I hummed contentedly to myself, the last song still sticking in my mind, as I went about my work. Today, it was an energy rifle – fiddly little things, any number of things could be wrong with it, really. Crystal out of alignment, loose wire, or just plain wear and tear.

“Hey, chiiildren, it's DJ Pon3 here, and it's time for some news. As usual, it's raider season, folks – just another reminder to keep your heads down and be alert for anything that looks like it might want to slap a slave collar on you and sell you for a hoofful of caps.”

I sighed as the news from below washed over my ears, and I tightened a screw. I'd started listening to the radio out of boredom, wanting to put my PipBuck some other way than rebooting malfunctioning power armour; but Enclave radio got old, fast. Same old stuff, always with the upbeat, patriotic marching music.

Call me unpatriotic if you will, I hated marching music with a passion. So, I asked around – was there any other radio stations that didn't play the same three songs in a row?

Almost everypony I asked said “no”. Almost. Some of the soldiers I asked responded with a suspiciously fast “no”, which sounded an awful lot like a “no, now stop asking before we get in trouble” kind of “no”. Which meant there was something out there. I redoubled my search.

One night in a bar, it paid off, and I found myself rubbing shoulders with one of the Enclave’s soldiers under the influence. After a few more drinks and stories about fearsome beasts he'd vanquished below the clouds, I managed to get a lead.

They had a radio station down there.

That had been it for me; afterwards, I led a double-life. By day, repair-pony; a valuable trade in the Enclave, where there was almost no new tech, and a decent repairpony was worth their weight in rations. Even my PipBuck was a good two centuries old; although, coming from a long line of technicians and repair-ponies, it was in excellent condition. Unlike some others’ PipBucks, which I regularly had to service just to get them working on a near-daily basis.

By night, I worked on 'The Project'. A device that sat underneath the floor of my workshop, under a metal panel and beneath a cover of cloud. Thus anchored, it protruded through the bottom of the clouds, an antenna made of old wire and irreparably broken spare parts and wires.

A signal booster. My heart had leapt as I turned it on for the first time. Running off an old spark battery, and only with just enough signal strength to fill my workshop and not much more, I had new radio.

My world had grown three times that day. My antenna picked up everything, from propaganda about somepony named 'Red Eye', all the way to... DJ Pon3. That station had repetitive music, too, even if it did have more songs than Enclave Radio. But that wasn't why I listened.

That Red Eye, all he did was preach his cause. The DJ? He told it like it was, he reported the news, he gave his listeners the truth, no mater how hard it hurt. Settlement hit by raiders? He reported it. Small foal rescued by mercenaries with a heart of gold? He reported that, too.

He reported a life below the clouds – a life that I'd been told my entire life, didn't exist, couldn’t exist. Couldn’t thrive. Lies – there were ponies alive down there, living and breathing, trying to forge a life in the wake of the war. And they weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.

And so I listened to the one pony whom I could count on to tell the truth – DJ Pon3. Sometimes, it was good news, news heartwarming or inspiring enough to be worth risking a summary execution or worse for.

Today, though, it was all bad news. I sighed as reports of more missing ponies around the Arbu area were reported. The 'Wasteland' was a horrible place to live. Why couldn't they live up here in the clouds, where it was safe? Food might be strictly rationed, and birth rates watched like a gryphon watching a stray mouse, but life was good by comparison.

A banging on my door startled me, and I toggled the signal repeater off; my PipBuck's radio turned off automatically, having lost signal, and I opened the door slowly. Nope, no illegal radio here.

On the other side stood a sturdy, rust-green pegasus with a short-trimmed pale-yellow mane – one of my more regular customers, Copper Oxide – rather appropriately named by his parents, scientists both, I heard.

It was kind of unfortunate Copper hadn't inherited a single iota of their brains – that had put us at odds back in flight school, although now we had something of a working relationship. I fixed his stuff on the cheap and quiet, and he used his military contacts to get me stuff I wouldn't normally be able to get with my Civilian's access rights.

