It had to be a good hour or two before I had reached the small foothills in the distance, the setting sun painting the cloudy sky in an array of reds, oranges, and purples as I reached the area marked on my PipBuck’s map. Getting closer I could finally begin to see the old twisted metalwork and rotting wood of a once thriving mining complex. Place was an old Pre-War Gemstone mine before the bombs hit, a large sign above the entrance to the above ground area of the mine read, ”Welcome to the RockHound Gemstone Mine”. I snorted to myself at the cheerful greeting contrasting so harshly with the world around it and entered the main portion of the surface-level operations for the mine. The air was still and unnaturally quiet, even for the open desert. Old mining carts and equipment laid untouched all around me in mangled heaps of scrap and yet I saw nothing on my E.F.S. Not a single Radroach or Radscorpion was in sight... I walked towards the portal to the mine itself and readied my rifle, turning on my helmet's low-light setting as I entered deeper into the dark maw.

Walking deeper, I could feel the embrace of the mine’s dark corridor as I looked around. Stone formed most of the passage after the first fifty feet or so which was heavily dusted with sand that had blown its way in. The old lighting system overhead had long gone dark, the Spark Generator probably having been damaged decades ago. It reminded me of the time my team was tasked to clear out an underground Zebra bunker, nothing but the sound of your steps and breath as you peaked every corner. The thought of running into a Zebra ready to plunge a dagger in your throat or put a bit of lead in your dome always on the back of your mind like the darkness of the mine itself. As I went deeper, I lost the light from the mine entrance and was now fully reliant on my visor’s LLS to get me through. About another minute or so later I came across the only thing I hated more in caves than big bugs: booby traps. This one happened to be a cruel but proven classic, a bundle of frag grenades tied to a thin tripwire across a ceiling support. For all it’s simplicity, it certainly made itself easy to disarm and all it really did was give me three extra frags to use and alerted me that the mine had an occupant. A Sentient one.

After about another five minutes and two more grenade traps I came across a large cavern at the end of the corridor. The place was massive with the roof reaching easily thirty feet above my head and the cavern itself having enough space to house a small army. By the looks of it, the cavern must have been a natural formation being too large to be made by a simple mining corporation. In the middle of the chamber sat a large pool of water with some type of large blue crystal that gave off a pale glow. The water below it also seemed to glow with it, not just reflecting the light but also producing it itself. It was a goddamned Nexus Crystal. And a big one at that, probably the largest I had seen since my graduate course in Crystalline Fusion Cores with the Army.

“Hmffff, figures the bastards must have been finding a way to get this thing outta here as the bombs fell.” I said softly to myself, glancing with a bit of wonder at the raw power pulsing through the Crystal. “That much NC could recharge a hundred Cores easy…”

The Crystal wasn’t the only thing that was glowing in the cave however. Out of the corner of my eye I saw something else giving off visible light in the dark cavern, something much smaller and generating heat. As I approached I noticed it seemed to be a little camp, and a fresh one at that. The firepit still had glowing embers in it from whoever was here before me and there was a bedroll out nearby with a rudimentary tripod suspending an old coffee tin over the firepit. By the state of the embers, they had only just stopped actively burning.

“Huh...well fuck, definitely someone's home. Real fuckin’ question then is where is the fuckin’ owne-” Before I was finished with my word, something hit me hard enough to actually knock me off balance and make me stumble in my PoA.

As I scrambled to pull out my revolver, a shot rang out and smacked off my smaller right pauldron with a metallic clang. The sound rang in my ear as the projectile hit the dummy 20mm rounds I kept strapped to my shoulder purely for aesthetics, tearing off three of the five there. I snarled as I managed to get my revolver free and blast three shots in the direction of where I judged the attack came from but not actually hitting anything. Everything had happened so fast that it took me a moment to notice I suddenly couldn’t see anymore. That's when I realized that my helmet had been knocked loose and I felt the warm barrel of a gun against the back of my head.

“Not a smart one, eh big fella?” I heard a thick ghoulish Apploosian accented voice say. “Comin into mah house and actin’ like your the fuckin’ Queen herself, huh?”

I growled but kept my cool. He had his gun right between the neck guard of my Stahlhelm and the high Kevyarn gorget of my plate carrier; no coming back from a poor move here.

“Look, I meant no damn harm. I'm just looking for shelter since there’s a fuckin RadStorm brewing outside. Place looked abandoned so I walked right on in.” I said, causing him to press the gun harder into the back of my head.

“You think me dumb boy? Ya think Ah don’t know a Steel Ranger when Ah see em? Thought ya could get one up on me huh, ya thick-skulled bastard.” He growled as he didn't let up. “Ain’t so thick now without ya helmet now ain’t ya?”

“Look, I'm fucking serious, I hate the SR just as much as you seem to. Ya think those code-driven asswipes woulda let me patchwork my fucking armor like this? Not in a million fuckin’ years! Every piece was ripped right off their corpses after I fucked em up.”

He kept the gun against the back of my head for a few seconds before he pulled it away. “Hhmmfff...fine, Ah’ll believe ya this time, but Ah’m watching your dumb ass. Now get yer ass up and explain just who in th’ bright hell on earth are ya and what yer doin’ in mah home?” He holstered his pistol and stepped back giving me room to get back up.

I turned around to find a sight that surprised me even more than the Nexus Crystal nearby. Standing before me was a Ghoulified Changeling. Not only that but one of those called Glowing Ones in fact where the magical Rads are so soaked into their flesh they light up like a lantern and make your Geiger counter nervous. He was dressed up in some type of duster, like the ones you would see in those old films from the early days of Equestrian cowboys getting their hooves on guns. Every detail of the classic look he had down, even down to the wide brimmed hat. Regardless of what his overall aesthetic was, he was wearing armor underneath his leather duster that made him look decidedly like one of the NER. The old Mrk. I in the M-CAP Ranger series given by the Republic to their fabled First Recon Deadeyes. While the Mrk. II was the proprietary armor of their Republic Rangers’ finest Veterans, I had noticed more than a few of the ancient originals had survived to become the mark of the best snipers in the NER. So...this guy had a lot of skill to earn that kinda gear, even dishonestly. The only true change to be noted was the abundance of harnesses, bags and holsters criss-crossing his body both under and over his non-regulation duster. Very odd...

“The name’s Firefly by the way.” He said, looking at me with a look that demanded an honest answer right away. Didn’t even consider chuckling at the irony of the name.

“Garand, Ex-SR and proud.” I said while retrieving my helmet and stuffing my head and beak back into its insulated interior.

”Ex-SR huh, well you're not makin’ ah very convincing point walking around in their suits then.” He replied with a grunt, moving towards a tent hidden in a crevice in the wall.

“Trust me, I know. Ain’t the first time some ones seen the armor and wanted to murder me. The Steel Rangers I grew up serving aren't like the SR nowadays. Shit has changed so fucking much...” I said and followed at a distance in case he interpreted closeness as a potential danger.

“Boy, what in the hell you on about? SR ain’t been decent fuckers since before th’ bombs! Ain't nopony surviving from that time beside Ghouls, and you sure in the hell ain't one of us. Ah’d fuckin’ know of all damned bastards around here.” The Ling growled a bit as he dug through a small foot locker inside his tent.

“Well contrary to what you seem to believe, I’m from before the Great War. I'm an Inland Gryphon, we live way longer than the smaller Griffins you are probably used to seeing around. They flocked to Equestria during the Zebra-Equestrian War since this is where more of the action was for them, what with Griffinstone actually being on this Continent. My bigger cousins had their talons full fighting off the Zeebs deep within the Greifenländer and liked to keep to themselves and their own problems for the most part. Few of them and half-Inlanders like myself came over since the fight here seemed more fun that the one at home. Guess in a way I was right...” I said, something that surprised the Ghoul even more than before.

“Yer shittin me... Guess you only got to this here new world ‘cause you got in one of them Stables huh?” He said, pulling out a can of tinned meat and opening up with a combat knife to munch on what was inside.

“Yeah...39 to be exact. Way the hell down in the Badlands...rather not talk about it.” I said, feeling the Cola addiction hitting once more and climbing out of my armor to enjoy my second to last bottle.

“Badlands? Sweet Celestia...them’s where demons roam…” He said quietly, looking at me with a mixture of disbelief and interest.

“You don’t even know the half of it…” I sighed, flicking off the cap as before and taking a long swig. “Fresh outta the Stable...finding my way North and outta there was no walk in the park, especially having lost most of my weapons when they pushed everyone underground for 200 years. Thankfully...good old Unforgiven has seen me through more than I think it was intended for even if she’s too big ass of a gun to be wasted on every damn threat. Problem is, the .454 Castle rounds were only produced here out West where FillyArms was located so after I went East, Unforgiven was a last resort kinda gun sadly. Excited to be out here and feel more free to let her outta the holster more often. Been a long time since I’ve had that kinda freedom.”

