I stopped outside the school a few minutes before the foals were let out. They gave me a bit of time to talk with Rusty and Bronze, whom had fortunately not gone off to get drunk before returning to their part-time work. They were glad to hear that Slowtrot and Harp had gotten some work helping the Gunrunners. Rusty stated that, if Harp was interested, she could still teach her how to pole dance.

It was an option, but one that came with risks, mainly getting the attention of some bad ponies, of which Cloudy already had in spades.

The foals burst out of the schoolhouse, our own more than happy to see us.

It was good to see Bronze trying to be the mother I knew she was. I just wished I could help them more than I already had, but it was up to Bronze alone to be a mother.

Bridget fluttered to me, her little wings only just lifting her off the ground. It helped her climb onto my back.

"So what did you learn today?" I asked my darling filly.

"It was more reading, but this time about how the Lightbringer brought justice to the land!" Bridget said excitedly.

I waved at the others as I trotted away with my filly on my back. "Oh, and how did she do this?"

"Well, there was how she brought the scoundrel Montary Jack to justice. She stopped him from further robbing ponies from the shadows. Then there was the, the time she led the purging of Arbue from the cannibalistic mutant ponies!" Bridget was practically shaking as she gushed.

I decided to play along, knowing that the Lightbringer Foundation had taken some liberties with the story, making it easy for foals.

Though I didn't completely trust the official story about the Lightbringer, with how it was written by ponies who helped found the NCR, of which she is the founding hero. "She's a big old hero. She even fought off steel rangers, from what I read.

"Ya real tall, like a head bigger than mama, and wielded the Big Iron that blew through monsters," she continued to gush.

I was sure that the Lightbringer was likely not that tall. The book did say her name was Littlepip, unless she was unfortunately misnamed.

After a few more minutes, we reached a little plot of land just outside of town. It was a pseudo dumping ground and shooting range. It had a tall mound of dirt covered in broken glass and metal scrap.

Bridget looked at me a bit confused as she jumped off me.

"Alright darling, I got a gift for you,” I announced to her. “It's from Auinty Javelina."

Her eyes lit up as I pulled out the silenced .22 pistol and passed it to her.

"Wow! Do I get to shoot it?!"

I nodded. She skipped in the air, turned to the dirt mound, and then *click*

"what? Its empty." she complained.

I rolled my eyes at how much my daughter was acting like I used to.

"You know how grandma doesn't want me to give you a loaded gun… well, a gun in general. Also, you act too much like me, so I knew you would just run off and start shooting."

I pulled out one of the magazines from my saddlebag, and pushed out all but one bullet into one of my pockets. "So, I'll let you fire off a few shots, but you must follow gun safety first. Alright?"

"Alright." She sounded a bit disappointed.

"Well first, what does Grampa Hardballer say about gun safety?" I asked.

Bridget straightened up, then pointed the pistol down while remembering the drills she saw her older cousin go through with the Gunrunners. "Guns aren't safe,” she recited. “Guns are always loaded. Never put your talon on the trigger unless you’re ready to fire." She smirked. "Also keep a bullet in the chamber in case you don't have the time to load a magazine."

I frowned. "No, that's keeping yourself safe with a gun… but true."

I passed her the magazine. She waited until I gave her the go-ahead, then proceeded to fumble for several seconds trying to load the pistol. After that, she struggled to cock it. When it was ready, I again gave her a nod. She aimed it at the dirt mound.

*pop*

The pistol didn't sound powerful or looked like much when fired, but I knew it was deadly nonetheless.

Mom didn't like the idea of her using a gun, and frankly, I was a bit worried that she could hurt herself, but I was more worried some pony might hurt her. Already seen too many dead foals in my life to know how easy it is for one to die. Foals that can't defend themselves tend to die more often.

I passed Bridget a bullet. She loaded it into her empty magazine, pushed it back into the gun, cocked it, then fired with another pop. It was slow and tedious, but Hardballer had told me this method made sure that a foal didn't get reckless with a gun, thus forcing them to take more care when using it. It also helped them with the basic motions of loading. He had raised three kids, so I was not going to question his method. It also helped prevent this outing from lasting less than a minute.