“Hey, Sparky,” Copper greeted me, slapping me on the shoulder. “How's things? Got my rifle fixed?”

I looked over my shoulder – caught up in the news, I'd fixed it and actually moved on to my next job. I retrieved the weapon, and brought it back to it's owner.

“Yeah, just finished it, Copper. And please, call me Magnetic. Or Mag. Screw would do, even.”

“Ha, you're a good pegasus, Sparky,” Copper said, ignoring my request, “Enclave's lucky to have a pony like you.”

“Just look after it,” I reminded. “Don't go hitting things with it again... or drop it too hard, okay? It's a sensitive piece of gear.”

“Yeah, but you're here to fix it, ain'tcha?” Copper asked, prodding me. “'sides. I pay you well enough, don't I?”

“Speaking of... your account's overdue,” I pointed out. “You owe me fifty bits.”

“Yeah, yeah,” scoffed Copper, and he reached around to some saddle bags. “Here, I got your payment.”

Copper stuck out a hoof, and perched on the end was a small circuit-board, complete with wires and battery. I took the piece of technology, and nodded.

“And we're square. Thank you, Copper.”

“Hey, you can keep a secret,” Copper countered, “And I appreciate that - I don't think the quartermaster would be too happy of he actually found out how I treat his guns. Dunno why you want junk like that, though,” he said, nodding to the cryptographic sequencer I'd had him pinch from his parents' lab. Clearly, he didn’t understand what I’d had him acquire, and good thing too - he might have valued it at more than fifty bits.

“Spare parts,” I lied, and Copper brought it.

“Sure. Right, gotta dash – got a patrol in ten. Catch you later, Sparky.”

Like a green tornado, the pegasus was gone, and I clutched my prize. I could let Copper not using my name slide, he'd brought me what I needed.

I turned around, and uncovered my repeater. I opened it up, and attached the new module. Once that was done, I located the power source, and increased it's power.

Before, I couldn't pump too much power through my repeater – I could, but it would be a signal that everypony in the Enclave could pick up. But with this little doodad that I'd talked Copper into getting...

I cackled quietly - my guilty pleasure was now encrypted. The tightest signal band I could manage, and now, it was all just going to sound like white noise to anypony who did manage to stumble upon it. I could listen to the news of the land that officially didn't exist, from anywhere, with total impunity.

Today was a good day to be Magnetic Screwdriver, upstanding Enclave repair-pony.

The next morning, I looked at my reflection in the mirror, turning my head left and right as I washed my teeth, and grinned at myself.

A pearly-white smile framed by a tidy, turquoise coat, under a pair of clear, gold eyes and a mussy, blue mane to top it all off. Me in a nutshell.

Who was I, really? Magnetic Screwdriver, repair-pony – and what a name. Why did my parents call me that? Who calls their kid “Magnetic”? Apparently my parents. If I hadn't gotten a butt-marking for repairing electronics, my name would have been completely wrong. I imagine if things had gone that way, I’d just have said “buck it”, and ditched the Enclave. Good thing I didn’t, though. Life was good up here; not amazing, but certainly better than the wasteland.

I checked my PipBuck for the time – a special luxury in a sense, since most folks didn't have one. And if they did, they hardly ever used it! For example: did you know that PipBucks automagically pin-point things on your to-do list, on a map? Did you know that they even have that map function? Add in inventory sorting, an Eyes-Forward Sparkle (Which I never used, really) and all sorts of stuff... imagine if Equestrian soldiers had all been equipped with these things; we'd never have lost the war against the Zebras, way back when.

The clock in the top corner of my PipBuck said it was breakfast-o-clock. Time for some news, if the good DJ stuck to his schedule. I clicked the radio on as I made my way out of my bathroom and into my cloud-home proper.

