Chapter 1: Birds of a Feather

“What’s a griffin?”

I hate mornings.

Specifically I hate waking up. I find it annoying and unnecessary; especially when the blankets are particularly warm and comfortable or the perfect mattress spot had been found as it so happened to be this morning. I could just sleep for another hour, or two, or four. Right?

A heavy hammering issued from the bulkhead of my door.

Ah well, I shall miss you lost hours of sleep, till we meet again. I rubbed my eyes groggily and rolled out of bed, fighting free of my blanket’s folds. My lids were heavy and kept refusing the command to stay open. My Leo half especially did not enjoy getting less than my allotted twelve or more hours. Maybe I could just sleep here on this nice comfy steel floor?

Another set of hammering knocks at the door drove spikes of annoyance deep into my brain.

“I’m up!” I shouted through the metalwork and gritted my teeth.

Did I mention that I hate mornings?

Through some monumental force of will I found my way to all four limbs, fatigue still dragging its wretched claws through my everything. I grabbed a discarded blue and yellow Stable-Tec jumpsuit from where I had sluffed it off the night before and walked to my Stable-Tec issue desk and looked into my Stable-Tec issue mirror reflecting my Stable-Tec issue life. Living in an underground bunker had its perks. Surviving the apocalypse probably being number one.

But life in a Stable wasn’t really about living. In a Stable you just existed.

With a yawn and a scratch at where my wing bindings had dug into me during the night, I slipped the wrinkled cloth over my head.

I grabbed a tube of thick mechanical grease from my desk and scooped a generous dollop into my talons and attempted to tame the beast that was my bed-head feathers. After much experimentation, the grease had proven to be the only thing with strong enough hold to tame the mess on my head. After ten seconds I viewed my work, crimson eyes staring from the reflection and decided that today was going to be disheveled look day. Again.

My PipBuck gave a little chirp. The technological marvel that was the microcomputer attached to my left foreleg informed me of my daily work orders. It was just the usual, faulty wiring in a terminal or a leaky sink. As a high level Stable technician’s apprentice I usually got the crap jobs my superiors couldn’t be bothered with, or were too lazy to do themselves when they had underlings to push around. It wasn’t really that hard as everything in the Stable was based on a standard template and had elaborate, detailed schematics on archive.

At least I was lucky to do something I enjoyed if the scattering of random electronic and mechanical scrap around my room was any hint. As a griffin, graced with opposable digits I was naturally more suitable to skilled labor. Many of my fellow feather-heads were not so fortunate.

Griffins did not magically manifest an unfailing mark upon which to base their talents. If, upon reaching branding age a fledgling had not excelled in any particular area, he or she was simply assigned whatever low key position needed filling. When I was younger I was given colorful toys to play with and was expected to romp with the other little griffins, play games and listen to idyllic children books with comically portrayed talking animals with hidden lessons about friendship.

Instead I disassembled the family toaster.

None of the tasks were tagged urgent so I could at least grab a bite to eat before heading out.

I flicked the stitch of my door which opened with a pneumatic hiss and stuck partway open. With a muttered curse I hit the switch and whacked the door a few times. After a little more persuasion, this time with a heavy wrench, the slab of metal decided to cooperate. I made a mental note to look at it later.

My family occupied a habitation unit identical to hundreds of others in the Stable. It was a simple and economic setup with three bedrooms and a living room that doubled as a kitchenette with a fridge, a little stove, and a table for four. Two seats were occupied.

On cue my father, Soot, stood and walked out to his job tilling soil in the orchard. He was grey like me, grey like the walls, and grey like our lives. It wasn’t quite hate that I felt towards him, but it definitely was not warm and fuzzy either. I didn’t blame him for mother leaving us.

Well, maybe a little.

I had one small consolation, and that was the brief time I got to spend with my little sister Cinder before she headed to school. Griffin school of course, as the ponies in charge didn’t want their foals mixing in with lower class citizens.

She smiled happily up at me, the bright red surrounding her eyes, identical to mine, reminding me of our mother fondly. Soot had never been the same since she had left us. Cinder was the real lucky one of our family and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Painting was her talent, such sights could she produce with colored oils and brushes adorned bulkheads and other halls throughout our Stable.

“Finally up I see, you slouch.” She said from her seat. I tousled her head-feathers as I took my own seat.

“Oh hush small fry, before I get hungry and decide to eat you instead.” Cinder giggled and went back to the paper she had laid across the table to sketch out her next work. It was a testament to her skill that such a precious commodity was allotted to a lowly griffin. As she hummed to herself, I scarfed down some applejam toast.

Somehow Cinder stayed positive, how, I will never know. She was branded on each flank like I was, the red streaked fur unable to regrow. Every griffin in Stable 57 was branded once they reached working age to signify their devotion to our pony overseers. Branding was a quiet affair, done in medical. It was always galling to go to the same ponies for cuts or broken bones that had strapped you down to a cold metal table and pressed a red hot piece of steel to your flank.