The slow target practice went on for a while. During that time, Bridget told me about her day at school in between shots which included how some of the other big kids tried to pick on Copper, but she scared them off, likely because of her griffon talons. Since she had natural weapons, most ponies instinctively avoided getting into a brawl with a griffon because it’s like fighting somepony who wields eight knives.

Still, it was good to know she didn't take their shit and even protected her friends. She makes me proud!

Once the last bullet from the second magazine was fired, I put the pistol away.

"Say Bridget, you want to see grandpa Hardballer?" I offer.

"Oh yes! I do, I do!" she excitedly squealed, jumping onto my back again before I told her to. Since the outskirts around the compound were dangerous, I never liked the Idea of letting her trot around there, accordingly; she got to ride on my back while there.

Leaving the shooting range, I unfortunately caught the sight of Deputy Stopped Clock coming the other way. The old unicorn tipped his hat at me as he said, "Gu'day, Miss Star. Not teaching your daughter any bad habits, are you?"

"My word, never at this hour." I hid my annoyance under my sarcasm. "Just having her practice shooting a pistol. Better she knows how to, but never need to rather than need to, but not know how to.”

“So what brings you out here Deputy?" I asked.

"Just doing my rounds and making sure known troublemakers are not making trouble," he said, not even hiding his mistrust of me.

I knew he was baiting for an argument, to have a reason to throw me in a cell for the night. But with Bridget here, I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. Even without Bridget on my back, I couldn't afford to miss work.

"Well, fortunately, no troublemakers seem to be about, but if you do see any, let me know so that I could avoid them." I said in my best fake friendly tone I could muster.

"Then avoid those two stable ponies," Stopped Clock said quietly. "They seemed to have, in a single day, upset several important ponies, so it's best if you just let the wasteland deal with them. You can go ahead and get back to riding that-"

"Ahem!" I interrupted Stopped before he could mention my night work in front of my daughter. "I'll take note of your concerns, but I'm sure everything is just being overly exaggerated. They did only just woke up.”

“Anyways, we must be heading off, so have a good day. Watch out for rad-scorpions now." I said, waving him goodby.

Making my way pasted the deputy, I shot him a dirty look, then moved on. If I ever get the chance, I'll make him pay for constantly pushing my buttons.

The trip through town went quickly enough. The crowds were a little less dense today. The ponies in the slums were extra careful to not piss me off when my daughter was with me. I would never do anything violent in front of Bridget, but that would not stop me from visiting some asshole in the middle of the night and breaking a leg.

Unfortunately, I couldn't do that to the sheriff or her deputies, which was a shame, as by Celestia, they have been asking for a good hoof buck to their flanks.

Upon returning to the Gunrunners compound, I saw something a bit rare, Hardballer sitting at the guest table and sharing a drink of whiskey with some unicorn mare. It being the green mare with the back robo legs.

On the table was Slowtrot's pistol, and next to it was several similar gun parts and a notebook.

"Grampa!" Bridget shouted as she jumped off my back and galloped to the old griffin and hugged his hind leg.

"Well, if it isn't my .357 special little girl," he said as he picked Bridget up and placed her on his lap. "You’re as cute as ever."

I trotted over to them, not interrupting my daughter’s time with her grandfather. Instead, I inspected the older mare.

The mare was quite distinguished-looking. She was clearly a mare with a lot of caps, though she didn't loudly telegraph it. Despite this, I could tell with how new her duster looked and how clean her cowpony hat was, both were clearly custom made for her with how well they fit her. That was something no common pony could get.

Clothes aside, she also had cyber legs which was something a normal pony could never afford to get, even if they did look like scrap built.

But most importantly, when she glanced at me, she unmistakably had the look of a professional killer. The kind of look veteran mercenaries tended to have.

"I guess you've never had the chance to meet her Star." Hardballer addressed me, sounding happier than he normally was. "This is an old acquaintance of mine, Percussion Cap. I repaired her guns all the time back in Fillydelphia.”

“Miss Cap, this here is Star Charter, the mother of my adorable granddaughter." Hardballer introduced me.

"She is quite an interesting looking filly. Pink like her father, but she’s got her mother's face… but those horns, that is a new one." Percussion Cap commentated, then took a sip of her whiskey. "Are they made of gold?"

"Never cared to check," I answered the mare before looking over at Hardballer "Is this a bad time?"

Hardballer chuckled. "It's never a bad time to have Bridget here."