It wasn't a huge home. One apartment in a twenty-story building, the main room served as lounge, dining room and walk-in kitchen, another room was for the bathroom, and a third room to sleep in. My workshop was in another building, about two minutes' flight from my window; that made me a fairly swanky bastard, to be fair. Most ponies just had the apartment, on account of property being at a premium these days.

That's what happens when your natural talent is one of the most valued skills in the Enclave short of 'magical lasers'.

Loud and impatient-sounding banging on the door sounded, interrupting DJ's news. Again. I rolled my eyes and turned the radio off.

“Coming!” I called out, sighing. Breakfast would apparently have to wait; occasionally I got clients like this, that genuinely believed the thing they'd broken was so vitally important, it had priority or difficulty over all else. This was only the case some of the time. Didn't stop me charging them a wing and a leg for the 'priority repair', though.

Whoever it was, they weren't waiting. With a smash, the door was bucked open, and I opened my mouth to protest. I shut it when three armoured Enclave soldiers entered the room.

“Magnetic Screwdriver?” The centre one demanded of me, clearly the leader.

“That's me!” I squeaked, cowed by the formidable power armour. I'd worked on those things just once before, and the armour alone was dangerous enough; augmented strength, barbed tail, and just being plain heavy - compared to regular barding, that was. Factor in guns on the built-in battle-saddle (which these soldiers had done, evidenced by the six energy rifles being pointed at me) and you had one lethal killing machine, skill of the user not withstanding. Even I could become a god of war in one... provided I worked out how to not break my own limbs using it.

“You're under arrest for disobeying Enclave law,” the leader stated, and I sat down heavily. “Come quietly and we won't turn you to slag.”

My mouth moved wordlessly as they moved to shackle my unresisting hooves, and my heart beat a mile as  I tried to dance around the problem in my mind, asking myself the big question: What had I done?

Unfortunately, no matter how much I danced, I was still dancing. I knew what I'd done.

"I want my lawyer," I blurted.

“Court is now in session.”

A gavel banged, and I quaked in my shackles, standing behind the defendant's table. Aside from me, my bailiff, and the Enclave Military court, I was all alone. And I was wearing a bright white boiler-suit – I felt incredibly exposed, for one so thouroughly-clad.

“Magnetic Screwdriver,” the court's judge, wearing the regalia of a General, leaned on his table. “You are charged with violating Enclave law, and attempting to incite civil unrest with your lies.”

“What lies?” I blurted, “You haven't even told me what exactly I'm guilty of!”

The General seemed a little amused. “Very well, we shall observe the formalities and prove it to you - not like it matters, anyway. Colonel Leaf, if you would...?”

A pegasus wearing ornate, and heavily-decorated armour stepped forward, and placed a piece of paper on the table in front of me. On it, I recognized a picture of a device with a long antenna, and gulped.

“We found this,” Leaf stated, tapping the paper, “Underneath your workshop, boosting a signal claiming to be from below the cloud layer.”

“That... that's not illegal,” I bluffed, “There's nothing down there, is there? I haven't found anything yet. Where's my lawyer? Don't I get a lawyer?”

“Oh?” Leaf said, ignoring my demands and tapping a hoof. Two doors on the side of the courtroom opened, and two more Enclave soldiers arrived, with the boxy device in question. Sure enough, it was my signal repeater; down to the mangled welds on the left-hoof side.

Leaf connected the device to a set of speakers, and activated it. With a hiss of static, the speaker came to life, and I took heart. Had they failed to break the encryption, perhaps?

“See? Static,” I pointed out. “Fat load of nothing.”

“What if we decrypt this signal?” Leaf asked, and I flinched visibly. He smiled, and I felt my heart sink. “Oh, you thought you were a clever pony, hmm? My dear brother is smarter, said it was like breaking a cloud-castle. You should change the default encryption key, he suggested.”

With a snap of static, the white noise became the voice of my Wasteland Newscaster, DJ Pon3. I flinched again as he started talking about radroaches.

“Ah... ha ha,” I laughed, nervously. “That could be anypony's signal repeater. I'm sure my lawyer could prove it if you gave me one.”