Thinking about it set my teeth on edge and I had to take a deep breath to release the tension in my shoulders. It was easier to not think about it. To live day to day, work from hour to hour, eat, sleep, and repeat the next day. You had to live for the little things, the little perks that made life worth living, instead of just existing.

I gave Cinder another head tousle and began my own trek. I was in for a pleasant surprise however when I nearly ran headlong into Honey Cup. She was a warm yellow unicorn mare of the Kettle family. Her big blue eyes widened for a moment then narrowed coquettishly.

“Why, hello there.” Her voice dripped with a lusty sweetness. I smiled and bowed lavishly.

“Dear lady, what has this lowly griffin done to deserve such a… personal visit from such an esteemed and noble mare?” She walked towards me, giving a sultry toss of her perfectly styled mane. It was deeply gratifying to imagine the physical exertions that would be required to mess up such a styling.

“I merely came to offer my gratitude to an artist such as you. Your work is… exemplary. Dare I say, masterful?” I paced slowly with her so we were circling each other. A delicate matter, that of high society politics. Despite the wishes of every living father to the contrary, young mares have needs and urges just like stallions. Being cooped up in a Stable definitely accentuated the problem.

Ever been the only guy in a very small room with five very hormonal females? They feed and build off one another, achieving heights of depravity that would have been impossible individually. It is a palpable sensation when all their eyes are on you and all their minds are on what they would like to do with or to you.

Good times.

“Surely you mistake me for another? I am but a lowly mechanic, simply servicing any and all needs of my lady Cup.” Honey rubbed her flank against me in a very unladylike manner.

“Was it another that was kind enough to customize my Mr. Handy? He is now quite handy indeed.” It was such a simple modification to replace the buzz saw attachment with a vibrating rod and to program a personal massage function. That it could have other uses had of course never crossed my mind. Self-service for unicorns wasn’t too bad, but how those poor earth ponies do it I cannot imagine.

“I am pleased that you are pleased. It is my sole duty to bring such joy into the lives of others.” Never taking her eyes off me, the yellow mare closed the distance and pressed her chest to mine. Our breath intermingled very intimately. She licked her lips.

Obviously, being of different species made all of this quite taboo, which of course made virile young griffins such as me targets for ponies like Honey Cup. Fillies of station were raised to be proper, and never engage in any shameful activity and politely wait to be courted by a proper pedigreed pony. It was a recipe to incite debauchery more consistently than almost any other.

“Tell me, would you be available to make another house call Mr. Ashes?”

“I think that might be a possibility. I’m sure your Mr. Handy could use a follow up check to make sure everything is working well. And I would of course be obliged to offer any other service the lady might require. I would be remise in my duties if I left you wanting in any respect.”

“Any service?” Her smile curled at the edges in conspiracy

“Of course.”

“It wouldn’t be any trouble for you would it, if it was me who needed the servicing?” Baby, you could spin my gears all night long.

“Perish the thought.”

“Then please, take this token on my behalf for services both done and soon to be.” Her horn glowed and a thin something floated towards me. It was a playing card, a king of spades to be exact. I couldn’t stop the wide grin that split my beak. She laughed at my expression as I grabbed the worn card. With one more playful toss of her mane Honey Cup sauntered off.

I watched her go and then examined the exquisite face of the spade. The smile on the opulently dressed pony spoke deeply to me.

It was good to be the king

***

There are three things that I love in this Stable. Always first is Cinder, who brings much needed color other than blue jumpsuits. The next is fire. All kinds of fire. The fire that burned in the Stable’s furnace, the occasional bonfire held in the Stable’s hydroponics section whenever an apple tree passed away. And most of all the little silver lighter I carried with me, hidden in a pocket of my Stable 57 issue jumpsuit. I could lie in bed for hours just clicking the little flame on and off. A tiny fire crystal was nestled in the heart of the pocket sized delight, ensuring a guaranteed thousand years of continuous flame. It was a personal vice of mine to set things on fire and watch them burn, seeing fire always calmed me, soothed me. Sadly, combustible materials that would not be missed were hard to come by and even harder to enjoy in privacy.

Fire was even part of my namesake. Ashes to Ashes. My mom, Blazing Glory had picked it so I am told.

The third thing was going after hours to play cards in a secret hollow above the Stable’s generator with my three closest friends. I peeked around a corner and made sure the coast was clear before moving quickly down the final stretch to the generator room. Security had been pretty lenient lately but I knew that I would have the ever living tar beaten out of me if I were caught gambling. Being a cog brain helped add legitimacy to my presence.

Grey pressed in all around me. Everything in the Stable was grey; the walls, the floor, the ceiling. Even the pastel ponies all faded away against that endless backdrop of grey. Hell, even I was grey. From beak to tail I was slate, black, and every boring shade between, except for the ugly black horseshoe shaped perversion of a cutie mark and my red colored, and red underlined eyes.