This got a quiet chuckle from Percussion Cap. "You really have softened up over the years, ya old buzzard. It's hard to imagine that the balding and angry griffin from Fillydelphia is the same one in front of me."

"Times changed." Hardballer took a sip of whisky. "And I just finally learned to live without her, that's all."

Percussion lifted her glass. "To those we miss."

Hardballer lifted his glass. They clinked before taking a sip.

"So you're still with that weird stallion,” Hardballer asked Percussion. “I'd figured ya had dropped him for some grizzled veteran."

A long sigh came from PC before she admitted, "Truthfully, I still don't know why I chose him, but I did, and that's that.”

“Actually, half the reason for coming all the way out here was to get away from him and the kids, but now I'm itching to get on back home. I'd forgotten how much the townies here are…" Hardballer loudly cleared his throat to interrupt her. The mare rolled her eyes before she went on to say, "Well, annoying to be around. The longer I stay, the more I feel like shooting my gun off at them."

"I hear ya.” Hardballer said with a nod.

“Now speaking of guns, Longslide should have finished with yours by now." Hardballer looked a bit irritated, then he looked over at me. "Star, could you be a dear and go check the garage? Longslide had Percussion's guns stored there after cleaning. If that lout has stopped to work on that vehicle of his, give him a good kick for me, would’ja?"

I shrugged. "Alright, though it's a bit odd that he’s slacking. Normally he's too serious."

Hardballer just nodded, and I trotted off into the compound.

Near the back was another building. The only other exit being a garage the Gunrunners built to move larger shipments in and out of the compound. It also happens to be where Longslide was working on his pet project.

The inside of the garage was a dimly lit area with several crates on one end of the wall and a mess of old tools on the other. Off to the side was Longslide's Light Strike Vehicle. It was an odd-looking auto wagon made from steel tubes. It could fit four ponies; one being the driver in the front, two passengers behind the driver, and a gunner higher up behind the passengers. The visible arcano engine sat in the back, though it had seen better days. The thing was so covered in rust, it looked ready to turn to dust.

As predicted, Longslide was working on it, but surprisingly Harp and Slowtrot were helping him.

"Alright, give it a boost!" Longslide called out. Harp lifted a hoof at the arcano engine. The thing came to life with a roar. "Now hit the pedal!" Longslide called out again. Slowtrot, who was in the driver's seat, pushed down on the pedal of the vehicle, causing it to move its wheels to spin in place. Fortunately, the vehicle was suspended by several bricks, so it didn't go anywhere, but after a few seconds, the vehicle began puffing out smoke as though it was on fire.

"Alright, stop, stop," Longside instructed.

The vehicles engine shut down, and the wheels slowed down.

Longslide huffed "Thanks, I think I know what’s going wrong. Now, if I can just get my hooves on a better engine . . ."

"Maybe you should first deliver those guns?" I spoke up, getting their attention.

"Star?… oh shit! It completely slipped my mind," Longslide groaned. "Just give me a moment." Pulling himself away from the vehicle, he made his way to a gun safe and pulled out a key from a pocket. Opening the safe was a shit ton of guns from pistols to a big ass anti-material rifle, all perfectly polished. From the safe, Longslide pulled out a gun case then carefully closed and locked it.

“Dad did say to take my time, but I got more than just distracted.” he apologized.

“On that vehicle, so what was wrong with it?” I asked as I trotted with him out of the garage.

“Bad connectors for the spark batteries. They’re leaking magic when the engine is on. So, even if the batteries were fresh, the engine would not be able to draw enough power from them.” He then sighed. “So, basically, all the parts I have are too old to work for what I need them for. Those parts weren't meant to last over a hundred years, so it’s a miracle they barely work now.”

Longslide was uncaristicly in a good mood, so I decided not to tease him just yet.

“Well, you made most of that thing from scratch. Why not those parts?” I again asked.

Longslid shook his head. “I’ve tried, but arcano tech engines are not something you can build in a machine shop. They’re not like guns. They got so many moving parts that, if one thing is wrong, it will destroy everything else. Then there's the talismans. Those fucking talismans!”

I cocked an eyebrow. “They need talismans?”

