Chapter 9: Rust Town

“The roads are the dustiest, the winds are the gustiest, the gates are the rustiest…”

In the Stable, my Stable, I understood freedom as an abstract. It was an ideal, a dream, a hope, a burning desire. I knew that I wanted it, had read descriptions of it, and conceptualized the reality and what it meant, but never experienced it. What did it mean to be free?

Well, it meant many things.

To one who’s never tasted apples, how do you tell them of the crunch of the skin, the juicy sweetness of the soft inside? Telling is one thing, experiencing it is another. I would daydream for hours of the open sky. Nothing prepared me for the reality of its massive expanse. It was an ocean of air.

Just because I had never experienced true freedom until now, did not mean that I was unaware of it before, did not mean that I had not yearned for it and purchased it with my blood and the blood of my blood. My mother had known it, my father had given his life for it, and my sister had died while living it. As a creature of the zephyr, freedom, flight, was instilled with every beat of my heart, every rustle of my feathers.

Freedom for me could be summarized by two things: The sky, and my wings. Freedom was the ability to go flying in that layer between the earth and the stars, to close my eyes and feel the wind in my fur and feathers, knowing that a thousand feet was between me and the ground. In the cradle of Luna’s blessed firmament nothing could hold me back; nothing could tell me what to do or where to go.

I pitied those who could not fly, who could not soar as I could. When I flew in that wasteland sky, even with pegasi clouds blocking my view of the sun, everything was alright. It was a world without rules, without borders or boundaries except the ones I chose to acknowledge.

At the same time, I had seen the flipside of freedom, that of lawlessness, of slaving and raiding. Those without such a code may see it as restrictive, but my honor liberated me. It freed my mind from torment in so many ways. It gave me stability in the wildest of circumstances, hushed the plagues of living. Yes, the wasteland was brutal, it was harsh and bloody, and yet for me it was the most wonderful thing.

The promise of sovereign reign over myself had coaxed me from the safety of my Stable. Perhaps I did miss certain inhabitants of the shelter, the food, the routine and the predictability provided by the underground bunker. It was an inveterate existence.

On the outside I had been burned, stabbed, shot, bitten by zombie ponies, and suffered other terrible injuries and loss after over a week. I had witnessed death, birth, and rape.

But I was free.

I won’t lie; I did take a certain smug satisfaction in having saved the mare from the raiders. I was right, they were wrong. The decision had been mine, not an order, nor a mandate by some uncaring pony master. I had wanted to perform an act of my own volition and followed through.

With all the grace of a great metal beast, the Workhorse skidded to a halt, engine growling as it idled. I helped the tan-furred mare over to the waiting vehicle. Her back legs weren’t working very well so she leaned a lot of her weight on me. I didn’t mind.

Zinfandel jumped from the back and trotted towards us. She took in the sight of the mare with her abused form and bright blue tail matted with numerous fluids and helped me support the traumatized pony. At first, the tan filly flinched away from the zebra in fear. She pressed weakly against me.

“It’s okay, Zinny’s a medic, she can help.” I reassured the mare.

“That is right; you are going to be just fine. What is your name sweetie?” Zinfandel asked kindly.

“M-merry.” The tan and turquoise pony shuddered. Together we helped Merry climb up into the Workhorse. I took my place in the passenger seat once more to give the two a little privacy as the zebra inspected the violated mare’s feminine places.

I had already stripped the dead of anything valuable so we were ready to go. Hammer looked at me like he wanted to smile but hadn’t quite decided whether or not to yet.

“Why’d ya do it, Ghost?” The stallion asked as he shifted the vehicle back into gear and swung it towards the road.

“Because it was the right thing to do.” I stated stiffly, still a little pissed off.

“Yeah, it was the right thing. Remind me t’join you next time, can’t have you takin’ all the credit for rescuin’ mares now can I?” He grinned wryly.

“I wouldn’t mind a little help next time.” Although from the perspective of my honor, such casual dismissal of other’s plights was incomprehensible, I could separate myself. My honor demanded I help, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t understand where Hammer and Zinfandel had been coming from. From the viewpoint of ponies who had lived their lives in the wasteland, self-preservation came first. And while I could understand such a stance, I would try my best to never take it at the expense of innocents.