Growing up in Stable 57 had taught me to move quietly, avoid attention, and act as if you’re moving with a purpose. I was tall and slim, so wearing a Stable suit a size too big and slouching worked wonders.

My talon hit an empty bottle and sent it tinkling musically across the metal grating of the generator room. I winced at the noise and stopped, poised, listening for the angry sound of somepony demanding why I was down there. When none came I let out the breath I had been holding and turned to the far wall.

I scaled a set of secret handholds set into the rough hewn rock wall and climbed the vertical incline up to a narrow hole in the wall that was an abandoned branch of the ventilation system. It had used to be a hub, containing a large air circulator until it had broken down and been disassembled for parts, leaving the perfect space for three delinquent young griffins to set up a table and comfortably sit. I felt a large grin come involuntarily as I spotted my two childhood friends already set up for our night games. The hum of the generator and rock masked our sound fairly well.

“Ashes! What took you so long? Or did a pretty pony plot distract you again?” Ruby, the griffiness of our trio poked fun at me as I heaved myself up and over the ledge into the room.

“Oh Ruby my love, you wound me so.” I clutched my chest and filled my eyes with exaggerated hurt. I used my best buttery smooth voice. Blunt made a retching sound and pretended to be sick under the table.

“Any sappier and I think I’m gonna get tooth decay.” I scoffed at the large brown and white griffin and we all shared a laugh.

“Only the ladies can truly appreciate it. Right, Ruby?” The largely blue highlighted she-griffin just rolled her eyes, well used to my charms and immune after growing up with them.

“You joining in or are you gonna jaw all day?” asked Blunt. I pulled a wooden crate up sat, and leaned towards the salvaged table, supported by cinder blocks. I fished my prize out of a pocket and tossed it between the two seated across from me. Ruby gasped and snatched it up carefully.

“No way! No fucking way! A king of spades! Ministry of Morale edition! Where the hell did you get this dude?” She stared at me agape. Blunt leaned over, his brow rose in surprise and respect to look at the faded card. A large stallion stood with a cape draped over a shoulder, holding a scepter topped with a spade. I just leaned back and smiled mischievously.

“What can I say? It’s good to be the king. Courtesy of one Honey Cup as compensation for adding a let’s say ‘new feature’ to her personal Mr. Handy.” Blunt’s brow rose even further as he spoke with incredulity.

“The Honey Cup? As in daughter of Sugar Kettle? As in head of the Kettle family?” My smile was the answer.

“Come on, what’ve you got today? Better be something good for the pot. I’m not just gonna toss the king in for coins and wrenches.” Ruby smiled at my daring. Boning a low level mare curious about the feathery side was one thing but trading sexual favors for things at the head of family level was a was another talonfull entirely.

“All right stud, I’ve got just the thing.” She pulled out three plastic cards. “Feast your eyes on three apple redemption chits.” In the stable, only the best food was reserved for the ponies, a griffin maybe being lucky to get a fresh apple for their birthday. In the redeemable plastic cards was the promise of three, ripe, red, juicy apples. Both Blunt and I were practically drooling. Blunt shook his head I’m sure trying not to imagine the taste of fresh fruit and slid several sheets of paper onto the table.

“Four hours of free flight time in the Aerie.” I was suddenly much more aware of the harness under my clothing, binding my wings to my sides, making me itch and fidget uncomfortably. Griffins were not permitted to fly except during specially allotted time in the massive, twenty story cavern called the Aerie.

The three of us stared down at the small fortune of goods on the table and looked at each other in challenge. Because of the scarcity of playing cards, we had been forced to improvise a game between several partial decks. Caravan was the name of the game, and we had each gotten very good at it.

I had a particular fondness for the kings of every deck I came across and made an effort to collect every one. I employed an unconventional strategy, having a core of numbered cards all clubs and spades supplemented by several jacks and of course the kings. Ruby and Blunt both knew each others decks and it always made for an interesting struggle in the three way game. I smiled confidently at my opening hand and after a quite an impressive match I was raking in the pot. The others had played fiercely just to keep me from adding another king to his already formidable deck. More than once I had lost a king through wagering, but not this time.

Over the next few games, goods’ varying from food credit to handwritten notes promising owed favors or services my fellow delinquents and I talked and traded gossip from our respective areas in the stable. Ruby was a mid-level janitor and kept abreast of the everyday social gatherings. Blunt was a low-level general keeper, meaning he unclogged toilets and thumped air units until they worked or broke.

We talked, laughed and tried not to think about the brands, permanently seared into our skin. We tried not to think about the rough, chaffing harnesses holding our wings too tightly to our bodies. We tried not to think about how we all looked up at the ceiling and hated it, hated the prison we lived in, hated the ponies that held them us in indentured servitude, and most of all hated that there was no better way to live than the snatches between mind numbing work.