He stood once again and returned to his tent with the empty can. It was kind of fascinating to see a real Changeling, especially so far past the Great War. Hell, when I had first learned of them upon arriving in Equestria for the first time and tried learning all the Sentient species of note, I had learned very little. For all sakes and appearances, they had gone more or less extinct during the first years of the Z-E War as spawning Hives had grown more and more rare. Those who had survived became top operatives for M.O.M as their shapeshifting ability allowed for almost limitless espionage and counter-espionage potential. Had I ever expected to meet one in person? Not in a million fuckin’ years. A Glowing Ling? Well...let’s just say I didn’t even know that could be a thing not even five minutes before.

“Soooo...I gotta ask, from one Wasteland oddball to another...since when does a Changeling survive the Great War? Hell, since when can they become...ya know...Glowing Ones…?”

I could hear him chuckle as he came out of the tent, seeming happy to tell his story as he took a seat across from me with another can of meat. The light of the Nexus Crystal was enough to see a decent amount of the cave around me without the need of my helmet and I was grateful for the better eye biology of Gryphons. Despite the lighter tone, we both knew the other person had their weapon loose in its holster and reflexes trained for lighting responses. This conversation was going to be a very important ice breaker if I wanted to keep this guy from getting the jump on me for saying the wrong shit.

“Use to be in the NER military, part of their First Recon battalion. Bunch of snipers who know their shit, lemme tell ya. When they say we’re th’ last thang ya never saw, they ain’t fuckin’ yankin’ yer tail now ya hear? ‘Bout around twenty-five or so years ago I ended up getting caught in a Stable of mah own though it weren’t no happy dandy one like yew had Ah bet. Was supposed tah be a simple recon job but th’ whole fuckin’ place made th’ Geiger counters tick so damn hard they fuckin’ broke and th’ big ol’ door shut tight thanks to ah damned short circuit ‘er some shit. When Ah finally got out, Ah just thought by some twist ah Fate Ah had some sorta immunity to Rads by bein’ ah Changelin’ but eh...yeah. Soaked up so much of em while Ah was in there tha’ I started glowin’ like ah SparkleCola Rad even in th’ daylight.” He said as he started to drink some whiskey straight from a bottle he had sitting near the campfire. “Turns out we got a lotta natural resistance to Rads which gave enough time fer th’ magic to mutate me without killin’ me.”

”Damn, that fuckin sucks.” I whistled and finished my drink, looking around for a place to toss the bottle and being directed at a pit nearby leading to a lower level of the mine.

“Eh, themes the cards Ah was dealt in th’ end.” He sighed, taking another long draught of the bright orange liquid sloshing around his bottle. “Nowadays...well, Ah work fer myself mostly. Leavin’ the NER did meh a lotta good since Ah can apply my time in First Recon as a Bounty Hunter who make a good chunka change if ya know wha’ Ah’m sayin’.”

“Oh trust me, I do.” I chuckled, getting some canned meat of my own since watching him eat had made me hungry as well. “Been most of what I do ever since I left the SR.”

“Tha’ right?” He asked, eying me and my armor with a critical eye. “Eh...suppose y’all been tellin’ the truth here. Lookin’ at all yer gear, them SRs would be all sorts ah pissy. What sorta Bounties ya take eh?”

“Oh...depends on what my needs are. I tend to blow through ammo pretty quick so a lot of my budget goes just towards that and keeping my shit fixed and tuned up. Really, I get my kicks from demolishing SR assassination parties sent after me since they offer some of the best challenge you could ask for this side of history.”

“Guess tha’ explains yer armor lookin’ so...mismatched.” He chuckled, nodding towards my PoA standing patiently open for me to step back in. “Take it yer like most Griffs and are good wit’ yer hands? Have tah be to fix yer shit up th’ way ya have.”

“Heh...just so happens I took Masterclass Engineering courses on Power Armor back in the Army. Didn’t have access to the normal mechanist shit they have back in the Greifenländer so that was the coolest shit I could get my claws on that was fun to tinker around with. Sure as hell didn’t see it becoming a centuries-long necessity since I could have always relied on the Engineering Corps to keep my armor up to specs.”

“Hm. Well, if yer any sorta worthy of the title of Bounty Hunter out here, Ah wanna see it fer myself.” He replied, setting his whiskey down and stoking his campfire back to life.

“What do you mean…?” I asked with some hesitation.

“Take it yer not much from around these parts? Thought so...dunno what th’ standards are fer wherever yer from but in th’ San-Palomino, terms like Bounty Hunter n’ Mercenary are titles ya gotta earn. Tell ya what, Ah got ah Bounty Ah’m gonna be Huntin’ soon as this here RadStorm dies down out there. Why don’t ya come wit’ me an’ show meh just how good them SRs taught ya how tah fight. Who knows...be fun tah see one of yew big ol’ birbs doin’ some dirty work.”

I was going to be in need of some extra cash soon, as I had every intention of blowing what remained of my savings on a damned good new gun for myself. The combination of key indicators like his armor and equipment was enough to convince me he too was another Hunter just as he claimed. Just...one who liked to live in an old mine rather than a nice apartment on the Stirrup or something. If he was after the Bounty on my head, he could have claimed it when he had torn my helmet off so professionally. This guy knew how to fight the SR Paladins at least...maybe it would be fun to tag along with him and see what happened. Firefly was a far flung away from the name Killer Queen and given how green glowed across his body pulsing softly with his heartbeat, it was a much more fitting name. If almost on the nose…

“Ya know what...why the fuck not?” I replied after a bit of thought. “Kinda curious to see what the Bounties out here are like compared to Manehatten.”

“Lotta fuckin’ walkin’ first off.” He grumbled as he tossed some more fuel on the fire and laid back on his bedroll. “But th’ caps ain’t too bad if yer willin’ tah do what it takes tah get the Bounty fulfilled. Ya get graded on time an’ shit like that so if yer gonna tag along, ya gotta keep up an’ do yer part. Got a place on the Board an’ Ah wanna keep it there.”

“Damn..you guys do take your shit seriously out West...well don’t worry, I can more than handle myself against whatever shithead you’ve gotta snag. Won’t be as much of a challenge as a pack of Paladins, that’s for damn sure.”

“Mff...anythin’ is possible with somethin’ chambered in .50 Big Mac.” He chuckled to himself, nodding towards a worn wooden cabinet missing its doors and holding a collection of rifles and pistols. “Good AP dart into th’ back o’ the shoulder between th’ pauldron an’ rebrace’ll drop most of em. Even th’ ones in them 51s Ah think they’re called.”

“Sounds like you’ve some experience killing Steel Rangers…” I commented, eying his weapon stash with approval, especially at the rare bullpup .50 in the corner. “You guys get a lot of em out here…?”

“Ah few, yeah…” He sighed, lazily picking his teeth with the tip of his knife with his eerie green Changeling magic. “Seems tah be mostly scoutin’ parties tho’. We were sure they had some sorta base in th’ San-Palomino but...in all mah years servin’ with them, we ain’t never found head or tail of them chrome bastards. Least not hidin’ in one big ol’ base together. Though if yew’s one of ‘em, how come yew’s askin’ me about it? Wouldn’t ya know?”

“Heh...you’d think so but they kept my beak to the ground out in Manehatten lookin’ for any scraps of the old world they could get their greedy fuckin’ hooves on. Hell, only reason they even let me into their ranks was because I had armor of my own and incapacitated six of em when we first ran into each other. They might have enjoyed the big ol featherhead for my strength but they sure as hell didn’t trust me to tell me much of anything.”

“Hmph...now tha’ ya mention it, it is pretty odd of ‘em to take in a Griff. Heard of ah few of em but thought thems just a myth. Every Tin Head seen ‘round here been ah boring ol’ pony.”

“Well it’s not like a shitload of Griffins were in the Steel Rangers to begin with. They liked em bolstering the ranks of the General Army and Airborne since PoA is just too heavy to fly in, least the T-40s and above are. Nowadays...best you’ll find for a Griff is somethin from the M-CAT line, something you seem familiar with already.”

He laughed, propping himself up and tapping his black breastplate with a hoof as he replied, “Wha’, this ol’ thang? Heh...yeah...kinda forgot this here Black Armor ain’t original NER property. Hell, it ain’t even mine tah be frank.”

“Oh…?” I glanced at him again trying to gauge the level of truth being presented to me. “Did ya like...scavenge it from a Deadeye you killed or...something?”