The judge-General shook his head gravely. “A lawyer wouldn't do you any good - we're not here to discuss your guilt, Screwdriver. This is a sentencing.”

The gavel went bang again, and my heart skipped a beat or three.

“Magnetic Screwdriver, you are sentenced to be executed tomorrow at noon.”

I languished in my cell, pacing back and forth. Tomorrow at noon? Why that far away? I longed for my PipBuck – they'd taken it from me, and I was missing it and it’s clock function; but judging by the little I could see of the sun outside, it was only just hitting noon now. That meant I was set to die over twenty four hours from now!

Why drag it out?

The door to the cell block creaked as it opened, and in strode a pony I'd last seen not a few hours ago. I started shaking in my irons again as he stopped outside my cell.

“Colonel Leaf?” I recalled, and the Enclave pegasus waved my cell's guard away, opening my cell. I stood still as he entered and closed the cell door behind him.

“Magnetic Screwdriver,” he began, “you're going to tell me exactly who you're working with. Who you're trying to sell the Enclave out to.”

“I'm not working with anypony!” I denied. “It's all me!”

“Don't lie to me,” Leaf warned. “Tell me who gave you the technology to build that signal booster, and anypony else you're conspiring with, and I might just be able to make it so that you don't get recorded as a Dashite in the history books.”

“Dashite?” I felt my heart skip another beat. “I'm no Dashite!”

“Screwdriver... you're a traitor to the Pegasi and the entire Enclave,” Leaf corrected, as he reached inside his jacket, and drew an implement. The mark was reversed, but as the brand warmed up, care of the heating coils, I could tell exactly what mark it was. “You're going to die a Dashite, I can't help that. But I can tell some lies, grease some wheels. You'll have died in a horrible accident, an energy rifle exploding as you repaired it. An honorable death. Your parents will be proud, as will any friends you might have. I'll even hold off on the branding, you'll be a Dashite on the execution form only.”

I thought about it. Copper Oxide – he qualified as the pony who supplied me with most of the tech I had used. If I dropped his name, I-  I shook my head just as quickly. Never would I do that, and I felt like a Dashite just for thinking of selling him out.

“I didn't have any help,” I maintained, “I did that all myself.”

“Still singing that tune?” Leaf asked idly. “Are you sure?”

“I'm not going to stop singing it,” I stated, “Because it's the Luna-damned truth!”

Leaf put the brand down with a sigh, and drew another implement from his coat – oversized, solid-metal horseshoes. Brass hooves. He shod himself, and brought his fore-hooves together with a clang of metal on metal.

“Let's see if I've still got the touch. I think I can make you sing the tune I want.”

“...Hey, Sparky. Wake up. Sparky.”

I cracked one eye open, and rubbed the back of my manacled hooves against my eye, dislodging the dried blood on it. In front of the cell, outside, was my guard, low to the ground as he got my attention. That damned power armour... all Enclave soldiers looked the same, they said, until you got to know them better, find some way of picking out pony joe from the herd.

“Hmh?” I mumbled, and grunted in pain as I got up on three legs. The Colonel had done quite a number on me; busted wing, a couple of fractured ribs, a broken leg; not to mention a killer headache and dozens, if not hundreds, of bruises and welts. Nothing to send me to the gallows early, though; I still had another six hours to live with the injuries and pain of the brand on my flank.

“Hey, Screwdriver! My favourite technician is alive enough to die in six hours! I hope you rot in Tartarus for what you tried to do, you filthy Dashite.”

I recognized the voice. “Copper Oxide? That you?”

“Pfft. Who else?” I finally recognized the build of the armoured pegasus, and opened my mouth, but Copper put a hoof to his helmeted mouth. “It's your lucky death-day. A Major told me to give this to you, said everypony deserved a last meal, even if they were a Dashite.”

I watched as Copper pushed a strangely bulging box of Dandybuck Apples through the bars.