I knew a secret though.

When I wasn’t working, reading, or playing cards I was learning the ways of the Iron Talon. It was an ancient martial art created by griffins for griffins.

It had been passed down through generations, along with it came the ideals of my people. Of their pride, the honor, and dignity that came with being a griffin. Being caught teaching or being taught Iron Talon was punishable by death at the Overmare’s discretion. It was because the ponies of stable 57 feared another rebellion. Some years ago, a group of griffins had raided the armory, held the Overmare at the time hostage and then escaped from the Stable.

My mother had been one of them.

The tenth game was about to start when my PipBuck beeped angrily. The red glowing face shined as I tabbed over to my objectives with a sigh. Being a griffin of mechanical inclination meant I was graced with the privilege of wearing a special issue griffin configured PipBuck, functions limited of course and linked to the Stable network meaning that tasks could be remotely uploaded while I had no access to Eyes Forward Sparkle or S.A.T.S. At least objective markers and the map were not restricted. I knew all this because if something was going to be attached to me like an extra limb I damn well wanted to know the ins and outs of it.

“Shit, the Overmare’s terminal is down again.” I looked back up at my friends, agitated that the Overmare needed something that could easily wait until tomorrow done now. “Sorry to cut it short. Thanks for the apple chits.”

“Yeah, let’s see how long you keep ‘em, later stud,” Said Ruby.

“See ya, Ashes,” Called Blunt as I heaved myself back over for the arduous climb down and the hike all the way to the opposite end of the stable. I cursed my luck again as I moved through the halls with a moderate gait, exchanging quiet nods with the few fellow griffins that looked my way and turning my eyes down whenever a pony walked by, but they paid me no heed. I was just another Griffin going about his work. It was getting late so I didn’t run into too much hoof traffic on my way to the Overmare’s office.

A very nasty green earth pony stallion by the name of Rigid stood guarding the door and sneered at me with his best ‘I’m above you’ expression. He was known for instantly and cruelly enforcing an infraction no matter how minor. Once, he had given a young griffin a black eye for drawing in chalk on a wall. I kept my face carefully controlled and neutral. I couldn’t help but furtively eye the armored barding and 10mm pistol the brute wore though. The pony stepped aside and put a hoof to an intercom beside the door.

“Mechanic here to see you ma’am.” The answer was quick.

“Send him in.”

Without sparing another glance at Rigid, I walked quickly through the heavily armored hatch. The Overmare, a cream colored unicorn by the name of Heartstrings looked up from behind her desk and marched around it. For an Overmare she was young, her mother having met her end in the last griffin rebellion.

“Good, you’re here. The power supply is fluctuating again. I need to head to hydroponics. Be done by the time I get back. Make sure it works. The password is ‘borrowed.’” I mumbled something that sounded like an affirmative and Heartstrings set off quickly.

Bitch.

I watched her triple heart cutie mark saunter out the door and briefly fantasized about bending her over the large desk and ploughing her backside just to see the look on her face. With a sigh I dropped beneath the huge wood topped desk and opened an access panel, looking with disdain at the hundred places the wiring had already been taped, spliced, patched and held together with what amounted to chewing gum and prayer.

It wasn’t hard to find the offending power wire to the main terminal and give it another couple wrappings of duct tape. My task done, I sat in the Overmare chair and booted up the machine. With an angry whirr the green screen flickered to life and brought up the password prompt. With dexterous hands, I punched in ‘borrowed’ and the screen jumped to the predictable ‘Welcome Overmare.’ But something else in the two hundred year old electronics fizzled and gave out with an energized zap and the screen died.

I growled and lay back down to find another wire, this one with various warning tags attached to it had come broken free of its already loose coupling. Much cursing, more tape, and a few dabs of Wonderglue later the errant piece was back in place. I moved back up and started over. The screen came up with much less complaint this time and brought up the same password prompt. But this time, instead of the welcome message, there were two further options.

>Access Overmare mainframe.

>Access Overgriffin mainframe.

I stared briefly at the two options and glanced behind me at the closed door and flicked back to the screen. Did I dare? My heart started to beat more quickly as I selected the Overgriffin option.

>Warning! User’s pipbuck is under martial law lock-down!

>Unlock…?

Could this mean…? I took a moment and realized that this might mean I could access the restricted functions on my PipBuck! My head was filled with leaps and bounds of sizzling logic. I hesitated a little longer this time but nonetheless selected it. The screen on my leg lit up and words scrolled across it informing me that I now had Overgriffin level access to all Stable systems and PipBuck capabilities.

Holy shit.

A thrill ran through me as the implications spiraled through my head. Several new options were now displayed on the desk terminal in standard Stable-Tec green.

>Historical Journals.

>Your Mission.

>Download Stable Door Access Codes.