I would do better than the ponies of my Stable.

***

A few miles later, I beheld the awesome fortress that was Rust Town.

Two huge embattlements flanked the main gate in the distance. The walls were at least twenty feet high of slopped metal topped with razor wire. Countless slabs of overlapping steel formed slightly angled bulwarks. Almost all of it was various shades of red and copper from oxidization with disparate patches of newer looking plating. Piles of shredded metal lay at the bottom of the walls, forming nasty deterrents to any kind of assault.

And that was only one side of the stronghold.

Then, at the top I spotted something that looked like a massive cannon. Grumbling to myself about my damaged eyesight I poked at Zinfandel until she gave me the glasses I had used earlier. I looked once more and…

Wow.

Celestia’s golden ass, they had field guns mounted on the walls! Several sizable howitzers were in fortified emplacements in each of the bastions. Briefly I considered the limitations of such fixed guns and their inability to unleash their payload on an enemy that got too close. My pondering was answered when I saw the huge double barrels of a tank turret rotating to track the Workhorse.

In a way it made sense, being so close to the old battle lines between the equestrian mainland and the zebras. Countless war remains littered the landscape just waiting to be refurbished. They didn’t need the whole tank, just its turret and rotating mechanism. I had no doubt that enough ordinance was pointed our way to turn us into just another crater alongside the numerous others dotting the roadway.

As we got closer to the gates we passed other caravans coming or going from the town. I climbed up on top of the Workhorse to get a better view. A few groups of merchant ponies led double-headed pack animals laden down with huge bags while steely-eyed guards with heavy weapons walked alongside their charges. Many stopped to stare at our vehicle with its large, boxy profile and thick tires. I drank in the sights of actual living ponies who were not out to kill me, just going about their peaceful business.

There was even a pair of zebras on the road with hooded cloaks pulled high. And… holy Canterlot, was that a minotaur? I struggled not to gawp openly at the massive biped.

The great gate of Rust Town was a huge slab of metal held aloft by thick cables attached to what looked like a crane. I marveled at yet another ingenious defense mechanism. In an emergency, doubtless the whole thing could be released, slamming closed in seconds. It looked so thick that blasting through it would likely demolish the whole gatehouse before toppling the wedge of the door. The idea of passing beneath a chunk of dangling metal that heavy was a little nerve wracking.

There was a thin ditch spanned by layered scrap that, if closed, the gate would surely crash through, further reinforcing it by providing a trench to lock the sliding wall in place. This was without taking into account the numerous gun slits and what looked like machine gun nests set alongside the top of the gatehouse. Armed guards patrolled the walls and checked ponies coming into the town.

As marvelous as all this was, I had to wonder what kind of threats this settlement faced to necessitate all that firepower.

Hammer brought us slowly to a halt in the queue of merchants waiting to be admitted. After not too long of creeping forward, a trio of guards came and inspected us. One observed at me on top before scanning beneath the Workhorse while another looked in at Zinfandel and Merry. The third was talking with Hammer Horn. They all wore tan long-coats and many sported battlesaddles.

“State your business.” The fact that we were riding in a mechanical vehicle didn’t seem to be an issue so long as we weren’t planning anything raider-like I guess.

“Mayor Citadel is expecting us. We have news about her sister.” The stallion with the wide-brimmed hat leaned closer and peered through the windows.

“I don’t see Ravelin, what kinda shit’re you tryin’ t’pull?” He demanded.

“She… didn’t make it. But her son did.” On cue, Rampart let out a needy squall. I heard Zinfandel mutter something softly to the crying babe. The pony’s hatted head turned sharply at the sound and he seemed to digest this news.

“I’ll send word ahead that you’re coming.” The gate guard stepped back and waved us on. “Go on through, and be careful where you steer that thing.” The unicorn revved the engine and very ungracefully jerked us under the gate and into Rust Town proper.

“Hey, why does this sound like the opening to a joke? ‘A unicorn, zebra, and griffin drive into a town…’ Doesn’t that sound like something I’d say?” asked Hammer.