“Heh, Ah ain’t no thievin’’ Raider bastard who thinks he’s some hot shit fer raidin’ ah corpse! Nah...this here...this here was ah deathbed gift from th’ Deadeye who had gone wit’ meh into that Stable that uh...made meh a walkin’ glowstick. Said Ah had earned it and...well...after Ah got that goddamned door open, Ah just took it, buried him and...mah career with th’ NER with ‘im. Well...fer th’ most part.”

“For the most part? Well, weren’t they mad at you for leaving?”

“Sure! Th’ Major was fuckin’ furious tha’ Ah took the Black Armor and resigned mah commission but in light of wha’ happened to me, th’ NER higher-ups said Ah could resign honorably an’ maintain mah citizenship long as Ah didn’t fuck em over. Ah still work fer ‘em on occasion. Th’ Syndicate n’ them ain’t on th’ best ‘o terms if ya know wha’ Ah’m sayin’ so when they wanna Bounty on some NER terrorist they come tah me. Better tah pay me a couple thousand caps than hunt the fucker down themselves ‘n pay their troops extra fer th’ trouble. Goddamned simple economics tha’ I can live with, yessir!”

The cave was filled with silence after that save for the soft crackle of the campfire and the low, almost imperceptible hum of the raw energy contained within the Nexus Crystal nearby. Despite a rocky first impression, he seemed like a pretty chill dude and a look over his equipment told me he was no slouch. If what he had said was at all true, I was in the presence of another professor of the art of war. Hardly terrible company for an old war bird to have.

“Well..Imma get some sleep.” I said after a good while spent in silence, he was browsing a gun magazine and I checked my PipBuck's inventory function looking for my bedrolls. “What time we off to kick ass?”

“Well, not fer nothin’ but we ain’t leavin’ till that there RadStorm outside blows over. From there...Ah had ah look at yer kit and Imma be frank, it sucks. Unless yer hidin’ another gun worth its spit on ya aside from that there revolver, yew need ah new gun. Ah big one. Big ol’ SR killin’ machine like yew oughta command sum respect with th’ gun ya tote and the fuckers out here tend tah have some decent armor on ‘em. Scarin’ th’ shit outta yer foes ‘n impressing yer friends, that there’s half the business in and of itself since yer name is yer livelihood. Now, th’ Bounty ain’t goin’ nowhere fast from what Ah know of him so, that means soon as we can we are goin’ tah th’ Gun Runners. Best manufactured boom boom toys in Equestria!”

“Really now? Hm…” I mused, dropping my leg away from my face and unrolling my nest of blankets and a fat inflatable pillow. “Was thinking about doing the same anyway so fuck it. Don’t have a hell of a lotta caps to work with but I think I’ve got some shit I can trade-in to balance it out if I find something really fuckin’ nice.”

“Ah don’t doubt you’ll find somethin’!” He laughed, pointing at the Kyeshev bullpup .50 from before. “Most mah shit comes from th’ Runners. Ain’t nopony Ah trust with mah protection more than ‘em that’s fer damn sure! Good prices too if yer ah regular.”

Laying back in my bed, I stared at the Nexus Crystal nearby glowing a mixture of baby blue and pure white light. While essentially useless without M.O.A.S equipment to process it, it at least made for one hell of an awesome night light to doze off to. As a precaution though...I remotely set the self-destruct device built into my PoA’s Crystalline Core to detonate if my PipBuck noticed my heart stop beating due to being killed in my sleep. Firefly was a chill guy but I had yet to fully trust him after all. Least if I died, I’d take him and a ten mile radius of Equestria down with me thanks to the extra detonation mass provided by the Nexus Crystal. A lightshow like the world hadn’t seen in two centuries...

* * * * * * * * * * * *

The storm lasted three entire fucking days. I ran outta Cola at the eight hour mark. Needless to say that when Firefly saw me considering braving the RadStorm just so I didn’t get shit stains all over my fur and feathers...well, he was enough of a good guy to let me pay for what bit of his collection he was willing to part with. The SparkleCola Rads I had found earlier in that lame ass excuse for a secret military bunker secured room was just too precious to waste on Sparklediction. Not only were they a decent little rarity in the Wastes but they had the most mesmerizing purple glow that you could waste hours staring into. No...they were going to be trophies for the shelf once I found a new place to nest.

By the time the storm finally died down, Firefly had managed to talk his way onto the better half of my good side. I could find a decent amount to respect in him after all. An honorable soldier who excelled in his field whose life was changed forever due to a Stable and now lived essentially as a hermit just subsisting by the skill of his trigger. He didn’t ask for the trouble that came his way but he answered it with the same answer I had: that all ya got? He was a simple Bounty Hunter who just wanted to keep his talent behind a long scope sharp and get paid a much better salary than what he had been making in First Recon. Even had he officially been granted his Mrk. I armor, he was still making twice what he would have as a Deadeye for the New Equestrian Republic. Extra pocket change in exchange for some interesting target practice...it sounded almost too perfect.

With the storm finally disappearing entirely from my GIMP map, we finally set out of his mine shaft home and out into the open desert. We had a Bounty to get to and the storm had pushed the schedule back a bit too much for comfort. The Syndicate, as described by Firefly, was a massive shadowy organization that coordinated every killer/gun-for-hire worth their salt and connected them with clients in need of their particular skill set or reputation alone. The shit was even so regulated that there was even a tiered system of ranks these people would have to earn their way into starting as a general Merc. Bounty Hunters such as Firefly were the next level up on the three-tier system having done their time with either a Merc company of repute or having relatively extensive experience with tracking and bringing in/down specific targets. As an honorary Deadeye of NER First Recon, he had more than enough initial clout to be granted one of the uncommon exceptions to the usual rise-through-the-ranks shit experienced by most.

Having built a reputation for himself, he was in the Gungho-Guns, a group of 15 of the best Bounty Hunters in the Syndicate who were all vying for the ultimate honor of Hitmare. Listening to him describe it, the life of a Hitmare sounded even more cozy and chillaxed than Bounty Hunting. Exclusive access to the best Bounties, exclusive access to the best inventories and even the ability to negotiate a Contract that let them operate as they saw fit so long as their terms were agreed to by the client. While Bounty Hunters and Mercs had killing as part of their job description, Hitmares made their living solely off the deaths of selected targets by high rolling clients. The casinos hired them, drug lords, Brahman barons, NER politicians, large Slaver operations...ponies were throwing themselves on top of each other to hire these professionals. As part of the chaos of the Gungho Guns, no one was assigned a number to denote who was above or below who in the rankings. Instead, those chosen would be told they had been selected and not a damned thing more as the whole point of it was to instill a common desire to outshine the others. While the Guns squabbled and worked endless hours to outdo the others, everyone else who hired them just kept lining up. It was all just too fuckin’ perfect and I was enjoying the idea of finally getting recognition for my talents again on an entirely opposite side of the country where I could make a name for myself on my own terms.

Today, we were off in an attempt to keep his position as a Gungho secured, especially after the delay caused by the RadStorm. From what Firefly told me, he had to find and bring in some asswipe Raider who was terrorizing a nearby small settlement. Even better, this Raider was said to be a tough bastard, armed to the teeth with two chunky .50 Big Mac HMGs he had rigged to a BattleSaddle. I was surprised to learn they weren’t a pair of M2s as I had expected but were actually Dushka HMGs produced in a country to the far, far North called Kyevshyna. Sure, guy might not have anything better than FMJs in his ammo belts like a scary ass API or SLAP round…but any gun that had Big Macintosh Guard as part of its description was something to worry about. As long as he only hit my T-60 bits or got glancing shots off my 51 parts, I would be fine. Well...that was the hope at least. I still had a particularly memorable scar in my left shoulder big enough to notice through my fur from an FMJ .50 that just managed to hit a particularly thin portion of the frame and blow right into me. The Ministry of Peace almost had to amputate the leg but the work of our combat medic had managed to keep it alive enough to be worked on in a real hospital good as new.

“Now usually, Ah wouldn' be worried ‘bout this sorta job. Next thing ya know, yer bringin’ him in before th’ bastard even wakes up. Only major detour from th’ norm is this fucker’s got himself ah lotta limp-dicked buddies that Ah need...well let's say, ‘unalived’.”

It had been a half hour since he had last said anything as we made our way towards New Pegasus, the city outskirts suddenly right in front of me without me even realizing. I had been so lost in thought I kinda forgot he was even there. What he had told me about the professionalism of the Mercs and Hunters out West reminded me of my name written on that damned blackboard in that bar. I had a large price on my head and if one of these seemingly legendary Hitmares was hired by the SR to do their dirty work for them...well it was going to change things. I hadn’t even had time to blink since the moment I arrived at this hot ass desert it felt…

“I get ya loud and clear.” I replied, only really hearing the last half of what he had said. “If he has access to such firepower, we gotta assume his goons are going to have at least a few weapons of quality in their possession and possibly armor to match.”