>Security Protocols.

>Open Overseers Tunnel.

I could only gape in shock as I stared at what seemed like freedom lay plain before me as if on a silver platter, served to me personally by the Overmare. Maybe I had done too good of a job fixing the terminal. Quickly, I downloaded both the access codes to the stable door and the journal entries, with difficulty I resisted the urge to flip through them now. I could peruse those later. What really caught my eye was the option marked ‘Your Mission.’ Trepidation and fear warred within but my talons clicked the keys anyway. An ancient audio file began to play.

“Ahem. This is Stable-Tec CEO Scootaloo. If you are listening to this it means that the worst has come to pass and you have reported to your Stable. Stable 57 is a state of the art construction equipped with all the amenities Stable-tec has to offer, in addition to housing and equipment necessary to maintain a steady population of griffins.”

There was a long sigh. “Come one, over half way done with these fucking things.”

“Stable 57 will have an Overmare for the ponies and an Overgriffin for the griffins. Decision making will be split between the two. We must do better. We must be better. Only together will we have… Oh Celestia this can’t… I can’t… Fuck! Only together is there a chance. Only together do we deserve a chance. That is all.”

That meant the ponies and the griffins had started off on equal footing. No other explanation made sense. How did no one know about this? The depravity that had befallen my Stable took my breath away. It was hard to imagine life without ponies, without being beneath them, to live without their mark burned into my hide. I only had the stories my Iron Talon teacher had instilled into me about the old days. Days of life and clear blue skies. What I did know was what it felt like to want to be free, to fly without restraint with every fiber of ones being. The thought of it lit the edges of my mind aflame. I had never experienced it for myself it but damn if I couldn’t yearn for it.

I was so engrossed in thought I didn’t notice the pony behind me until she levitated the pistol to the back of my head. I froze. The cold metal was hard against my scalp.

“Nice and easy now, turn and face me.” Slowly, I complied. The Overmare, Heartstrings had a stern, frowning expression, like I was a misbehaving child. A light yellow glow held the deadly weapon inches from my face. My heart felt like it was going to explode! How could I have been so lax?

Idiot! Novice mistake!

“Stupid boy,” I saw the intent; I knew she would not hesitate and did what I had imagined and practiced doing a thousand times. I jerked my head to the side while bringing up a talon to knock the gun aside with enough force to knock it from her telekinesis. She was standing right in front of me. In two steps up from the chair I closed the distance and for the first time in my life, activated SATS. I had read the passage in the PipBuck manual about the function multiple times, but nothing could have prepared me for the reality.

Time ceased to be an issue. I saw clearly her face, turning from one of derision, to one of shock. In the options I saw I could queue up unarmed strikes.

I aimed three blows in the time altering spell and released it. The sensation of every muscle and fiber thudding into the Overmare’s chest, neck and head flowed up my right arm. Residual drag from the arcane nature of the spell allowed me to feel each strike from beginning to end. I was gifted with very long, bony talons, making my knuckles protrude, strengthened through a hundred thousand repetitions. Ribs cracked, tender neck muscles were torn, and the mare hit the ground hard, stunned from the blow to the head.

Heaving with the thrill, I stood over Heartstrings as she sat reeling.

Then Rigid walked in the door and stared bewildered for a moment at the scene before him. With a shout the stallion drew a baton and charged me. As much as I hated to admit it, I was just a griffin with lots of practice. Rigid was an older, experienced security pony. I got in one solid strike that was absorbed by his armor before the baton was brought down against my chest, knocking the wind from me.

Blows rained down on me unmercifully. I refused to cower.

Drawing back, I bunched up and sprung like coiled steel and used what charge was left in S.A.T.S. to ball up both hands and bring them down with all my might down atop my opponents’ head like a mace. The force knocked the baton out of his mouth and the helmet off his head. Battered and dazed, he stumbled over himself.

Every cruelty, every beating, every branding flashed through my brain as I looked at the prone pony. Simple psychotic rage flowed through my veins and muscles. Every curse bit back for fear of the lash, every unspoken promise now bubbled up to the fore. My mind was screaming at me, calling for blood.

Rigid spat out a few broken teeth and tried to get back up. That was a mistake. The red clouding, narrowing my vision wouldn’t allow for anything elegant or fancy. I just grabbed the earth pony’s head and slammed it over and over into the metal floor. A sickening crack sounded and the stallion went limp. I gulped down breath quickly, nearly hyperventilating but felt a deathly calm wash over me. I looked down at Rigid’s broken body.

He wasn’t breathing anymore.

But the Overmare still was.

And I was not in a gentle mood.

She struggled and crawled away towards an emergency alarm on the underside of her desk. I walked and knotted a talon into her pink mane and lifted her with a strength I did not know resided within me and slammed her bodily onto her desk. She gasped in pain and tried to curl into herself but I kept a firm grip on her as she thrashed.