“Only because your head is full of rocks you stupid stallion.” jibbed Zinfandel.

“Do they always do this?” asked Merry as I dropped down through the hatch.

“For as long as I’ve known ‘em.” I answered. As we passed through the gate we followed a road through a buffer zone between the wall and the first few buildings of the town. Much of it was fenced off into areas of sickly yellow grass where clusters of those weird double-headed cow things wandered about.

“Look, uh, thank you and everything. I-I-I don’t really have anything of value to give you but…” Merry started, examining her hooves rather than look me in the eye.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I never expected you to pay or anything.”

“Can you let me out here then?”

“Are you sure? We can take you anywhere you need to go, it’s no problem.” I didn’t want to leave the mare just anywhere, no matter how safe Rust Town was.

“No, I’m sure. I need to meet up with the rest of my caravan; they should have made it here already. Again, thank you.” Her tone was skittish and I really couldn’t blame her for wanting to put the raider attack and everything about it behind her. Without any preamble the mare crept edgily out of the vehicle, smiled weakly once, and turned to gallop away.

She had been free to leave at any point she wished. It wounded me somewhat to have her flee so soon, however it was not my place to dictate terms of her rescue. Merry was master of her own destiny and person, I had merely helped defend that right, and the comfort I took from that well outweighed any offense I may have taken from her abrupt departure.

“Do you think she will be alright on her own?” Zinfandel asked in Merry’s passing wake.

“She must be part of a caravan group, so there should be ponies she knows to help her more. We got her here safely, so she’s a helluva lot better off than where she was.” Put in Hammer. A moment of quiet passed between the three of us. Rampart was sleeping again, contentedly swaddled in a bundle of soft blankets, seemingly immune to the sounds of the Workhorse.

“Hey, kid!” Hammer called out to a dark brown colt past one of the fences. The earth pony froze and turned sharply. At the sight of my unicorn companion the young pony’s eyes widened in fear. “Moo.” He stated simply. In response the colt jerked around abruptly and galloped away. The unicorn fell back into his seat, guffawing.

“Hammer, what the hell was that about? ‘Moo?’ Really?” asked Zinfandel. I was wondering the same thing myself. The light blue stallion chuckled a little more and managed to compose himself.

“Alright, alright, story time. So, before I set out to Ghoul City, I had to get a few provisions, right? Didn’t have a cap to my name though so I did a few odd jobs around town to earn some cash. So there was this farmer whose brahmin kept complaining of being ‘attacked’ at night. So, I camp out, waiting to see if I can catch whoever’s doin’ it, and what they’re doin’. Well, I sit around for a few hours and nothin’s happened so I kinda fall asleep. Now, I wake up to one of the brahmin mooin’ her brains out. Top of her lungs, bellowin’ about somethin’ attacking her. So I rush up and light up my horn and what do I find?” Hammer Horn paused for dramatic effect.

“I find the farmer’s son, screwin’ the brahmin, screwin’ her real hard. I’ve never seen somepony go at like that!” I can’t help it, the image in my head was too hilarious. Zinfandel and I were in stitches. “But that’s not all! So here I am, standin’ with the light right on him and he looks me, dead in the face, and keeps going! Then, he speeds up a little and I can only guess that he finishes and he yells ‘Moo!’ at the top of his lungs!” Oh, oh my sides… they hurt. The light-heartedness helped dispel some of the melancholy I felt.

“Heh, so the farmer’s son pays me double to keep it between us. Best hundred caps I ever made in my life.”

We continued further into the town proper. I stared in wonder at all the different ponies. Blue jumpsuits got real old, really fast. Out here, there were individuals of many colors, of many styles, some in regular clothes, and some not wearing any clothes at all! Several stopped and stared at the passing vehicle as it trundled slowly down the main street. Stalls lined the road as ponies hawked their wares. Storefronts advertised different services, and the smell of cooking food wafted above the hum of conversation.

Hammer drove the Workhorse all the way to the center of the town, parking it in front of a large, heavily fortified building. I guessed that this was town hall. It was a solid two stories taller than all the surrounding buildings, holding a commanding view of the whole town. What really interested me though was the fountain.

