Lyra wrapped her towel around her shoulders as a little cloak and headed downhill to the StableTech parking lot, where she was almost immediately derailed from her quest to find friends. Was her car still here?

The vehicles in the lot had been thrown around like toys by the balefire shockwave. It had smashed or melted less sturdy makes—nothing left but steering wheels, naked engine blocks, and chunks of scorched fiberglass. But the Cowvegas were mostly still intact. She paced back and forth amongst the wreckage, searching for her license plate.

“Baby! Is it really you?” she shouted, delighted, heedless of what might hear her.

Baby had landed upside down on top of another car, which he had crushed. She heaved him over with her telekinesis—making her horn throb with pain—and he crashed into the snow. The passage of time had worn him down to his stainless steel frame. Somepony had looted the seats and the rubber from the tires. But her toolbox was still there! And her keys were still in the ignition!

Curious if he would still run, she squatted behind the control yoke and cranked the ignition. Dashboard lights flickered on, flashing every imaginable warning. The engine rumbled, coughed, and died.

Lyra smiled. That was much better than she’d anticipated. There was still some life left in the old beast. Her mind felt at rest, the long term goals of finding her family and making friends replaced by the pointless short term goal of fiddling with something mechanical. What was she hoping for, exactly? Baby wasn’t going anywhere without tires. She didn’t care. She popped the hood, grabbed her tools, and went to have a look.

She was able to hook her PipBuck into the engine core without too much trouble. Littlepip fretted about Lyra connecting the PipBuck with a non-approved device, but Lyra tapped away the warning and went on with her work. Baby needed a new spark battery, but otherwise, the power side of things looked surprisingly good! The rest of the engine had felt the ravages of time—Flux regulator? Looted. Tubing? Rotted. Belts? Also rotted. Fluids? Leaked away or dried to sludge. The impact of the megaspell had cracked the radiator, and most of the screws and bolts seemed to be rusted in place.

All of this, however, was fixable. Lyra flagged her tail happily and began making notes in her pipPipBuck about the components she needed to find.

“Holy Luna on a spit roast. Do you see what I see?” Said a stallion’s voice from behind her.

“Fat blue ass,” said a muffled mares’ voice.

“Fattest ass I’ve seen in a dragon’s age. They kick you out of the stable, sugar?”

Lyra swore and whipped around, horn glowing, only to find herself looking down two the smoothbore barrels of a shotgun. Two earth ponies stood behind her, dressed only in ragged cloaks and improvised barding made from rubber, leather, and steel. The mare held the shotgun in her mouth, grinning so wide Lyra could see her teeth around the edges of the mouth guard.

“Lose the glow and put your forehooves in the air, sugar,” said the stallion, “or my fillyfriend here’s gonna turn your brains to jelly.”

“Unicorn!” mumbled the mare. “Ponysmith’s gonna pay top cap for her.”

Lyra gritted her teeth. So much for a new spirit of camaraderie amongst ponykind. She could try to raise a shield before the mare bit down on the trigger. She might make it in time, but then again she might not. And then her brains would be jelly, as advertised. She sighed, let her magic dissipate, and raised her hooves. Both of the ponies’ eyes went wide when they saw what was on her left leg.

“Hooo-lleee shit, a PipBuck!” said the stallion. He thumped his marefriend’s shoulder with a hoof. “Ass, unicorn, and PipBuck! We’ve hit the fucking jackpot!”

Gears whirred in Lyra’s head. She wasn’t going to meet any of her goals if she let herself get robbed and enslaved. She couldn’t fight her way out of this problem. But maybe she could talk her way out of it. “You two like PipBucks?”

The mare laughed around her grip on the shotgun.

“Fuck yeah,” said the stallion. “Easy Money’s got one of those. Saw him take down a whole room full of raiders with nothing but his PipBuck and his magic.”

The mare snickered. “And then you ran away.”

“Only reason I’m here to talk about it.”