I wanted answers.

“Why? How? When did you ponies get the right to make us your slaves?” She spat blood at me.

“Stupid fucking feather head. You just had to poke your beak where it didn’t belong.”

“You gave me your fucking password you dumb bitch!” I liked to consider himself a gentlegriffin and having to stoop to the Overmare’s level just made me angrier. “Why are we slaves? What gives you the right? What gives you the fucking right!?” She actually sputtered out a laugh between coughs.

“Ponies are meant to rule. We’re better. The princesses are proof of that. This Stable that you are fortunate enough to share was made by ponies. It’s only just that we-“ She was cut off when I slapped her across the face.

“Just?” I threw my head back and laughed. The sheer incredulity of her words had simply become funny. It was not a happy laugh; it was something black, oily, and twisted. It went on and on, making my sides hurt. After a little while I managed to regain control and brought my eyes back to hers.

“You want to know what justice is? Justice is the fact that I have you in a closed room all to myself.” I let those last three words slide into the air, filled with promise. She started to shake. “But maybe if you do something for me then I won’t.” The Overmare said nothing.

“I want you to apologize.” My breath fell hotly across her muzzle. “Apologize to every single griffin in this Stable a thousand times and then a thousand times again. Say you’re sorry to everyone for your lies and the lies you made them live. Beg to be forgiven for a hundred years of slavery. Then pray. Pray for your soul and the judgment that our Ladies will pass upon you.”

Her sneer was answer enough.

“Then I guess I’ll make you sorry.” She thrashed and struggled but it was no good. I ponyhandled her so that her horn stuck out beyond the edge of the desk and pushed the side of her face flat against the uncaring wood. She yelled and tried to shout.

I didn’t need S.A.T.S. for this. I was a student of the Iron Talon and brought my elbow up and then squarely back down precisely in the middle of her horn. My technique was perfect and I hardly felt the impact at all. The pretty cream colored bone spun away in a small fount of blood and a faint flutter of escaping magic, the little sparks of light dancing away.

Then she really started to scream.

She thrashed and wailed but the door had closed behind Rigid, sealing away her cries. A hard yank of her mane brought her eyes level with my frigid, burning glare. When I spoke, my voice seethed with deathly promise. She stopped thrashing.

“I said apologize.”

“I’m… Sorry. I’m s-s-sorry. Sorry! Sorry. I’m sorry.” Her voice choked and broke like jagged glass. She could no longer look at me as she curled into herself, rocking gently.

I padded away, feeling vindicated. I picked up the Overmare’s discarded pistol and briefly considered blowing her brains out and concluded that she wasn’t even worth a bullet. Into a pocket it went. I also took Rigid’s pistol, even stripped his security barding, and resolved to take it apart for my own use. Should I have felt guilt over his death? Maybe a little disconcerted as I striped his clothing from his still warm, limp body. Food for thought I suppose.

Then I scored big time in the form of three riot suppression flash bang grenades.

If there was anything comparable to my love of fire, it was my love of explosives. What other joy could a true engineer have than cards and things that went boom? I felt good, amazing even and made ready to leave the Overmare office when I was struck by a thought.

What the hell should I do now? I mean, getting out of the Stable and all that, but still. I would probably have at least a little breathing room before anypony found the Overmare but I couldn’t drag my heels.

Indecision warred within me. I had just killed a pony and assaulted the Overmare! I had the means to escape. Okay, escape was easy. I just needed to go to his quarters and get my father, sister, and scrape together what supplies he could. Yeah, that was a good plan. As much as I hated to admit it, my dad would know what to do from there. On lion paws I padded softly out the office and kicked the controls shut behind me, leaving the broken mare to her mumblings.

Everything had taken on sharpness, clarity. Adrenaline pooled in my blood making my feel euphoric and lighter than air as I moved with purpose. Fuck it was good to be me right then! Even with my insides bubbling I managed to keep a straight face as I walked quickly home. I was in luck! Soot and Cinder sat at the small table in our kitchenette in a strange reflection of this morning. My sister was still working on the final sketch of her next painting. Still bringing color to our grey world.

She took after Blazing Glory with her red wings. Every day those wings, hidden beneath ugly blue reminded me that I was a big brother and had obligations to care for her in our mother’s stead. Across from her, relaxing after another day spent in bondage was Soot.

The black and gunmetal griffin sire stared at me at me for a moment and through some unfathomable parental intuition immediately spoke.

“Ashes to Ashes, what did you do this time.” Ouch, that stung. I deserved it, but it still stung. Under my father’s baleful gaze I spilled everything. Through my story he betrayed nothing, not interrupting me once as I told him about what I had found in the Overmare’s terminal and what had happened afterward. By the end my head was hanging low and Cinder had stopped sketching. I waited for the doom of parental judgment to fall but what I got was not the reaction I had been expecting.