Standing on a plinth was the larger than life statue of a rearing earth pony with a hammer in its mouth. From around the rear hooves of the pony poured crystal clear water. It flowed out into a wide pool surrounded by a raised stone lip. Numerous flesh and blood ponies surrounded it, dipping water skins, buckets, or just their muzzles into the gorgeously vibrant liquid. How rich did a town have to be to afford a water talisman used so freely?

Feeble green grass and weeds struggled to grow in the stunted sunlight in the dirt around the fountain. I even spotted a trio of brightly colored foals playing near the fountain’s edge. The sight brought a smile to my beak. This town was alive, breathing, with honest folks flowing through the arteries of the place, pumping life into an otherwise dead region.

Hammer killed the engine and jumped out.

“I’m gonna go tell ‘em we’re here. Sit tight a minute, okay?” I nodded and the blue buck trotted up the stone steps, spoke a moment with the pair guarding the entrance, and marched off into the hall. The rather large edifice probably used to be a courthouse or something of that nature. The old stone façade was cracked, but had been polished and still had some of its shine. It would make sense for Rust Town to have been built on the bones of some pre-war town.

The whole place had been aptly named, most of the buildings consisting of rather crudely constructed houses of ancient metal. Red dust coated the cracked pavement, and although it seemed a sign of decay, there was abundant, vibrant life among the hoof-raised architecture.

“Hey Ghost, may I ask you a question?” Zinfandel surprised me by leaning between the seats, gazing at the town center. I had been lost in my aqueous ruminations.

“Sure, go ahead.”

“Is it really alright for me to be travelling with you?” She looked… guilty?

“Of course it’s alright. Who else is gonna patch up my bullet holes?” I asked in jest, but she had a worried look as she chewed her lower lip.

“I am a zebra. Does that not bother you?”

“Does it bother you that I’m a griffin?” I countered.

“Well, uh, no… no, why would it?” She stammered. It was rather cute.

“It didn’t seem to matter yesterday, in the rain.”

“Oh! Oh dear, that… I am so sorry about that. It was a mistake.” She noticed my wince and hurt look. “No! Not a mistake. Argh, Caesar curse this pony tongue. I did not mean to imply- oh!” She groaned in frustration. I forgive her wordage with a sigh.

“Look, I don’t care if you’re striped or not, Zinny. You helped Hammer and I rescue Ravelin, and tried your damndest to save her. You and Hammer were the first ones I met out of my Stable that didn’t try to kill me. We’ve fought together. I hope that kinda makes us… friends.” It felt weird to say those words, yet anything else would taste of a lie.

“Only my brother would to call me ‘Zinny’.” The sadness in her voice made me instantly regret using the shortened nickname.

“Sorry, I won’t use it.”

“It is fine, it just reminds me of him, that is all.” I could tell it was a painful subject, so I didn’t press the matter. “I do not mind calling you a friend, Ghost; the unicorn however, is another matter.” I chuckled softly at that. Right on cue, Hammer stuck his head out of the doors to the hall and gestured for us to come inside.

“Come on,” I said to the mare and jerked my head in the direction of the governmental center. Zinfandel insisted that I be the one to carry Rampart. I had no problem with that, the little tyke wasn’t hard to carry in one forelimb. I was used to walking on two paws and a talon. Up the steps and through the doors we went.

The interior of the courthouse was about what I imagined, a series of benches leading to a raised judge’s seat. Tall windows were set into the walls and eight girthy stone pillars held up the high roof. A balcony encircled three-fourths of the top, providing a higher perch for observing the proceedings. I imagined this place full of yammering voices during town meetings with a wisp of a smile. Hammer led us around the empty hall to an office behind the judge bench.

A cream colored mare with a wavy gold mane tied back in a bun, a professional looking suit, and a gavel for a cutie mark paced anxiously in front of a large desk. At the sight of the sleeping bundle in the crook of my leg, she let out a gasp and rushed to inspect the foal. She peered down at little Rampart, still sleeping obliviously away. The mare clearly had tears in her eyes as she held out her hooves.

“May I?” She asked in a shaky voice.