”And that there dinky lil’ .30 cal rifle you got just don’t seem like it'll be useful much longer.” He snickered softly in his Southern drawl. “Ah know, was th’ best ya could find way out East there. Yer on th’ other side of th’ fuckin’ country now! Big fella like ya outta have ah big ass gun tah match so here. Open yer talons.”

He stopped just as we started entering the outskirts of Freeside where the rubble slowly began to form buildings in varying levels of fucked. Reaching into his saddlebag with his gnarled black horn glowing sickly green, he pulled out a small burlap pouch and tossed it in my direction. My instincts lashed out to catch it in self-defense but the moment the bag clinked in my talons I relaxed at the familiar touch of cold, hard cash. Better a loan than a grenade.

“Here’s about six grand ‘er so, ya can pay meh back by clearin’ th’ way to that damned bastard. Head up towards th’ front gate to th’ Stirrup and hang ah right just before. Big ass Old World buildin’, Las Pegasus Gaming Commission ‘er some shit it used tah be called. Folks round her call her Th’ Pile after th’ rubble of th’ old dome that used tah be there sittin’ in the middle of everythin’. Point is, that there’s where yer gonna find th’ best open market this side o’ Canterlot and inside there, there's ah stall ran by th’ Gun Runners. If yew ain’t ever heard o’ them before then that there’s ah damned shame. Their shit’s the best in the Wastes hooves-down. Only problem of course is thems just a bit stingy on price ‘cause they know their shit’s th’ best ya know? But...ya definitely ain’t gettin’ robbed when ya shop there on a healthy budget, believe yew me.”

I nodded, my interest piqued the moment he mentioned the Gun Runners operated out here. I had only heard stories about their firearms during my time back East and even the SR seemed to begrudgingly acknowledge their quality which...was saying a lot for the prideful bastards. Six-thousand caps...not sure what the exact economy was like on this side of the Continent but it was bound to get me something particularly fine if the legends of the trade here were to be believed. He was right...much as the .30 carbine had grown on me a bit from my use of it the last year, I was much more at home with something with a lot more umph behind the barrel. I guess if there was one thing I could admit to missing about the SR, it was their almost unsurpassed arsenal of Pre-War weaponry; in particular the big, the heavy and the deadly. Need an M134 or a fuckin’ FIM-6 launcher for a particular op? Only had to sign the forms and requisition it from the Quartermaster just like in the old days with plenty of ammo to go around and people to slap you on the back for knowing how to use that shit properly. Wandering the Wastes as a fugitive though? You were considered lucky if you even found ammo for anything on your person let alone finding the parts, tools and oil needed to maintain them. What I wouldn’t give for a place to roost with a big ass workbench and smithing tools galore...

Before we had gone much further, he stopped and veered off towards the neon lights of an open bar. Since we had met he had been swigging whiskey like an old cowboy movie hero. At first I didn’t question it as booze was just as popular now as it had ever been in the history of ever but after his second bottle in a day, I grew a bit concerned. It was all nothing in the long run...its not that he was an alcoholic, he just enjoyed the flavors. Ghoulification had made getting drunk a lofty goal as it took massive quantities of nearly straight ethanol in order to start feeling a buzz. He was a goddamn connoisseur of whiskey with a lot of goddamn opinions on the shit so seeing him swing towards a bar was almost a no-brainer even after three days with the guy. Of course along with his picky ass taste for the hard stuff, it also made him the living embodiment of the term, ‘having to piss like a racehorse’.

“Imma try tah get any info Ah can from here. Syndicate’s got themselves a hell of an informant network so it’s likely somepony here might have an update of value tah us on th’ target. Also wanna see what dear Black Eye is swingin’ today and have ah few shots. Girl’s a hardass but damn if she don’t pour a mean shot fer th’ mouth tah experience! Meet ya here when ya get back, try not tah take too long aight? Gotta reputation tah uphold here and Ah don’t need ya gettin’ mah name nicked off the Gungho Guns.”

I nodded in response, not really in the mood to talk further with my mind returning back to its earlier worried thoughts. There was so much to figure out and I didn’t really know where to get started when I hadn’t even had a chance at settling in here. My thoughts kept my legs busy and distracted as I made my way in the direction he had indicated. Out of an abundance of caution I did my best to navigate the complicated back alleys just to keep attention off of me on the main walk of Freeside. The building he had described appeared before me soon enough, a Pre-War relic if I had ever seen one. Tall, wide and still sporting the cold, corporate white marble exterior associated with any building that had something to do with government or some other bullshit executive or judicial reason. Aside from the dome that sat in the center of the building being completely missing, the overall building was in surprisingly good shape. Sand storms and radioactive weather had left the marble pillars in particular with a dirty tan color but, aside from the armed guards standing by the front doors, you could almost pretend it was 2077 again.

“Whoa there big fella!” Called one of the guards as I approached, my irritation perking up its head slightly in anticipation of having to get in a shouting match with a stranger.

“Somethin’ ya fuckin’ need, my guy?” I asked with a tired sigh as I turned towards him expecting the worst before anything even had a chance to begin.

“Ay! Whoa! Chillax your feathers, Griffy boy.” He half-growled, half-said reassuringly. “Ain’t gonna be no problems now are there?”

“Excuse me…?” I asked shortly, biting back what I wanted to say in case these were the kinda guards given license to kill over minor infractions. Wouldn’t be the first market like that.

“Ya here to start shit, or are ya here to keep ya fuckin’ beak to ya own fuckin’ business?” He grunted bluntly. “We don’t take other ponies’ shit and we sure as hell don’t want whatever the fuck it is you do with your life bringin’ shit of your own to The Pile. This is an honest place of business and it needs to be kept that way. Am I understood?”

I stared at him incredulously through my helmet, utterly braindead from having to hear that shit in real time from some punk asses with M-CAT Mrk. IIs and IIIs thinking they needed to tell me how to behave. I had peaceful enough intentions as it was just coming to the fucking area to try and escape the heat on my ass, the fact trouble seemed to have followed me was honestly outta my control. I thought I had covered my trail well enough after leaving the SR with quite a mess to get their bearings on with more than enough of a head start. Something had happened to bring word all the way out here…

“You fuckin hearing me ya feathery Tin Head?!”

I snapped my attention back on this annoying fly of a stallion and growled, “Oh I read ya loud and clear, shrimp. I came here to buy a fucking gun, some ammo and get my ass on the road. If that ain’t an honest enough transaction for ya then why don’t I contract you to kiss my shiny metal ass, money up front. Put your money where your mouth is and let's make a deal right here, right fucking now. Now, if you’re done wasting my time, I’ve got shit to get to.”

I enjoyed the shiver of fear that rippled through his body as he nodded silently and jutted a hoof towards the open double doors while his companion stood pale and silent nearby. Leaving them behind, I was amazed at the size and scope of the inside of the building which itself was massive and spacious. In the central rotunda lay The Pile that Firefly had described earlier that lent its name to the entire building while the sun and cloudy sky peeked in through the huge gaping ass hole above. The main floor itself was a massive chaotic thrum of buying and selling as places once reserved for cubicles were now market stalls of all makes and sorts. Some were simplistic tents with homemade wooden tables showing off their goods while others went so far as to build full-on micro stores with metal and brick walls and armed guards standing at the ready, eying passerby with suspicious expressions. Even from where I stood near the entrance, I could see that Firefly had not been exaggerating that it was the largest hub of thriving trade West of Canterlot. Everywhere I looked I saw something else I didn’t expect to see as a thriving storefront in the impoverished Post-War world. Works of art like paintings and sculptures of metal, professional butchers who sourced from local Brahman barons, even fancy ass restaurants and exclusive bars on the second floor reached from a grand staircase at the back of the collapsed rotunda opposite the front door. A...staircase with what looked like...bouncers working an actual booth?

Putting the whole VIP stairway bullshit aside for later, I quickly saw my target down the left main causeway leading down a row of some of the larger market stalls. I chuckled softly to myself when I noticed the words Gun Runners written in bright red neon lights set on the roof of their large and reinforced store. The sign spun slowly in circles on a turnstile like an old world fast food joint which got a good chuckle of nostalgia outta me. The building was probably the most well protected and defended ones I had seen so far and I took note of the LMGs of various makes in the hooves of the defenders as I approached. They all eyed me warily as I approached but, unlike the dumbass at the front door, didn’t think to harass me when I looked like I was here for firepower worth my time. The front face of the store was the only one with any visible windows and there were already a few ponies standing in line waiting their turn to be served so I took the hint and grumbled to myself as I took up the back of the line. I was too irritated to even make fun of how short everyone ahead of me was.

