Stabby McKnife ventured deeper into the town, cautiously scanning from left to right with every step she took. She usually wouldn’t enter an urban area but the place seemed abandoned and her supplies were running dangerously low. As such, the sea of houses and businesses were a very enticing offer.

Still, towns were dangerous, inviting all sorts of ponies to turn them into their base of operations. Mercenary companies, cannibals, ghouls, and raiders. All the worst kinds of ponies imaginable. She should know, she used to be a raider and guess what? They had made their base in a fucking town.

It had been a really nice joint: an old elementary school done up in a traditional raider décor. Lots of jagged metal, flaming barrels, and an abundance of blood and viscera. Too bad the place was taken out by the raiders’ one natural enemy. That being TB, cholera, and every STI imaginable. Turns out that bathing in the blood of the innocent was not the brightest idea in this disease-ridden wasteland. Especially when your décor was prone to leave all kinds of nicks and cuts.

She shoved such thoughts aside as she turned a corner and saw exactly what she was looking for. It was a main street, littered with only partially ransacked and broken-down storefronts. A hardware store and gun depot faced various clothing boutiques and, most importantly, a big fat supermarket.

It was a looter’s wet dream.

Before drool could even stain her barding, she heard a gun noisily cock to her right.

Shit.

She leapt through the air, diving for cover behind a blue mailbox. Thunder then cracked and a cascade of shrapnel and debris peppered her cover. It was like a fragmentation mine had just gone off. Stabby thanked whatever deities were out there that the box held against the furious torrent of destruction.

What the fuck kind of gun did that?! That was more like a godsdamn fucking cannon.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” a feminine voice growled. “It looks like some raider scum.”

Stabby pulled out her revolver and checked the chambers. They were all loaded.

“I’m just a traveller coming through,” Stabby said, hoping her voice didn’t come off as too desperate.

“You look more like a looter looking to make a quick buck.”

“Nobody owns this godsdamn town, so what do you care?”

The pony laughed. “You’re wrong. This here town is property of the United Communes of Western Appleloosa.”

“Says who and what army?”

“Me and the Appleloosan Army.”

Stabby blinked. “Appleloosa is like… six hundred kilometres away.”

“And her reach is far.”

“Bullshit.”

The pony approached, her hooves clacking against the asphalt. “Are you really going to argue with the mare who has a gun. Now are you?”

Stabby chuckled. “It’s the wasteland, sweetheart. We all have guns.” She paused. “By the way, what the fuck did you shoot at me with?”

She reached up with a hoof and fired off a blindshot. It must’ve missed by a mile but the pony still dove for cover, cussing under her breath.

“A blunderbuss,” she growled.

“Where the hell did you get a blunderbuss?”

“Made it.”

“That’s actually…” Stabby chuckled, “kind of impressive. Not gonna lie.”

“Why thank you. My papa was a gunsmith.”

Stabby nodded. “No shit? So was mine.”

“Raider or…”

“Oh no, we were toats raiders. He, uh… was a very troubled parental figure growing up. Addicted to morphine, wasn’t a pretty sight.”

“I could imagine.” She sighed. “My condolences.”

“Well they’re appreciated.” Stabby fired off another blindshot. “Though, I do have one question.”

“What’s that?” the mare asked, her voice strained.

“Don’t blunderbusses only hold a single round?”

“And one hell of a round at that.”

“No argument there.” Stabby grinned as she chambered a fresh round. “But don’t they also take like… five minutes to reload?”

A pause, then a faint…

“Oh shit.”

I really need to write a full lengthened series of Stabby McKnife, maybe I'll use the FOE contest as a chance to do just that.

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