“A little souvenir from below, he said,” Copper informed. “It's about as close as you'll get to escaping the Enclave. A little taste of what you were going to sell us out for. I personally hope you choke on them.”

I looked at Copper strangely, puzzled - his antagonistic attitude was strange, even for my situation; he tapped the hoof to his helmet again, and nodded to the box, his expression unreadable behind the helmet.

“Hah, the Major might have told me to give it to you, but I've added a little surprise of my own. Don't mind the... extra fluid... heh heh.” Copper's chuckle was a little forced, and I crawled forward, taking the box, and opening it.

Inside, on a small bed of dried apples, were three things; my PipBuck, a small red evidence sticker still stuck to the side; a screwdriver with a long hairpin taped to it, and a small flask. I looked back at Copper.

“Oh boy,” he said unconvincingly, “I really shouldn't have drunk my entire water ration before starting guard duty. I'll be right back, don't go anywhere, Screw!” Copper laughed. “Yeah, like you're going to escape with whatever's in that that box of dried fruit. Not like there's anything  special to note in there, har. Just a little message from me to you... bucking Dashite.”

The armoured pegasus pointed once more at the box, and walked out of the cell block, leaving me all alone. I took the box and tipped it over gingerly with my bad leg - with a skitter and rattle, the contents were spilled. Under a scattering of dried apple bits, previously hidden from me by was an awkwardly-scrawled message on a folded piece of note-paper.

Magnet,

I heard about what happened – you are a real mate for not selling me out when you could have. By the time you read this, hopefully I've gone to the bathroom for a bit. “Bowel problems” will keep me there for half an hour, so get going, okay?

An Enclave Major really did give me this box of apples, the screwdriver was in there when I got it. You're supposed to escape with them, but I wouldn’t know where to start. Looks like you've got some friends amongst all those enemies in the high places.

Senate's throwing a real tanty over this arrest, mind you - the arresting soldiers weren't subtle, and even though 'treason' would be a good enough reason to calm the civvies, getting charged with treason for listening to the radio sounds like a ridiculous charge from the get-go, and Col. Leaf knows it, so they're cooking up false charges and evidence. Looks like conspiracy to blow up the senate itself, from what I've seen.

I threw in my flask, filled with some healing potion I picked up from below; there's not a lot in there, but hopefully it should get you on your hooves so you can escape. I might have mixed in a few chems as well, to give it a little more kick.

I don't believe that you were trying to betray the Enclave. I should never have told you about the radio down there. And you've been a better friend than I really deserved, with how I treated you.

Stop reading this, get escaping,
Copper Oxide

I scooped up the flask, and after popping the cap open, put it to my lips and took a deep slug. The potion went down cold, followed by a gentle burning as whatever else Copper had mixed in took effect; the pain in my limbs vanished, and I felt some of the more serious wounds knit together slightly; my leg became bearable to stand on, my wing healed up a little, and my ribs felt less tender than before.

The pain on my flank didn't fade – the brand that overrode my real cutie mark had been magically imbued. I doubted it was ever going to heal.

Otherwise partially healed and capable, I re-secured the PipBuck around my leg as tightly as I dared, given my condition, and picked up the screwdriver in my mouth. My EFS flashed up in front of me as my PipBuck reinitialized, and after a brief scree of text, a small reticle sat in my vision. It had booted into some sort of combat mode - I looked around, and the reticle followed where I looked.

Nifty. I looked at my shackles, and took my screwdriver in my mouth, poking the tool into the lock. They were locked with an electronically-controlled mechanism, but having had to repair one in the past, I knew that if you stabbed something fairly long and thin into a particular seam, you could pop the lock system right open. Or electrocute yourself, I wasn't ever quite sure how it'd turn out.

No time like the present. With a swift jab of my mouth, I stabbed; sparks showered, and I braced for a jolt, but it never came. With a clatter, the shackles fell off, and I stepped free; the cell door was a slightly more complex system requiring a swipe-card. But, if you had a screwdriver...