My entire attitude changed however once I saw the masterpiece of a storefront the Gun Runners had going for themselves. While roughly similar in style to something like a walk-up fast food joint, the entire front was several solid panes of glass with a large deposit box device installed into a small section of concrete like a pharmacy or a bank in the center of the storefront. Behind the glass stood a burly looking green stallion sporting a military-style buzz cut and wearing a pair of aviator sunglasses that fit him rather well for a pony. As the customer spoke to him, he would nod and press a button on some keyboard in front of him and from behind a large metal rack of weapons slid forward on its own, all seemingly grouped by type. When the customer shook her head and the weapon rack was pulled away, I was amazed to see a small treaded robot doing all the work, a bit larger than an outdoors garbage bin with long, flexible noodle arms with clawed hands. A second shelf was moved forward for presentation while the rejected shelf was stacked up neatly in a tight group in the back located in one of two caged rooms. After a while, the mare seemed to settle on an old Greifenländer G3 with some decent attachments like a scope and a harness to use with it. A smaller deposit drawer I hadn’t noticed before then slid out to the left side of the larger one used for the gun and in she poured a bag of caps while a small digital sign illuminated with numbers. Some machine or other counted out her caps like bank tellers with old world bits until it stopped and the leftovers were dropped into a small box for her to take back. Payment received, the stallion grinned and deposited her new G3 into the large weapon drawer and slid it out for her to take and be on her merry way to go shoot whatever. It was a simple, rather wonderful way to conduct business. Sophisticated to the point I could almost imagine it as a concept gun store from before the War and slip into happier memories…

The line ahead of me dragged on for ages, every second spent standing adding a weight of stress to my mind as we were already behind schedule as it was with the RadStorm. Pony after pony left the front of the line with one well-smithed gun or more making my excitement to see their full stock only grow with time. They were leaving with assault rifles, shotguns, pistols, carbines, even a few LMGs and a pair of Dart-88 PONPADS launchers; all in excellent condition from the glimpses I stole as they walked past with their new purchases. For once...there was a distinct possibility that I could find something truly extraordinary to round out my personal arsenal. A crowning jewel of sorts that gave me an edge all the other weapons couldn’t. Heh...the more I thought about it, the more my mind was drawn to thoughts of returning to my roots using light, medium and heavy machine guns. With my Power Armor and the pre-existing mounting points for machine guns of varying models and sizes, I could really pick just about anything and be able to use it without worrying about compatibility issues. No...this was probably going to truly come down to something as stupidly mundane as looks. I prayed to Talin that they had more than just the G-series when it came to guns from home. With so many wonderful models before the Great War...it was a shame my options on the Continent were always limited to what shit became popular amongst the Equestrians.

Eventually the line carried me to the front where I finally got to speak to the stallion behind the glass who seemed almost overjoyed to see me. Although I couldn’t see his eyes, his grin was evidence enough that I was exactly the kind of client he had been waiting for all day. It was kind of refreshing to see a real military looking guy after miles and miles of poor scavengers farming the Wastes, drugged up Raiders not worth a damn and your basic merchants. Felt a little like home I guess. That and he wasn’t reaching for one of the many guns I knew he had access to to try and take the Bounty on my head so all-in-all, it was a win-win.

“Well what in fuck’s name do we have here, Nuts and Bolts?” His voice boomed through the speaker as he grinned, looking over me while the two robots rolled into view from the caged back rooms. “A goddamned Steel Ranger and a fuckin’ Griff no less! I take it since you’re without a Squad and your armor looks patchwork...lemme guess, one of them ‘Outcasts’ or whatever they’re called?”

“Guess it’s pretty obvious to those in the know…” I acknowledged which got a hearty laugh outta him.

“Damned straight! You ain’t been slinging no Tin Head dick around trying to wrestle anypony outta tech and shit so far as I care your caps are as good as anypony’s. Now, what can the Gun Runners get for a big ass guy like you today, eh? You seem like the kinda guy who works heavy weapons so let’s skip the petite lil’ girls and dive balls deep right into the big girls. Nuts! Get rack...two, Section D and Bolts! I need rack four, Section F. Let’s show this guy our sexiest ladies in the cages. They might not dance back there like them fine-ass ladies at the Sodden but damn if they don’t sing in the hooves when you pull that trigger!”

While I struggled to even think up a response, the robots glided away into the left back room before coming back hauling two large gun racks like I had seen done a half dozen times before. Coming to a stop on either side of the stallion a few feet behind him, I finally got to look at what sorta new boom-boom toys these guys had. On the left rack was a fine selection of light and medium machine guns while on the right was a variety of launchers including both grenade and missile. However, before I looked them over I needed to get the ammunition from the short list Firefly had added onto my own. Whatever was leftover from Firefly’s caps would go towards my new gun so it only made sense to know how many leftovers I was gonna be working with before making a big purchase. I had things to trade, like all the 5.56 ammo I looted from Camp Macintosh but still...I wanted as much money as I could get so I could afford something worth my time and trust. A main battle weapon has to be as trustworthy as a nestmate since it’ll be your first and last line of defense when shit hits the fan.

“Definitely read my mind there but, I gotta buy ammo first so I know how much I got leftover for a gun.” I said, giving him a thumbs-up in the direction of both shelves but keeping my eyes focused on him to save the big reveal.

“Oh yeah? Guess there’s some good old budget logic goin’ on in that shiny helmet of yours! What sorta speedy boys ya need, soldier?” He replied while waving the bots away and hanging on my every word.

“Dunno if y’all got all of them but fuck it, best bet Imma get out here. For myself, I need four boxes of 12-gauge in scatter shot or 8-ball, three boxes of .454 Castle and a couple boxes of .45-70 Celestia. As for my uh...business partner, he needs two boxes of .50 Big Mac black-and-silver tips and two boxes of .338 Luna Magnus. Doesn’t matter what type as long as it isn’t SJHP or has a tracer element. Armor piercing preferred he said but he gets that they tend to go fast thanks to the NER’s 1st-Recon snipers. Something about y’all reverse engineering the Barnette .338 MRAD for their snipers?”

“Gotta respect a guy that knows his shit! Gotcha loud and clear brother, N and B? Go get the nice bird his speedy boys, pronto!” He replied with another laugh, punching commands into the large keyboard in front of him and glancing over the monitors I couldn’t quite see built into the concrete portion of the wall.

A moment later, Nuts and Bolts rolled back into view pushing a small cart with my order piled onto it in no particular order. Most of the ammo came in cardboard boxes while the .50s rested in just the plastic frame that holds the rounds together. Whether due to box shortage or something else...well, not like I really fucking cared to ask. I was getting everything I needed in one stop! How could I be mad about anything going on here?

“Alright, we’re looking at...hmm...fuck it, I’ll round it out and down for ya since ya look like the kinda guy who’s gonna spend money worth me and the boy’s time on a new boom stick today. Total today is one-thousand shiny soda bitches! Right in the damn slot like everyone else if ya don’t mind, Chrome Dome.”

The small money slot rolled out to my left and the red LED lights displayed a row of eight zeros that reset to 1,000 after a brief second. It felt so easy doing business this way as the caps poured from my bag and into the chute making a lovely sound that only money could make; the red numbers rolling down at a frantic pace until finally the chute closed and all remaining caps in the hopper fed into the leftover pile. After the money deposit thing slid back into the shop wall, the larger deposit drawer then opened with my pile of ammo neatly stacked in the center. Didn’t take long at all to toss' em into my right saddlebag knowing my PipBuck would help me find Firefly’s rounds later on when I needed to.

“Now I know for damn sure you’re a big gunner!” The stallion laughed again, nodding to the large caliber rounds going into my bags. “.454 Castle, .338 Luna? Ain’t no pansy ass pussyhoofed numb-nuts using guns that big, thems for big boys only, amirite?”

“Finally someone who speaks some sense in this town…” I laughed back, enjoying the company of this jolly jarhead. “You got me worked out pretty well for a stranger. Worked with LMGs, MMGs, HMGs and explosive ordinance my entire career and I’ve developed a big love for big frame revolvers.”

“I’d fuckin’ say so! .454 and .45-70 are some of the biggest bitches in the Wastes!”

We shared another short laugh together but we quickly returned to business as Nuts and Bolts rolled the gun racks back into view. Talking to this guy made me more at ease than I expected considering he was a total stranger. His entire demeanor bespoke a long period spent in a military setting and not just some yuppy fucks in some town militia. No...the only ones out here who could deliver a decently recognizable military education would be the New Equestrian Republic that I had heard about back East. They started as a small town no more special than any of the other ramshackle impressions of civilization except for the fact they came from a Stable and thus had a few legs up on everyone else.