“Of course,” I responded, and carefully gave the babe to his aunt. Hammer stood by smiling, while Zinny looked rather uncomfortable, and we waited patiently in silence.

“I… I can’t thank you enough. All of you. I know that Ravelin…” She nearly choked on the words. “Died while… giving birth. There’s no reason for me to doubt that. She was just… my only sister. But you saved her, and saved her foal, and for that I am eternally grateful.” The mare took her place behind the desk, rocking the foal gently in her front legs. My heart lifted somewhat, to know that I had helped do this, that now Rampart would have a brighter future with his family.

“I am Mayor Citadel, leader of this little town. Ah, I see you have a zebra with you.” Zinfandel visibly tensed. “Relax, soldier of Caesar, zebras are welcome in Rust Town so long as they abide by our rules.”

“It’s a pleasure, Miss Mayor. Zinfandel helped rescue Ravelin too, and delivered her foal.” I was quick to add.

“Then it seems I owe you thanks in addition to welcome.” She said magnanimously before turning to me. “And I’ve heard a great deal of things about you, Mister Ghost.” I shifted a little, unused to being addressed so respectfully. “Hammer tells me that it was mostly by your doing that my nephew is with me now.

I held up my talons to forestall her. “Oh no, I just went along for the ride. I never would have even known about it if Hammer hadn’t asked for my help. I just wanted to get here.”

“And he never would have succeeded without your help. Ragtag has been trying to take over this town for years now. The bastard knows he can’t take us head on so he kidnapped Ravelin to try and force me to surrender. Even if I had wanted to, there was no way I would have handed the keys to my town to that bastard. He would have just killed her slower if I had.” Ah, all the guns suddenly made a lot more sense. That piqued my curiosity though.

“This town is incredible, where did you get the idea to use the old field guns?” I asked Citadel.

“That was my father, Castle. He pretty much built this whole town himself. It was his idea to polish up the old guns that were buried around here and make fortifications. No force has ever taken this town. We’re free from anypony’s rule but our own. We’re not exactly an independent nation, but we do provide refuge for the surrounding settlements just by being here. Red-eye would love to get ahold of this place too. Fortunately he’s too busy up in Fillydelphia.”

“Please, peruse the market, take some rest, all of you will be welcome here. I’ll inform the guard that you’re all free to come and go as you please. The gates of Rust Town will be forever open to you. Feel free to sleep here tonight.” I inclined my head.

“That’s very generous ma’am, you’re too kind. I think we may just take you up on that. We’ve got quite a bit of junk to sell and supplies to buy, is there anywhere you can recommend?” She blushed a little at my flattery, yet it was genuine.

“Oh, just head on over to Warehouse’s Warehouse. She’s got one of the best selections in town. Tell her I sent you and she’ll deal with you fair.” Oh shit, almost forgot.

“Umm, before she died, your sister mentioned that you had met my mother, Blazing Glory.” Citadel’s eyes searched me for a moment.

“So you’re her son? Amazing, I never would have guessed, but now that you mention it, you have her eyes. Come back in a few hours, I’ll have Rampart settled by then. Sherriff Dusky can tell you more than I could, my memory isn’t as good as his. Is that agreeable?” I bowed slightly, very eager to learn anything about my mother, but I would be patient. There were things to be done and I had to talk things over with my companions as well.

“That’d be fine. Thank you, Mayor Citadel.” I took my leave with one more respectful nod, Hammer and Zinfandel wordlessly following me. We all piled into the Workhorse and headed off to where Hammer said the market and shops were.

“Okay you two, you don’t have to follow me around anymore. I know I said I’d help you both with your things if you helped me find Blazing Glory, but you don’t have to follow me anymore.” The light blue unicorn looked at me as if I was crazy.

“You kiddin’? I said I’d help, and help is what I’m gonna do. If your mom is half as awesome as you are, that’d be a griffin I’d wanna meet. Besides, someone’s gotta watch your back from this zebra here.” Zinfandel shot him a dirty look and chipped in her own opinion.