He pulled out a small cracked gemstone that had a magic circle in it. “Chrysalis Motters patented motor carriage spark talismans. When provided with magical power, they cause a small magical explosion. They are the heart of the engines used by most equestrian vehicles. The problem is that they have a tendency to blow up on you if you try and put them in an engine they were not made for. It makes sense if it was compatibility issues, but no. The talismans are the same between different engines. They’re just designed to self destruct if not used in their proper engine."

“So finding new spark talismans must be a bitch,” I said cheerfully.

Longslide groined. “If the bitch thought it was a good idea is still around, I would personally shoot her myself. I mean fuck, forced incompatibility! It’s like making bullets to be used in only one kind of gun and backfiring if not used in that gun.”

We returned to the reception lobby where Hardballer and Percussion Cap were still sharing drinks. Bridget played with the gun parts and compared them to Slowtrots gun, but she was not allowed to touch the gun itself. Hardballer looked over at his eldest son, then pointed down at the table he was sitting at. "So what took so long?"

Trotting over, Longslide placed the gun case down on the table. "Sorry, pops. That new mare, the mirage pony, it turns out she made a perfect stand-in for a spark battery. I couldn't pass up doing a quick engine check for the Smuggler."

"Smuggler? That's what you’re naming it?" I amusingly asked.

"An old Gunrunner tradition," Hardballer spoke up. "Any vehicle that's used for transporting goods is called a smuggler. Though we haven't had a proper smuggler in generations, with the wasteland being as it is."

The old griffin then reached over and unlocked the gun case.

"Now enough about old broken down vehicles,” Hardballer instructed. “On to the more important matters.”

“PC, I made sure your guns were thoroughly cleaned and oiled. One of them needed a new spring, and another a firing pin, but I'll leave that free of charge. Think of it as a loyal customer discount." he said, being uncaristicly charitable.

From the gun case, two revolvers were levitated out by the unicorn mare. The first was a dark brown colored snub-nosed revolver. It, for some reason had a scope. The second looked like what would happen if a revolver and a pistol had a baby, placing the cylinder in front of the trigger and not over the trigger like normal revolvers. Percussion Cap carefully inspected the two revolvers. She loaded them before placing the guns inside her duster. In the short moment, her duster opened up. I saw that the bitch was armed to the teeth with two extra revolvers, several different knives, and four fucking grenades.

"Great job as always,” she commended. “You would never know that they were stuck down the muzzle of a feral ghoul." PC pulled out a metal tin from her jacket. "And this should cover a case of ammo for each."

Hardballer opened up the tin. It was filled with neatly stacked caps. He whistled in an impressed way, then said, "Still amazing how lucrative your business has been. Sometimes makes me think I got into the wrong profession."

"It's been satisfying work, and every creature needs food, so business has been good." PC then sighed. "But I advise avoiding that business unless you have the pony power to keep others out."

Closing the tin of caps, Hardballer passed it to Longslide who then trotted off to his desk.

"Raiders . . . they can't be that big of a problem for you?" Hardballer asked PC.

PC rolled her eyes. "If only it was still raiders or feral ghouls. Since the sunshine rainbows, other ponies have been having an easier time starting their own farms, mainly those with NCR protection. Unfortunately, most of them are shit at farming and see the best way to succeed is to just push out their competition."

"Wait! I thought you didn't sell to the NCR?" Hardballer asked.

"I don't. Not to the NCR, not to the Steel rangers, and not to the Enclave remnants," PC explained. "The problem is that these pseudo farmers want me to sell to them so that they can sell my crop to those groups. I told ‘em to make tacks or I'd put ‘em in a hole. Now they've been going after my customers, so I've been forced to sell my crop further out in the wasteland. Jokes on them. I just sold most of my stock here, so no pony is going to want their shitty corn during that festival."

"So that was your corn!" I blurted out as Longslide placed two ammo crates next to the table. "Saved me a lot of caps with how cheap the prices were. A lot of ponies were eating hardy right now because of you."

"A lot of ponies are dead because of her," the distinctive voice of Ashy caught our attention, The sheriff stood at the door with a sour look on her face. "Executioner Red, how many did you kill for Redeye?"

PC cocked an eyebrow, then sighed."Right. You're that overzealous Sheriff I was warned about?"

Ashy trotted in, followed by her three main deputies: Stopped Clock, False Cap, and Willow Tree. Passing them, I could see several more deputies through the door. Ashy had come in force, which made me very uneasy.