With StableTec’s finest easing the transition to Post Apocalyptica, their capital of Shady Sands way North of us was probably the most modern settlement in the Wastes that was built from the ground up instead of just refurbishing Pre-War buildings. Now, some hundred-ish years after the fact, they had exploded in size, swallowing up most of the West side of Canterlot with their borders ending just outside New Pegasus. That is minus a dozen or so safe houses scattered around San-Palomino Desert for their scouts to use during their deep recons of their future holdings. I had never met a member of this Republic in person before but I had always been told to treat them as a mortal enemy by Elder Giorgi. The NER had kept the Gap of Canterlot firmly shut against SR expansion into the West for decades with the only option to pass being all-out war. The amount of raw resources, Knights, Paladins and elite Sentinels needed to break through would absolutely cripple the majority of operations in the East and leave multiple Outposts with skeleton crews; a perfect opportunity for well-organized gangs like the Gunners to make big moves of their own and get easier access to loads of Pre-War tech. The SR had tech and the best tech leftover from the War to boot but the NER had some too. And though they lacked the means to expand to the same level as the SR, the Republic had managed to fight us to a standstill at the Gap since before I joined. We weren’t as invincible as many would have liked to have believed amongst the Rangers...

With the shelves back in place, I finally allowed myself to visually open my Hearth’s Warming gifts...in early July. I was naturally more attracted to the machine guns and was happy to see the Boulder 63, the M60, the M240, and even the big ass M2 chambered in .50 Big Mac. All of them I was intimately familiar with, knowing every part and function inside and out from years upon years of daily practice and experience. On the shelf to my right I was similarly impressed with the line-up of exploding toys including the FIM-6, Dart-88 and the four-barreled monstrosity called the Reaper Quad. Not only that but I also saw several M79 Thumpers, M25 LAPs and even an uncommon XM-41, the fabled ‘pump-action grenade launcher’ with its 3+1 tube of 40mm goodness. That all being said...I wasn’t feeling any of them particularly fondly as they were just too familiar. I wanted something special. Something...from home if I could. It was a long shot but...well, so had been my original words about the ammo and dear fuck was I proven wrong than to doubt these guys. Was worth at least asking, right?

“These all look great but...I dunno, I’m just not feeling it. You got anything special in your armory? Something from Greifenländer if possible…?” I said, feeling a little awkward for some reason. It just felt a little odd asking for something so far removed from here with modern-day international travel being what it was.

“Ya know, now that ya mention it…” He replied before looking down at his monitors intensely, seeming to be scrolling through their inventories. “Tell ya what, I got somethin’ that is damned special that’s been sittin’ in our storage house for ages. Tried selling it for years but the bitch is just too big for anypony to fuckin’ use. Built from the ground up for someone your size for damn sure.”

Now he really had my interest. Sadly without anything more to go off on I could only guess what kind of gun he was referring to. We had hundreds of models from rifles to pistols to ordinance and everything else a damn modern military needed to survive back then. How the fuck was I supposed to guess any of ‘em with such a shitty clue?

“Do you know the name??” I asked eagerly, something he picked up on instantly.

“Heh heh heh, don’t go gettin’ a war boner too quick big guy, I don’t honestly remember the bitch’s name. Hell, I doubt I can remember even half the bitches I meet at Sodden casino heh, heh. Anyway! I gotta head back to our storage facility since we haven’t bothered putting the sucker on the rack in like four years now. Should only take ten-minutes, max.”

I sighed but nodded my head all the same for him to go ahead and do what he needed to do; Firefly was probably going to be at least a good bit getting info and a not-so-stiff drink or two anyway. Shooing away Nuts and Bolts again, the stallion walked into the center of the shop where a small control pad stood on a pedestal. Slapping the console, the floor below him began to lower down out of sight as it dawned on me that they had a goddamned service elevator built right into their own fucking store. It explained perfectly how they were able to get in and out of the place, let alone resupply it with new stock, without the need of an exterior door on the store. While I waited for him to come back, I tried to peer into the caged rooms to see what other neat guns they had in stock in case I had the chance to shop here again. While I had my favorite go-to guns that went with me everywhere I went, that didn’t mean I wasn’t an avid collector and professional hobbyist in the sacred art of gunsmithing. As with all Gryphons, I had received advanced engineering training from a very young age as was the pride of all Griefenlander. Getting into the military had given me just the chance I needed to put that early education to good use by applying it to repairing, maintaining and eventually even creating my own Power Armor and weapons. Heh...if things went particularly bad, I wondered if they would be interested in hiring me for the impressive resumé of blueprints I’ve committed to memory.

Exactly ten minutes later the stallion returned, this time with a long wooden box on a large push cart. From the size alone it could only be a sniper rifle or an LMG of some sort, maybe a panzerschreck though I hoped not as it was far too bland. Pushing the cart near the glass, he hefted up the most unexpected and most dazzling weapon than I had seen in well over 200 years. There resting beautifully in his hooves was one of the best Gryphon LMGs caps could buy, if they even knew what it was to begin with. The LMG-42, or rather in this case it was the LMG-42 SAW, its smaller and more mobile-infantry oriented counterpart. It was divine looking, coming stock with a pretty decent muzzle brake on the tip of the barrel and an offset foregrip on the left side of the barrel shroud. It was painted in a basic two-tone desert camouflage and sported one of those shark mouth decals painted towards the end of the barrel that was so nostalgic I would have cried if I wasn’t so damn enthralled. It also had one massive drum mag which belt-fed into the left side of the receiver that was attached to the underside of the frame. Both variants of the 42 used .308 Winchestnut rounds, same as lighter sniper rifles and the M134 minigun, which meant quality stopping power even at fair range and access to quality armor-penetrating rounds. To top it all off, when he held it close to the glass I could see the telltale swirling pattern of Greifenstahl, the nearly indestructible metal alloy that only the few Grandmaster Smiths of the old, old country knew how to produce. It was insanely rare to see any examples of it outside the Greifenländer to the point I doubted even this gun nut knew what he had in his hooves. Hell, the rumors alone I heard about the stuff made it out to be a laughingstock on the Continent. This was going to be a steal no matter how highly he priced it. The fucker was holding something easily worth a million caps...

“Holyyyy goddamn!” I gasped, gazing over the five-foot long beauty of Gryphon engineering. “Since when the fuck did you guys get one of these?!”

“This old fucker…” He grunted as he lowered it down into the deposit tray to rest. “Hooboy...she’s been here long before I started Runnin’ and Gunnin’! Nopony really knows where the damn thing came from but we can’t get rid of the fucker either. Judging by your stunned silence I found the right bitch for ya. Excellent!”

“How much?” I asked pointedly, the grey and brown of the LMG calling to me.

“Well, for the size alone usually I’d charge ya several thousand caps but considering how long this bitch has been in storage, I think I’ll cut ya a deal. No gun should ever be without a daddy to look over her! That’s my personal motto and my business ethic for ya.”

“That...is generous of you. Doesn’t exactly answer my question though.”

“Ah fuck...let’s call it seven-grand even and I’ll even toss in the extra four box mags we think all go to it. Also, good old Cogsworth worked his magic again for us so now we can offer free bullet belt link-up on any purchases worth 2,000 caps or more!”

“Free...belt link-up?” I asked, taking a second to comprehend what he meant.

“Yeah dumbass! We gotta machine now that automatically links belts of ammo together for LMGs, miniguns and all the rest of them rapid firing girls. If ya got any .308s, toss em in the drawer after you pay for the gun and I can get em into belts for you free-of-charge! Can get the bitch up and ready to fire in no time.”

The money drawer opened once again and the seven-thousand price tag appeared on the number screen. I dumped what was left in my cap bag and Firefly’s into the hopper and watched the numbers tick down to 1,387. As expected, I was running short but I was prepared for that, especially for something like this. Hell I would almost be willing to sell my all-but-useless wings for this fucker and more. Only question was...would this guy and this set up allow for what I wanted to do? It was by far the most advanced store I had ever encountered, eclipsing even the Quartermaster’s Armory in the Citadel. It was worth asking regardless.

“Damn, you’re a bit short eh?” He chuckled sadly. “Ah well, if ya got shit worth sellin’, best break it out now. We accept anything related to guns and are now accepting armor as well if it aint too banged up. Turns out, we might wanna try to get into the armor business too!”

As I dug in my bags for the endless stacks of M16 mags, the bigger drawer slid out letting me dump them in by the handful. The stallion nodded with a grin of approval while I dumped in the mags before pulling the drawer back to his side of the titanium quartz glass and beginning to count them. Taking them one-by-one, he stacked them in a neat pile on an old industrial digital scale before checking some sort of reference book from a low shelf.