“You still have to come with me before my people and vouch for what you found. I am not about to go back on my word so I can run back home with my tail between my legs. You two would both be dead without me around. I cannot imagine the trouble you would both get into without me to pull your noses out of the radscorpion nest. Hmph, the nerve.” The zebra looked at me from the back seats.

“I’m with you, Ghost.”

“I was with him first.” That… sounded rather wrong Hammer.

“He did not want to go with you, you brick-headed unicorn! Ghost asked me to come with.”

“Oh yeah? Well-“

“Please fillies, there’s enough Ghost to go around.” Hammer abruptly shut his mouth and Zinfandel blushed rather furiously. The unicorn quieted likely for being caught bickering like a foal, and the zebra for our earlier encounter, not all of which I was sure she remembered.

I was surprised by their willingness to stay by my side. I would be a liar if I said it didn’t fill me with a small wisp of joy, a small uplift to my spirit. Maybe they weren’t quite my friends yet, maybe they were. Either way, I was glad to know that I’d have two stalwart companions with me to face the danger of the wasteland. They had stood shoulder to shoulder with me so far, through fire and death.

“You ever think about havin’ foals, Hammer?” Recent events had strange things on my mind.

“Me? Naw, I’m an eligible bachelor and I intend to stay that way for a while. I’m Celestia’s gift to fillies after all.” I snorted humorously at his response as he posed himself in a peacock-like manor. Zinfandel refrained from commenting and contented herself with a quiet laugh.

“Oh! The Fast ‘n Nasty!” Hammer jerked the wheel of our vehicle abruptly around and took us to a screeching halt. Cursing, I just barely managed to hang on and avoid bashing my brains out against the windshield. We had stopped in front of a single story shop with a bright neon sign that read exactly as the unicorn had proclaimed. Several ponies who had narrowly avoided being run over were spouting a few choice words as well.

The buck jumped out of the Workhorse gleefully before galloping inside.

“There should be enough juice left in ‘er for a few hours! Meet ya back at town hall!”

“Wait!” I cried after the receding stallion’s backside. Grumbling, I plopped back down in my seat. Zinfandel climbed behind the steering wheel of the massive chunk of locomotion.

“You know how to drive this damn thing?” She nodded.

“As a Remnants Infiltrator I am trained in the use and operation of enemy vehicles and tactics.”

“Take ‘er away then miss Infiltrator. Preferable towards the market… area.” I indicated a general direction with a wave of my claw, double checking it against the little pointer in my PipBuck’s automap. I had stopped wondering how the little device knew to mark locations back in Ghoul City.

With a deep seated satisfaction, I pulled a fresh cigarette from the pack Hammer had given me and lit it up. I inhaled deeply, the tiny ember at the end of the sweetly scented stick glowing bright. I blew a lungful of smoke out of the vehicle’s open window, enjoying the simple feeling.

***

We pulled up to a large, squat building with an oddly rounded construction. It wasn’t square at all, just one big arch, like someone had taken a long tube, cut it in half, and stuck it in the ground. As with the rest of the buildings, it was a patchwork thing of new and old rusted sheets. I surveyed the mishmash of gear I had collected and picked up as much of it as I could carry. After some strain and consideration, I decided it would be a better idea to do it in several trips. Hopefully this would net a fair sum of caps for supplies and maybe some new weapons and barding.

“Zinny, you wanna come inside?” I asked the zebra.

“Thank you, no, I shall remain here and guard our vehicle. I need to convert my rifle to use pony crystal cartridges anyway.” The banded mare wrinkled her nose at having to deal with doubtlessly inferior pony surplus, but she had a look that worried me. The zebra had taken Ravelin’s death very hard, and she seemed to be bottling quite a bit of that up. I didn’t want to leave the filly alone with her thoughts for too long, but all this stuff wasn’t doing much good crammed in the back of the Workhorse.

“I’ll be right inside if you need me.” She smiled weakly.

“Do not worry, Ghost, I can take care of myself.” I nodded and headed into Warehouse’s Warehouse. A tiny bell rang when I opened the door. The inside of the store was filled with countless shelves, standing and set against the walls. All manner of items hung or filled the rather large building. It wasn’t very wide, but inside I could see it extended for quite a ways. There were a few other ponies perusing through the wares. A mare gasped from behind a long counter to my right.