I picked up Bridget and passed her to Longslide who then quickly carried her out of the lobby. The sheriff then glared at PC with a hatred like I had never seen before. "Ya have a lot of nerve coming into my town, murder!"

"Ashy!" Hardballer growled as he stood up. "If you’re here to just harass my customer, then get the fuck out of my shop."

The sheriff trotted closer. The slight smell of alcohol came off her as she glared at the old griffon. "Or what? Try anything, and I'll make sure you see justice at the gallows, slaver."

Hardballer glared back as Stopped stepped in between them. "Let's not be hasty to aggression. We do have an official reason to be here. Unfortunately, it is not the purging of those once associated with Redeye, or…" he then eyed me, ". . . other undesirables."

Hardballer sat back down, still glaring. "Then out with it."

Willow stepped forward. He pulled out a piece of paper from his vest. "I'm sorry to inform you, Miss Percussion Cap, that an order of eviction has been passed, and a banning from New Appleloosa has been placed on you. We are to escort you out of town effectively immediately."

PC burst into laughter. "So which butthurt asshole pushed that forward? If they put just as much effort in growing their crops as they do sucking the NCR's cock, then maybe they could actually compete with me." She got out of her seat. "Well, I was not planning on staying anyway, so getting the fuck out of here is fine by me.”

“Now, if yal’lll get the fuck out of my way, I'll take me any my cart our of this shithole." she said a she dismissively waved at them to move.

"About that," False spoke up, and I knew that I was about to not like what was about to be said. "Due to the potential of illegal contraband, we are confiscating your wagon until we deem everything legal."

I face hoofed, and PC froze in place. "That better be one fucking stupid joke," the mare growled.

A cruel smile formed on Ashy's face as she trotted almost nose to nose with PC. "We need to check if you've been scalping Cutie marks, as you do have a history of doing that. Once we’re satisfied, we will leave your wagon outside of town for you to pick it up."

"How about you just let me, and my wagon leave town now, and then there will be no need for trouble," PC proposed coldly and calmly. The two starred each other down, making the tension in the room so thick that I swore I could chew on it.

"Is that a threat?" Ashy growled.

"It's a promise," PC answered.

"Is this a bad time?" the voice of a stallion whispered, catching me off guard. Slowtrot stood behind me, and behind him was Harp. "Sorry, the door was left open. I came in to pick up my gun."

"I don't see how they can just banish a pony who hasn't done anything," Harp whispered to me.

I rolled my eyes and whispered back. "Yes, it's a bad time, and yes, she can do that. She is the law around here."

A huff came from Slowtrot. "Right. None of our business." He whispered and trotted over to the table with his gun.

"Wait! What are you doing?!" I quietly called out at the dingus stallion.

"What do you think you’re doing?" Stopped Clock spoke up at Slowtrot. He interrupted the staredown between PC and Ashy, both now looking in his direction.

"Just picking up my property," he said simply. "Also, if you keep that up, you know that it will attract the Ministry of Moral right?"

There was a pause as both Harp and I face hoofed. "The M.o.M. doesn't exist anymore Slowtrot," Harp said with a sigh.

"Right…" Slowtrot then paused for a moment. "Still, what the sheriff is doing is wrong."

"What do you know, Stable pony?" Ashy growled, and I prayed to the goddesses that he dropped it.

A slow sigh came from Slowtrot. "What I know? Well, there's that I've seen ponies like you before, going on and on about how the zebras should pay for all they did. They only cared about winning the war, not about ending it. Seeing how much they hate, it convinced me to stay as far away from the war as I could. I mean, hatred is something personal. How can you hate somepony who never did anything to you?" He asked with a shrug.

"Personal…" there was a low guttural growl in Ashy's voice, and the look in her eyes was of a deep hatred I had rarely ever seen in anypony. "Se murdered my husband!" Ashy screamed. With an overglow over her horn, Ashy drew her large revolver, pointing it at PC. In return, PC drew her snub-nose revolver at Ashy. The deputies also drew their revolvers, pointing them at PC, but found her levitating three more revolvers back at them, one being the odd pistol revolver, and the two normal-looking repeater revolvers.

"I've killed a lot of ponies," PC said calmly. "But so have you."