“Alright, looks like all of em are loaded to the absolute fuckin’ top so that’s thirty, thirty-five round M16 mags which comes in at...1,050 rounds of 5.56mm. Tell ya what, with the condition of these mags and the ammunition I’ve seen in ‘em, I’ll give ya the gun, the four spare box mags and let’s do...five 100-round belts of .308. That’ll let ya load all five of them mags and we both walk away happy guys. Those mags and rounds are shiny like they’re fresh off the presses which doubles their value!”

“Well fuck, can’t say no to that!” I laughed, nodding excitedly for him to go ahead with the transaction. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

He saluted in response and pushed the M16 mags onto the ammunition cart used earlier, afterwards turning his attention to a machine I had failed to see earlier in the corner. It featured a large squared hopper that led into a wide, relatively flat coffin looking machine with two latches and a large crank handle on one side. Taking a large cardboard box retrieved from one of the robots, he proceeded to dump .308s into the machine before moving to the latches and lifting up the top half of the rectangular device. Carved into the steel was a wide, squared channel on top and bottom in which he placed inserts that narrowed the channel by half. Next, he reached for a large metal cabinet to the side of the machine and attached a flex-chute to one of the six slots lining the top rim. The chute came from a selection of sizes which I assumed all corresponded to a particular calibers’ belt links stored inside the cabinet. The other end of the chute was then attached to the left side of the contraption and to the right was attached one of the box mags he had mentioned. After cranking a small lever on the side of the storage cabinet thing, he used his teeth to pull out a metal link that now dangled out from the end of the flex-chute. Soon he had dragged the links of thin steel to the center of the machine where there were complex gears and other inner workings I couldn’t quite see ready to stuff new rounds in. All set, he latched the top half of the machine down again and moved the hopper on a ball bearing rail over to the center of the device. Once that too was latched down, he opened the hopper and began to crank the handle at a steady pace; soon I was seeing an endless row of beautiful brass and copper flood out the right side and into my first drum mag. It was the most gorgeous sight I had seen in my life since the Gooseberry Twins in Stable 39 all those years ago. Far as I cared, fresh shiny bullets were jewelry in their own right and beat out gold and silver any day for far cheaper and with a lot more uses.

As the last of my mags was filled, the stallion stepped away to wipe his sweaty forehead and take a long drink from a military canteen given him by one of the robots.

“Goddamn what a workout!” He belted out with a hearty thump to his chest and a grin. “But damn if this bitch doesn’t make this shit a hell of a lot easier. Not to mention faster! I mean, that was five-hundred rounds in something like five-minutes? If this bitch goes down then we gotta go back to the old way we used...Goddesses I hope that never happens. Thank fuck Cogs is so fucking close by because if this thing goes down...ugh...anyway! Five box mags and one bigass Griffin gun coming right up!”

He dropped the items in as he mentioned them and a moment later, I finally got to see my new girl up close and personal for the first time as the drawer slid back out to meet me. The old tan and brown spray paint camo put on it by one of my brethren hundreds of years before had mostly rubbed off save for the shark mouth decal towards the front. While that sort of neglect on the paint job would get your ass chewed out back in the day, I didn’t mind it one bit as I got to see the original colors of the LMG-42, which I hadn’t seen in such a long fucking time. Cold grey metal and dark brown wood...so simple and yet so dangerously gorgeous in the right talons. The metal in particular was of most interest as the metal had an intrinsic pattern of varying shades of steel grey in every piece; the visual cue that Greifenstahl was the metal of choice here. Even with the advanced forge techniques I was trained with since I was a chick, I only knew that Greifenstahl was an alloy of at least four different metals and then somehow...brought together in such a way that makes it nigh-on indestructible. Even the famous Equestrian Celestium Steel, for as extremely tough shit as it was, could only dream of the kind of brawn true Gryphon Steel had. I wouldn’t need to repair or replace anything on this gun that wasn’t the wooden stock and grip. Fuck, I could mount this bitch on an armored transport with a belt 10,000-rounds long and not even have to worry about singing my feathers accidentally against a superheated barrel. This gun was gonna outlast even me with how strong and durable it was. All the best family heirlooms were made of the good stuff back home.

“I take it the big featherhead is pleased?”

“You ask that like it’s a fuckin question!” I retorted with a laugh. “Fuck the hell yeah I’m happy! I don’t say this often so consider yourself extra special: thank you.”

“Gratitude eh? Damn, you sure as hell ain’t one of them Steel Rangers! Ain’t none of them fucker’s show gratitude towards anything! I’m tellin’ ya, them Rangers ain’t anything like the ones on the old posters...that whole goddamn order of theirs is completely FUBAR.”

“Heh, NER soldier boy I take it?” I asked, seeing as only they would know an outdated military swear acronym like that. Yet another pleasant blast from the past...

“You’re goddamn right I am! Er, well...was. Resigned from my post about six-years back after fifteen solid years with ‘em. Just wanted a change of scenery in a hella more stable job environment that didn’t force me on long patrols in the desert lookin’ for trouble during a troop shortage; and believe me those were all the damn time. Normally a good lookin’ buck like me would have considered maybe joining the Rangers Battalion but...dear Celestia’s fiery ass where in the fresh hell did you nab one of those?!”

He jabbed a hoof at my chest and I looked down only to remember the dilapidated Sequoia I had snagged from Camp Macintosh was resting across my breastplate in my chest holster. Being an NER soldier, of course he would recognize this old fucker as supposedly the old tradition of the Corps had continued into this NER successor. I had spied a Paladin once, fresh from a fringe patrol out West who had run into an NER Ranger patrol squad back before they fortified the Gap. He was so goddamn proud of the IronShod BFR Sequoia he had collected off the corpse of one of their Ranger Veterans and liked to show off the beautifully engraved gun at every chance he could around the Citadel. I could only assume that the NER had managed to salvage their rather simplistic design schematics from somewhere and were able to produce them in-house like they could their Ranger-series Mrk. I and II armor sets.

“You mean this old raggedy hunk of junk?” I replied, hoisting out the heavy little thing which caused him to recoil with a look of horror at the fucked state of the gun. And I thought I felt bad for the damn things’ sorry state.

“For the love of fuck please tell me that wasn’t your doing…” He gasped, almost glaring back up at me after he had taken another horrified look at the gun.

“Fuck that, like hell I would let this sorta shit happen to my gear.” I retorted with a bit of anger. “Found it like this out near Macintosh buried in the fuckin’ dirt. My armor let me explore the Crater y’all have over there for a bit and that’s where I got all that high-quality ammo and shit. Found it just outside the hole in the wall leading into the complex.”

“You looking to sell??” He asked with wide eyes of envy. “Even in that condition, I’d pay you a good price for her. Been wanting something like her in my holster for years now but the only way to get one is to earn it in the Battalion, strip it from a corpse or...buy it from the blue moon guy who just so happens to find one in the wild somewhere.”

“Heh, sorry but I’m keeping this find for myself. That being said...you guys think you could restore it for me? I’ve got a bit more I can trade-in for refurbishing this old thing.”

He looked regretful of my answer but nodded with a somewhat forced smile.

“Aye, that we certainly can fuckin’ do. How about this, leave it here with me and come back for it in...let’s say a week. That’ll give us time to mill out the metal and wood we’ll need and a couple days for the fine tuning, polishing and live fire tests for quality assurance testing.”

The drawer opened up but I hadn’t heard anything about the costs. I wasn’t about to be finessed out of my new toy if I could help it.

“Hold up, what’s this gonna run me?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullllllshit. If you’re trying to snag this Sequoia then you’re sore outta luck.”

“You ain’t selling so I ain’t snagging anything. You’ve spent over 7k in caps which makes you a very high-spender, the kind of customer we like coming back to us for more of the best shit in the Wastes, my friend. Consider this a token of appreciation for your business here today taking that big ass bird gun off our hooves finally and giving her the new life she deserves. Just like that gorgeous lil’ beauty in your claws deserves a second chance to make somepony proud. Just like any good soldier, you never leave a good gun behind.”

For such a built Army guy, his voice was surprisingly soft and genuine right now. If I wasn’t aware of what was going on, I would have mistaken him for a caring parent by the way he talked about firearms. This guy loved guns it seemed…

“Alright, you know what? Sure. But make sure you’re the guy who gets to test fire it. Consider it a customer request. Might be denying you the gun but I don’t think it’d be fair for someone as passionate as you to walk away without enjoying it for awhile.”

