter 12: Peach, Plum, Pear

Chapter 13: Fix You

Chapter 14: Rivers and Roads

Chapter 15: Knitting Something Nice for You

Chapter 16: Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend

Chapter 17: Jack and Diane

Chapter 18: When Doves Cry

Chapter 19: Headlights Look Like Diamonds

Chapter 20: Castles Made of Sand

Chapter 21: For What It's Worth

Chapter Christmas: In the Meantime

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