Lyra felt like she was sitting down in the middle of a movie. Who was Ponysmith? What did he want unicorns for? And who was Easy Money? She had a lot of catching up to do. “Well, what if I told you I knew where you could find more? Dozens of them?”

The stallion scowled. “I’d say you were a lying cunt. You think I’m stupid? You’d only find that many in a stable, and good luck getting into one of those.”

Lyra smirked. “Where do you think I came from, you dumb cock? Stable 93 is abandoned. Clear out the wildlife, and you’ll have all the PipBucks you want.” Okay, Lyra had only seen three there, including the one she was wearing, not dozens. But she didn’t actually want to give these two idiots PipBucks, did she? That seemed like a bad plan.

Not that she had a plan, at this point. What was she going to do? Kill them somehow? At least luring them with the promise of PipBucks would give her time to think.

The mare glanced sideways at her coltfriend. “We’ll sell most of ‘em, and keep two. We’ll be rich. And total badasses. Rich badasses.”

The stallion spat in the snow. “I still think she’s lying, but we’d better go have a look. You. Get in front. One wrong move and we’ll fill you so full of lead we can use that fat blue ass as a pencil.”

Lyra obeyed. She got a better look at them as she walked past towards the stable. They were half-naked! She could see their cutie marks: A pony skull with Xs for eyes on the stallion, and a bullseye on the mare. Not to mention their smelly, smegma-encrusted genitals. It was indecent! Weren’t they cold like that?

“Get moving,” said the mare, prodding her in the butt with her shotgun.

As she led them up the hill, Lyra tried to think of a plan. She was looking for friends. If she got them PipBucks, even a couple, and let them have access to her ass, maybe they’d help her find her family. Maybe the pony with the PipBuck that Skull had mentioned—What was his name again? Easy Morals?—was from 93. Maybe he knew where they’d gone.

That seemed optimistic. Probably they’d still sell her the first chance they got. Anyway, the thought of doing anything sexual with these to filthy, foul-smelling ponies made her gag.

So what other choice did she have? She didn’t fancy trying to run away from Bullseye; her cutie mark was probably for marksmareship. Her mind raced. A plan began to form. It involved murder. Was she actually considering murder? Were things that bad?

They were. But she didn't know if she could kill ponies—both morally and also in terms of having to the skills to do it. Maybe if she talked to them more she could think of a better plan.

“So,” said Lyra, “How long have you two been together?”

“Chatty cunt,” said Skull.

“Couple ’a years,” said Bullseye. “We met when both our gangs raided the same settlement.”

Skull laughed happily. “Yeah. Love at first sight. We turned on our gangs, slaughtered the settlers, and kept all the loot for ourselves.”

“Good times,” said Lyra. They’d reached the stable entrance.

“That the wildlife you mentioned?” said Skull, looking at the half a pukwudgie still lying on the elevator platform.

“Yeah. Bit of a pukwudgie infestation,” said Lyra, “I’m going to activate the elevator controls. I’m not running away.”

“Okay,” said Bullseye.

“I’m telling you this so you don’t shoot me,” said Lyra.

“Got it,” said Bullseye. “Go ahead, but I’m watching you.”

The elevator clanked, moaned, and slid slowly downward. When it reached the bottom, a horde of pukwidges swarmed out from the stable, squinting in the daylight, noses twitching for the smell of prey.

“Lot of the fuckers,” said Skull.

“Don’t worry,” said Bullseye, stepping to the edge of the elevator shaft. “I’ve got this.” She started firing, one barrel at a time, headshots every time. Every two shots, she’d calmly lower the shotgun from her muzzle and dip into the pouch on her shoulder for fresh shells.

Skull stood next to Bullseye, watching her work. They weren’t paying attention to Lyra. If she was going to try anything, now was the time. She took a deep breath. Was she ready for this? It was this or be robbed and sold into slavery.

Time to kill.

She waited until Bullseye was loading shells into the open breach of her shotgun and hit her with one solid telekinetic punch in the back of the head. Her forelegs bucked and she tumbled down the shaft. Lyra heard a fleshy thump as she hit the bottom, followed almost immediately by wet tearing noises as the pukwudgies tore into her.