“You truly are your mother’s son.” By Luna’s midnight horn I could have sworn I saw the ghost of a smile pass my elder’s beak. “Get together everything we need and nothing else. You take your sister back to the Overmare’s office and use her tunnel to get out quickly. I will gather the rest of our brother and sister griffins.” My mind nearly stumbled after everything that had happened. I think this was the longest conversation I had had with the old bird in five months. I honestly didn’t know how to react, so I just stood there, silent and stupid. And I had knocked a gun out of my face not a short time ago!

“Focus!” My father shouted. Cinder yelped a little and I flinched. “Go get the Stable’s door open, you have the code. Take your sister, keep her safe. Time is of the essence.” He walked to me and put his eagle claws to my shoulders and I looked up, suddenly unsure, hesitant.

“You can do this son. But you need to do it now. I’ll see you at the door alright?” I could only nod in understanding. The praise filled my gut with a strange warm feeling. My whole world was going upside down. Without another word Soot walked past and out the door. Then my sister was looking up at me with wide eyes.

“Are we really leaving big brother?” I smiled down at her and ruffled the top of her head, the familiar gesture a comfort.

“Yeah, we’re leaving. I need you to go to your room and pack your things okay? In five minutes we need to be out the door. Take only what you need.” Golden eyes bobbed and she ran into her room. My sister was a tough one alright. Then I headed to my own room.

My bed, workbench, lamp, and dresser in a six by twelve foot floor contained all my worldly possessions. Bits of mechanical junk cluttered the table and a few spare jumpsuits stuck out of the dresser. The only thing that really matter was my secret stash, hidden under the bed. A pair of old saddlebags contained three homemade firebombs, my toolkit with all the basics, and some electrical scrap. Into the bag went my newly acquired security barding, the two pistols, and the three grenades. All that was left was my prized lighter and Caravan deck which remained in my pockets.

A strange melancholy filled me as I thought about how I would never fix the sticky door. Not to mention the lost chance to sample some of Honey Cup's... honey.

With one last look around, I turned off the lights and walked back out into the living room/kitchen area to see Cinder already scooping our stored rations into her own bags. A quick glance told me she had already been into the bathroom for the two healing potions and med-x in the battered old medical box. I opened the fridge and grabbed every bottle of water and stuffed them in my bags. I marveled at how little time it took to clean out our whole living quarters.

“All done!” Cinder chirped happily. To her this was probably still almost like an adventure. She was only a few years younger than me but life had always been an exciting thing to Cinder, filled with her imagination. The lighting in the Stable switched over to emergency red and sirens started to wail.

It was now or never.

I made sure her bags were secured and gave her a little tug, “Come on.” He I jogged quickly out and down the halls. All around ponies and griffins were starting to poke out of their homes and go into panic mode. The turmoil allowed both of us to flee down the halls with haste and avoid any awkward questions that may have concerned the packs we were carrying. I traced the quickest path available as the crowds started to thicken. Just as we reached the final bend to the stairs leading to the Overmare’s office I suddenly stopped and grabbed my sister, holding her beak closed to keep her from shouting in surprise. I pressed us up against the wall, hoping that the flashing light and grey surroundings would keep us hidden.

A group of security ponies marched past with batons ready. They didn’t notice two young griffins crouched down a side hall. I let out a silent breath of relief as they disappeared from sight and released Cinder who gave me a dirty look. We hurried up the now abandoned staircase to the office. Rigid’s body had been taken and the Overmare was missing.

With deft talons I logged back in and selected the Overmare tunnel. I sprung back in surprise when the floor beneath him became a staircase leading down. Cinder giggled at my reaction and bounced down fearlessly. The long dark tunnel stretched out into the blackness. I dared to let a little hope swell within me and trotted quickly all the way to the end of the tunnel.

There was a switch and a section of controls. All the while the sirens warbled their cry. I pulled a rusted level and turned a large nob to the ‘open’ position and the switch turned from red to green. A section of false wall slid away to open into the entrance of the Vault.

It was empty except for an old griffin with aging brown feathers waiting patiently on his haunches. He turned to look at us and smiled in a grandfatherly way.

“I always knew you would follow in your mother’s footsteps Ashes. You will be needing these if you want to go out there though.” He held out a pair of old brass knuckles molded for a griffin, the metal coating was burnished to a dull gleam after two hundred years of careful care. I approached my teacher, the oldest living master of the Iron Talon who handed me the weapons.

“Are you sure?” my voice reverent. I turned them over in awe. Each was heavy, promising bone crushing force. They almost felt warm in my talons. The elderly griffin just smiled.

“There is more that I would teach you. But the outside world will see to that. Find your mother, bring her back to us. Bring yourself back to us while you’re at it as well. Live with honor, act with honor. Do that and you will never be steered wrong. You may need this too.” Elder Grimm handed me a large key while his gaze looked at someplace distant that only his eyes could see. I stared wide eyed at the key to the wing restraints binding me to the earth, bowed respectfully and pocketed the key.