"All Redeyes lackeys." Ashy said, spitting on the floor as she did. "Unlike you, who murdered escaped slaves for caps. How cheap were our lives to you, Executioner Red, the bounty hunter who never brought back an escaped slave alive?" She then looked over at Hardballer. "And you, how many ponies did you work to death? How many lives were ruined to make your guns under Redeye? Yet here you are, live and free, where so many were denied even the most simple of life!"

"Maybe we should all calm down," Willow spoke softly. "No need to pull any triggers."

"It's too late for that." Stopped said with a cold and stern voice. "She's already drew her guns on us, she's clearly an outlaw."

"You try and calm things down Willow, but now we should confiscate those guns too," False added.

I appreciate Willow trying to calm the situation down, but as long as the other two deputies were here, there was no way the two mares were going to stand down. At least Hardballer knew not to step in. It would only be more fuel on this fire.

"That still doesn't give you the right to make things worse! What did you say to me? Right; Ponies like you are why things don't get better. No, actually they're why things get worse." Slowtrot stupidity pressed the issue as he levitated his gun with his pipbuck, its barrel pointed back at himself. "It was no different during the war. Ponies acting that way never changed the war. They only made it grow. They made it worse." He trotted over to Ashy until his gun was within her reach. It still pointed at himself. "I'm sorry about what happened to your husband, but this is not how ponies should resolve their problems. So maybe you should just put the gun away and let the mare go with her cart. If you want justice, then do it the right way. Not like this."

I could see Ashy fuming with anger. It was all now directed at Slowtrot, but then she calmed down and lowered her revolver, which then got everypony then to lower their guns, but not put them away yet.

"You know, this is why I really hate stable ponie,." Ashy said calmly and coldly. "You're all like ghosts from a long-dead era, pushing your ideals where they’re not wanted.”

She holstered her revolver as she talked “Yes, the Lightbringer came from a stable, the big hero as she was, but so did Redeye, and his death didn't make things better. It just brought things back to how they were before he crawled out of his stable.”

Ashy’s tone turned bitter as she continued. “You stable ponies have been, and will always be, trouble for the wasteland. If anypony knew any better, most of yall would be shot on sight before you can make more trouble."

With her magic, she grabbed Slowtrots pistol…

*Click*

The room became very still and silent as every pony's eyes were fixed on Slowtrot's gun, it shaking in Ashy's magical grip.

Slowly and steadily, she lifted the gun, taking a deep breath, and a long exhale. "Fine. She can go, and with her fucking cart, but if I ever see her again, it will be the last time any pony sees her again."

*Bang!*

Slowtrots pistol went off, ripping itself out of Ashy's hold and falling to the ground. Once more the room went still, eyes still on the gun.

Without another word, Ashy pivoted around and stomped her way out, quickly followed by her deputies, with Willow stopping to say something but failing to find the words, so they left, the door slamming behind them.

The rest of us took a moment to take in what just happened. The first to move being Slowtrot, who practically melted onto the floor.

"That… was intense," Slowtrot muttered while spreading out on the floor.

"That was fucking stupid, that's what it was!" Hardballer shouted. "If you were one of my sons, I'd beat you black and blue for doing that… the last thing I need is a dead body. You understand?"

"Crystal" Slowtrot responded.

Levitating the pistol, PC placed it next to Slowtrot. "They say luck is a skill, but one you can't trust. Thanks for the save, but next time, maybe don't make things worse before making them better." PC then turned to Harp, who had taken refuge behind me. "You, pink zony. Were you the one to give my cyber legs a power boost the other night?" Harp nodded. "Good. I'll pay you to do that again. I got a long trip home, and I would rather not pull out my wheels for it."

I left the two to their business. I trotted over to Hardballer who had slumped into his seat. "Talk about close calls," I said with a nervous smile.

He rubbed his temples with his talons before looking at me. "No, that was a red line. You know it, and so does Ashy. Maybe I should pack up and return to Fillydelphia. Do it before she kills one of us."

I didn't have a quip or any encouragement to give. He was right. Ashy had shot to kill. There was no way around it. Ashy had crossed a line. She was clearly on a hair-trigger, and we were in her sights.

"Maybe after the festival, once we have the caps to deal with a move like that. At least the mayor will try to keep her in line until then." I suggested and he nodded.

I don't know why, but I had a feeling that hoping we had that kind of time was just wishful thinking.