“You cunnnnnttttt!” Skull’s voice trailed into slow motion as Lyra turned to face him and kicked into SATS. She saw his tears glitter in the air behind him as he slowly arced towards her, spiked horseshoes aimed at her head. He was nearly on top of her; SATS gave her an estimated 95% chance to hit him in the head with a magic bolt. But 95% is not 100%. Her bolt whizzed past his ear, and before she could take another shot his hoof connected with her face, punching three holes in her left cheek and knocking her ass over teakettle. She landed on her back in the snow, and he landed on top of her.

“I’ll tear your head off and shit in the hole!” Skull howled. His hoof connected with the side of her head, punching three new holes and rattling her brain in her skull. She entered SATS again. She’d better not miss, this time. 95% was still missing one time in twenty; was that the best she could do?

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw half of the desk she’d kicked to pieces a little while ago. She couldn’t possibly miss with that.

Lyra grabbed it with her telekinesis and yanked it towards Skull’s head as hard as she could.

She hadn’t meant to kill him. She’d needed to kill Bullseye because she had the gun. Lyra had some idea of knocking Skull out and tying him up somewhere, like the heroine in a TV show might. But it wasn’t going to be that way. The jagged particleboard edge of the desk cut into his neck, tearing through the flesh, ripping open his veins and trachea. Hot blood sprayed in Lyra’s face. Then the desk drawers hit him, smashing his head to fragments. The desk and the remains of Skull’s severed head continued onward, arcing down the hill until they slammed into a tree.

Lyra shoved the rest of Skull’s corpse off of her, staggered away, vomited.

Down in the elevator shaft, she could still hear the pukwudgies feasting on Bullseye’s body.

It was over. It was over now. They were dead. She’d done what she needed to do. It was all right, at least neither of them had suffered.

From the elevator shaft, Bullseye let out an agonized, gurgling scream. Lyra vomited in the snow again and ran away.

✭☆✭☆✭☆✭

Lyra shivered in the dark in the back of her Cowvega. She’d have been warmer up in the shed by the stable door, but she couldn’t go back there again, not after what she’d done there. She’d sneaked back around sunset when she realized her stable jumpsuit and the towel she’d wrapped around her head to stop the bleeding wouldn’t be warm enough to get her through the night. She looted Skull’s cloak and boots and armor and hurried back to the relative familiarity and safety of her old station wagon.

Still too cold.

At least the floor was dry, having spent the last couple of decades as a ceiling.

She’d eaten the granola bar, which had done little to quiet her rumbling tummy. She was thirsty, and her mouth still tasted like throw up, but there was nothing to drink. Snow everywhere, and no water. Lyra didn’t know much about survival, but she knew you couldn’t just eat snow off the ground. She could light a fire with magic, sure, but she had nothing to boil the snow in. Worse, she was afraid the light of the fire would bring more raiders like Bullseye and Skull, and she was in no condition for another battle.

Raiders. That was a good name for them. That was their job—they raided things. Probably the only job left, these days.

Her PipBuck buzzed. She looked at the screen.

Your body temperature is dangerously low! warned Littlepip, waving her forelegs frantically. Please seek shelter immediately!

Lyra thought this was hilarious.

She laughed until she gagged.

Hours later, Lyra was still awake. She checked her PipBuck. It had been fifteen minutes since Littlepip’s hypothermia warning. Lyra groaned. If she could just fall asleep, the night would be over, and everything would still suck, but at least she wouldn’t be so cold anymore.

She stared ahead into the darkness. How could it be so dark? She couldn’t see anything—anything at all! It was so quiet out here that the silence made her ears ring. Except for when it wasn’t. Every once in a while, usually as Lyra was starting to drift into sleep, something would creak or groan out in the woods and Lyra would snap awake, paralyzed with fear. Then it would be quiet again.

Maybe she should light a fire? Sure, the light would help something find her and kill her, but as it was she was going to die of hypothermia. Did she know any warmth spells? A summon blanket spell maybe? Time travel back to a less shitty era? She didn’t, and she was so tired she wasn’t sure she could levitate a teakettle anyway.