“Thank you, sir. Thank you.” I didn’t know what else to say so I went to the Stable door controls and imputed the code from my PipBuck.

“Oh, and say goodbye to your friends Ashes.”

Wait, what?

I turned but Grimm was already gone, vanishing one of his favorite tricks to pull on young griffins. More sirens started going off as the scream of complaining mechanics signaled the opening sequence of the massive steel cog. Then I was knocked down by a flying tacklehug fringed with blue. I heard Cinder giggle next to me.

Ruby held me close a moment, then jumped off. “Trying to leave without saying goodbye huh?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said as Blunt trotted up and held up a fist. I knocked my own knuckles against his in greeting.

“Out into the wild yonder huh?” he said. The three of us sat in silence for a moment. Ruby was the one that hooked her arms around either of our necks and drew us all into a group hug. I felt my heart lighten and flutter even as a brick of lead dropped into my gut. I didn’t know if I would ever be coming back.

“We’ll always be here for you bud, just in case you need to come back and crash.”

“You could come with, you know?” I offered but she just smiled and shook her head.

“We need to stay and help our folks, besides, you’ve got Cinder.” She crouched down and hugged the younger griffin. “You take care of your feather brained bro okay sweetie? You know the trouble he gets into.” Cinder hugged back.

“I will, I promise.” The little griffin hooted.

“Hey big guy, I expect a rematch when you come back. You still owe me a few big red apples.” Blunt grinned wide.

“Count on it. I’m ready to wipe the floor with your face whenever you are.” I jibbed. Ruby then dug around in her jumpsuit and produced two cards, worn, and faded and held them out to me.

“Just a little something to remember us by,” They were the queen of hearts and jack of clubs from their respective Caravan decks. “You always were the king.” I felt my throat tighten as I took the cards gratefully. The massive Stable door clanged, the ringing chord signaling that its opening cycle had completed. Then I smiled as a something occurred to me.

“Hey, take off your clothes.”

“Whoa lover boy I know you want me bad but your sister is here!” I just rolled his eyes. Ruby laughed and shirked her jumpsuit, Blunt doing the same. I fished out the key given to me by elder Grimm and unlocked both of his friends wing bindings. The ugly leather straps, buckles and vestments of the harnesses fell away with a clatter.

“Woohoo!” Blunt flew up and hovered. “You are the king, man!” All the joy of the moment shattered like a gossamer dream as a gunshot echoed in the small space. The bullet narrowly missed Blunt. The sound of armored hooves soon followed as a line of vault security ponies lined up and up stepped the head of security himself. Stricture. Two words described the unicorn stallion best.

Apathetic bastard.

I spotted Overmare cowering behind him, shaking and muttering to herself. Two other ponies came, dragging a griffin that had been beaten almost to a bloody pulp.

A griffin whose name was Soot.

Shit! The Overmare must have told Stricture that it was me who was trying to escape, or maybe seized my dad while he was trying to organize the griffins. My father coughed up blood. Cinder started crying and tried to run towards him. I grabbed her and slowly started backing towards the open door of the Stable. Blunt and ruby both stood frozen, Blunt having landed beside her. My friends faced the ponies with defiance.

Stricture stepped forward and spoke. “Just give yourselves up and no one else needs to get hurt.” He sounded bored.

“Run!” Soot roared as loud as his prodigious voice allowed. Stricture levitated a pistol to his head and the griffin just grinned with a bloody beak. Cinder cried out for her papa. I managed to keep hold of the young griffiness, covered her eyes and kept backing up as a trigger was pulled. I couldn’t look away and felt what little stability left in my world crumble.

Bound and helpless, Soot, mate to Blazing Glory, sire of Cinder, my father, died smiling. He died knowing that his children lived, and that they were free. What more could a griffin of Vault 57 ask for?

Everything felt like S.A.T.S. as I watched the light go out from the grey griffin's eyes. The great door started to slide closed, now only a few feet away. A security pony had darted forward and slammed the override button on the controls. Weeping sister limp in my grasp, I leaped through the portal and looked back to see my friends, with mighty roars and vengeance in their eyes fly up and charge the dozen Stable ponies.

I hit the ground hard and cradled my sister. My last look before the door slammed shut was that of two young griffins, outnumbered and outgunned, charging the enemy with steely eyes and courageous hearts.

Footnote: Level up.

Perk Gained: Drop Dead Griffin - +10% damage to and unique dialogue options with members of the opposite sex.

Trait Gained: Gifted - You have more innate abilities than most, so you have not spent as much time honing your skills. +1 to all SPECIAL stats, -10 to all starting skills, and -4 skill points on level up.

All credit for the creation of Fallout: Equestria goes to the great and magnificent Kkat!

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