I snickered as I undid the panel on my side of the door, exposing wiring. A small cluster of wires glinted back at me, and I blew a raspberry as I tried to remember which one controlled power to the door motors.

I decided on the green wire, and with a levering action, broke the wire; I got a solid jolt for my trouble, but it wore off in no time, and I pried the door open using my screwdriver to get a good grip with my hoof.

I exited the cell, and moving carefully, walked over to the door; to my surprise, a small tuft of cloud was wedged in the door, preventing it from closing properly. I smiled – thank you, Copper.

And thank you to that Major – whoever he was. Who gave a convicted criminal and traitor the means to escape? You'd have to be insane...

I walked around the corner, and froze like a rat in a corner as I found myself staring at two Enclave soldiers in power armour, insect-like eyepieces reflecting a turquoise pony in a white boiler-suit. None of us moved, waiting to see who would break first in this game of chicken.

Or laying a trap, I guessed. Anything to get me killed early, right?

I turned tail, and bolted for it down the corridor, damaged wings flapping away to give me what extra speed they could. The soldiers broke into a gallop after me, energy rifles powering up and scorching the corridor and air around me with iridescent red beams of energy.

Whether by luck, or unknown design, nothing hit me and my completely unarmoured flank as I ran; I rounded a corner, and found a fire-exit, sitting gently at the end of the corridor. Alarms began to blare, and bells rang to herald my escape, as Enclave soldiers emerged like worms from woodwork to bear witness to my daring bid for freedom.

With a crash, I slammed into the cross-bar for the door, and stumbled outside, into the sunshine. I ran out onto the cloud, and slowed to a halt as I found myself staring down the barrels of... too many laser rifles than I cared to count. All around me, in the air, each soldier armed to the teeth. Only the best to keep the most dangerous traitor of the century under lock and key, it seemed.

“Magnetic Screwdriver, give it up!” the ranking soldier shouted, using his power armour's external speaker to amplify his voice. "You're surrounded!"

"Get back in your cell, you fucking terrorist!" another soldier yelled, to yells of support and shouts demanding that he save it for a better time.

“Never!” I declared. "I'm innocent! And I never got my lawyer!"

“Then you die here.” The officer didn't raise his voice, but everypony shut up anyway. He raised a hoof, and the simultaneous snick of safeties being disabled filled the air. “Soldiers! Open fire!”

Time slowed to a crawl. Me. Cloud. Surrounded on all side by soldiers who could shoot me out of the air faster than you could say “Security saves ponies”. Escape was a good three hundred metres away, if I cared to run or fly for it. Assuming I made it past ten metres, of course.

Wait, cloud. Cloud. I almost laughed. I was a moron! A dumb pony of the highest calibre! I felt the clouds below me give way as I stopped trying to stand on them; the smell of burnt hair filled my nostrils, and lasers scorched my mane as it flew up in the wake of my descent.

I fell, my world nothing but steadily greying cloud. The point of no return – I guessed I'd miss life in the Enclave. But surely the surface wasn't that bad?

I punched through the underside of the cloud layer, tufts of grey cloud flying away below me, and saw Equestria with my own two eyes for the very first time.

Dull, lifeless dirt. Cities of rubble, towns of broken concrete and dilapidated buildings, roads of fractured blacktop and beaten dirt, columns of smoke rising into the sky. To the south, a foreboding, industrial-looking city. To the north, a tall mountain with the remains of a city I recognized as Canterlot. Below me, a green forest, the only apparent source of natural life for miles around.

The Wasteland I'd heard so much about, filled with danger I could only imagine. And here I was, falling at terminal velocity, injured, and presumably wanted by every Enclave soldier from here to Hoofington. But I was alive, and just like DJ Pon3 said – where there's life, there's hope.

Celestia alone knew how much I'd need it.

Next Chapter: Welcome To The Wasteland Estimated time remaining: 55 Minutes