She stared into the darkness. Lighting a fire would require fuel. She’d looked at the books in the saddlebags while it was still light. One was ‘A Young Mare’s Guide to Proper Lock Picking Etiquette’, that could be handy later, but the other one was the Leaftember issue of Pogue magazine from just before the war, which could probably be sacrificed. Fashion had likely moved on.

But it would only do for kindling. Any wood was out in the dark scary woods in the dark scary night.

Lyra moaned and closed her eyes. Images of her family drifted across her mind’s eye. She missed them so much already. She tried to think of something else. She saw the faces of the ponies she’d killed, instead, glaring at her, eyes full of hate. She saw Skull’s head being crushed, again and again, in even slower motion than it had happened the first time. Bullseye just sat there, weeping silently as pukwudgie fangs tore her face apart.

“Go away,” Lyra groaned. “I’m sorry I killed you! I’m sorry! Please leave me alone!”

But they wouldn’t go away.

“You heard her,” said a mare’s voice from the darkness. “Get lost.”

Skull and Bullseye faded into mist. A small gray mare in a stable jumpsuit cut off at the waist stepped through the chassis of the station wagon and sat down. Lyra squinted at her. Littlepip didn’t look much like she did on the vault screen. Hard-eyed, battle-scarred, shoulders and flanks bristling with a half dozen guns.

“How you doing, sport?” asked Littlepip.

“Hallucinating.”

Littlepip’s smiled. “I just wanted you to know that you get through this.”

“The wasteland?” said Lyra, watching in fascination as her breath curled like white steam in front of her muzzle. LIttlepip’s breath did not steam.

“No. You make it through tonight. There’s only one way out of the wasteland,” said Littlepip.

Lyra's ears perked up. "What's that?"

"Death."

"Oh. Not, like, a highway or a secret passage or something?"

"Nope. Only death."

Lyra hung her head. “I deserve to die. I killed ponies. Murdered them in cold blood.” Lyra rubbed at the wounds beneath the towel tied around her head.

Littlepip’s eyes gleamed with holy rage. “Those two were thieves, killers, rapists, and slavers. They deserved to die.”

“They were lovers,” said Lyra.

“They were cancer. It’s the job of ponies like you and me to cut that cancer out.” She stomped one of her hooves against the Cowvega’s floor four times to emphasize the last four words. “You have power, Lyra. You can make the wasteland a better place. Harmony sent me to make sure that you do.”

Lyra threw her forehooves over her face. “If Harmony cared about us we wouldn’t be in this horrible world. You’re worse than the Littlepip in my PipBuck. Please go away. I’m not killing anypony else.”

“Too late,” said Littlepip. “It’s morning.”

Lyra lowered her hooves and opened her eyes. Pale gray light filled the cabin of her car. She’d made it. She was alive! She hopped out into the snow, frolicking like a filly. Alive! Alive! Still hungry and thirsty and fucking freezing, but alive!

She stopped at the edge of the forest, breathing deeply, feeling her heart beat. Then she saw him, small and dappled brown, hiding in the shadow of a tree. Little Bean! He’d found her son! And he was still a foal!

Lyra ran into the woods, skull’s cloak streaming out behind her, calling her son’s name. “Bean! Bean! It’s mama!”

He turned and ran. When he hit the sunlight his brown coat became pale yellow, and Lyra saw that he wasn’t Bean at all. The unicorn filly, a blank flank wearing nothing but a dirty cloak, fled from her on three legs—the fourth was a stunted flipper; probably a birth defect caused by megaspell radiation. The poor thing. Lyra swore, but she followed her anyway.

Level 3
Perk: Magical Born Killer. Your magical attacks do 20% more damage. They’re super effective! Also, all non-lethal magic attacks do lethal damage instead. Sorry.

Next Chapter: Chapter 4: The Penultimate Unicorn+ Estimated time remaining: 8 Hours, 15 Minutes