With that I dropped the gun into the deposit box and enjoyed the look on his face as he gave a hearty salute of gratitude. It was a small gesture sure, but as he said loyalty was something they valued. Making a good impression on the best merchants was a basic part of Survival 101 so buttering him up right back was sure to pay off for how low the price was.

“Well...I’ll be goddamned! Would be my pleasure to test her out for ya big guy! I can see this being a profitable relationship for both of us. The Runners have been my life for the last six-years but this is by far the best transaction I’ve made here yet.”

“Heh...well, I guess I’m honored?” I chuckled nervously, noticing the increasingly mad line of ponies behind me waiting to be served but brushing them off. This was a genuinely interesting stallion, something I didn’t get to experience that often since most of the good soldiers died 200 years ago. “How’d you end up here after the NER?”

“Phbbt, that? Ain’t much to tell! When I walked up to these folks asking if they were hiring about a month after leaving the Army, they took one look at my tattoo and knew I was the right stallion for the job. Spent most of my time in the Armory for the Republic so I got my hooves on all sorts of neat shit from the old days making me the best damn pick for working in this fortress of a store. Best goddamn decision of my whole life if ya gotta ask me. Got solid hours workin’ with my harem of deadly bitches making folks like you live to see another day with my company’s finest! And what about job security eh? Lifetime employment and four mean sons-o’-bitches guarding each corner! I get more respect and pay here than I ever got with the Army! Best part is, I’m still the fucker they’re coming to see for weapons! We make a killing off of how much the damn Republic spends on repairing their old service rifles and making new ones. And don’t even get me started on bullets! I swear they’ve gotta either be at war or preparing for one...but the fuck do I care? I ain’t part of their problematic political bullshit anymore.”

“Damn...if I didn’t have a price on my head, I might be tempted to ask about employment myself…” I said out loud to myself, pulling back on the charge handle for my new LMG and feeling a happy, giddy ruffle up my feathers as the action clacked closed with a loud, metallic snap on the first of 100 rounds.

All of a sudden, gun shots went off in the distant corner of the market and the air was electrified in an instant. Of course I just had to go and fucking jynx myself by even mentioning that shit outloud…

“Ah shit, looks like somepony got ripped off again. From the sounds of things, it's a big one this time.” The stallion sighed in an annoyed tone before raising his voice up to reach the others in line. “You know the drill everypony. Front’s closed until the All-Clear.”

And with that a solid set of steel walls extended from the ceiling and floor, sliding nearly shut near the center of the glass panes at the stallion’s eye-height leaving just enough room to look outside. I would have stuck around to look at the lockdown system more but the four guards at the corners of the store started barking at everyone to get lost, just as more gunshots echoed across the marketplace. While it was more-than-likely not my problem, I still didn’t feel like being identified in such a public place. I got what I needed plus interest so it wasn’t time to start pressing my luck around here.

“Sonova bitch, I gotta get outta here.” I growled and quickly made my way towards the exit. “Yeah totally could be nothing, but it could be something too and that’s the fucking problem isn’t it?.”

I cursed myself. In my armor I was the easiest target to find in the market being a full two-heads taller than everyone else around. Even out of my armor I would have had a hard time masking my presence but it was like I was asking to get recognized. Now I was stuck in the market in the middle of some fight and for all I knew there could be an opportune assassin somewhere waiting for me to come out of the aether. The path to the front door was a bit of a mess as the general mood was tense but not in a full panic. This probably wasn’t the first or last time bullets had gone flying around in here so it was unsurprising to see most merchants still conducting business more-or-less as normal as I passed. The shots seemed to have come from the other side of the building so that gave me a bit of hope in avoiding the problem altogether.

Making it to the doors out was uneventful as the general commotion was coming from the far right corner of the market. I could hear some yelling followed by an extremely odd sounding explosion that didn’t ring a bell with any of the ordinance I was used to. Regardless, it was nice to be out and in Freeside proper again where I could find Firefly and get back into the open desert where the amount of possible sniper perches was minimal. The outside streets were just as they had been when I entered, busy with leftover merchant stalls not good enough to fit inside the building. No sight of any...oh for the love of...

Meandering like idiots aways up the street towards the bar I needed to reach, I noticed a few Merc types looking around for something. They had good equipment, way too well armed to not be in a Company or something and each had matching white-painted early model combat armor with bold stripes of black on the shoulder, chest and thigh plates. As to which Company they ran with or who had hired them, I hadn’t the slightest clue having had no time to get to know who the fuck was who out here. I seemed to catch the attention of a few of the knuckle heads as a few ran after me the moment I started to run towards the nearest alleyway; a reminder to me of why I took the back alleys to get here to begin with. I could hear them screaming and yelling in my direction as I ducked into the alley. I had no idea why they were after me but it was totally possible these were goons of whoever the Hitmare bitch was that wanted the 25k on my head, Killer Queen or some shit. Finding a suitably sturdy old concrete road barrier that had been tossed in the alley along with other rubble and junk, I quickly decided brace my new LMG on it try out the power of 1,200 rounds-per-minute on these dumb fucks. 100 rounds was hardly an abundance of ammo but all it would take would be to treat her like a semi-automatic. Quick, smooth and collected squeezes of the trigger to conserve ammo. The automatic fire mechanism would take care of the rest for me the moment I made a positive ID.

Hearing them coming down the alley finally, I flipped the safety toggle with my thumb and leveled the sights at what was roughly pony-height.The alley lit up with the sound of gunfire and the near-constant light of muzzle flash as I spared no time letting out a few controlled bursts on the trigger as soon as the first body appeared in my sight picture. All I knew for those few short seconds of combat was the feeling of pure, blissful joy as lead flew, bodies crumbled and gore splattered the alley walls in glorious fashion. Before I knew what had happened, I was standing there panting with my gun empty and at least six dead Merc asshats laying in pools of crimson about twenty feet away. I could tell from the holes leaking small fountains of blood in their armor that the guy had set me up with belts of .308 AP, and not the shitty ones either. This 42 was a masterclass in slaughter… I was gonna need a lot more .308s now I had discovered the orgasmic experience of firing this beautiful bitch.

”D...damn that was...thrilling.” I panted and sat down against a wall, trying to regain my breath. I took out the empty drum from the receiver and stuffed it into my saddlebags, retrieving a fresh box and belt from the magnetic mounts on my sides just as I noticed Firefly making his way up the alley behind me looking concerned.

”Damn Garand, th’ fuck did ya do?” He said as he slowly trotted up, noticing the casings, dead bodies, and my new beautiful LMG. “Could fuckin’ hear tha’ bitch from th’ fuckin’ moon with tha’ kinda fire-rate!”

“Market place was attacked, some Merc assholes. Guess they thought I was their target or something, hell if I know. You recognize ‘em?” I said as I finished slapping the feed tray cover over the fresh belt of shiny bronze and copper death.

“Hmmm, looks like Black Velvet’s merry band of asshats….damn.” He growled with a look of concern. “The hell is that bitch doin’ back in these parts? She ain’t gonna be happy to see some of her boys drowned in blood...but why was she after yew if Queen got yer Contract? Ah fuck it...anyways, got info on our target. He's hidin’ out at a place known as Black Steel Hill. ‘Bout forty-clicks East somewhere, some kinda Pre-War radio bunker.”

I nodded and had Firefly help me up. “Sounds promising, let’s get going. Oh, and here's the ammo ya needed by the way.” I said, slinging my LMG over my back and attaching it to the large mag-strip meant for shouldering larger weapons.

After using my inventory screen on my HUD to bring the appropriate boxes of ammo to the top of my saddlebags and handing him his order, he commented, “See ya got a new piece! Ain’t she a beauty!” He said, admiring the Greifenländer marvel of gunsmith mastery. “Must’ve cost ya a hell of a pretty cap tah get one like that! LMG is ah damn fine choice fer ya.”

“Heh heh, thanks! It definitely cost me out the ass, even with your contribution, but I haggled the price down a bit by selling off some shit to the vendor. You’ve no fucking idea how fucking priceless this weapon is, especially now.”

He chuckled and we started to head out to the Wastes once again, taking nothing but back paths in order to escape further attacks. “Oh yeah? Well glad it's goin’ to somepony who knows its value! Looks like one mean bitch...you gonna name it?”

I had to stop and think for a minute since he had brought up a damn fine point. Like any self-respecting badass, every gun in my arsenal had a name to go along with its particular personality. It was a bit early to make such a big choice so soon after purchase but she had been christened in blood already...Greifenländer tradition demanded she be named to commemorate its birth as my new weapon.

”Hmmm…Krie. The Gryphon God of War.”

Next Chapter: Chapter 4: Two Birds with One Stone Estimated time remaining: 5 Hours, 51 Minutes