Sweet Celestia!

My heart leapt into my throat for a moment as the neon blue filly exclaimed in surprise. And ponies complained about me sneaking up on them. I had been so caught up in looking at all the stuff and other patrons that she just about scared the feathers off me.

“A customer!” I took a wary step back towards the door at her almost manic tone. “Wait what’s your rush, what’s your hurry?” She reached out a hoof to me, her ear-to-ear smile catching me somewhat off guard. “You gave me such a fright, half a minute I thought you were a ghost.”

“Well, that’s my name…” She actually leapt over her counter and came right up to me, quite inside my personal space. “Um…” Her mane was such a bright purple my eyes almost stung as the light caught in it. An old set of jeweler’s magnifiers sat on her head and a simply brown shirt girdled her torso.

“Ghost is your name! Wow. Wait, wait! Don’t tell me, you’re here because you heard this was the best shop in town and you’ve got stuff to sell Mister Ghost! Griffin mercenaries are always welcome in Warehouse’s Warehouse.” She was a little full of herself, but in a confident, almost endearing sort of way. The mare eyed the bulging packs across my back with a greedy glint in her eye.

“Yeah, sure. Mayor Citadel recommended this place, said to say that she sent me, that you’d deal fair. And I’m not a mercenary.”

“You sure? You’re a griffin.” I rolled my eyes in as exaggerated a fashion I could manage. “Right she was. The name’s Warehouse, and I got everything you ever might need right here.” Warehouse moved back behind her counter and set her front hooves upon the old surface, a pre-war register next to her. “So what can I do for you?”

“Well for starters,” I heaved my packs onto her counter. “I’d like to know how much I can get for all this.” Warehouse eagerly dove into the loot, sifting through and separating everything into piles. Really, out of all of it, I kept the long serrated knife and a ten millimeter pistol for myself. They were what I was confident with, and hopefully she would have more bullets in stock.

It hurt to have to add my broken knuckle dusters and the caravan shotgun to the pile. They had served me well, and it was a shame to sell them, but really they weren’t useful anymore. The mare set aside the many hunting rifles I had collected, checked the action of the ten millimeter submachine gun, tested the blade of the fire axe, and otherwise examined the quality and the nature of the goods I had brought her.

While she was tallying weapons and quoting prices on a floating clipboard I excused myself to grab the rest of the gear out of the Workhorse and check on Zinfandel. She was busy working on her laser rifle and gave me a quick acknowledging nod and a friendly smile. I smiled back and hauled the rest of my spoils into the Warehouse.

The unicorn proprietor continued to tally items and amounts on her clipboard as I waited patiently for her to finish. After a few minutes of happy humming, she presented the compiled list of goods and what she was willing to buy them for. I scanned the list with a critical eye. Some of the amounts honestly surprised me, and looked rather familiar. Of course! I checked my PipBuck against the prices.

So that’s what that number column meant. It seemed the marvelous piece of hardware attached to my leg had endless uses and functions. I wonder how it calculated the conversion into caps? The sum total was just below seven thousand caps. Combined with the actual loose caps I had picked up, I had a fair sum to work with, and there were a fair few things I needed.

“Do you mind if I grab a few things before we finish the sale? I’d hate to be counting caps back and forth all day.” Warehouse practically glowed with the prospect of the coming transaction and put all my traded gear into a large crate for later sorting I assumed.

“Of course, pick out what you’d like and I’ll just subtract it from your total.” I nodded my thanks and perused the shelves. I snatched a few containers of motor oil, coolant, and other assorted parts for the Workhorse. Next was a good looking set of reinforced leather barding, complete with multiple pockets, pouches, and a nice looking quick-draw chest holster. The now thoroughly torn up bullet-proof vest needed replacing.

There were a few magical energy cartridges that looked about the right size for Zinfandel’s rifle that I added to the pile, and a couple larger spark batteries that should work as backup power for the Workhorse. Then I found something that really made me happy. It was in a small black case and had a significant price tag attached for something so small.

It was a silencer for my ten millimeter pistol.

Aw hells yes. I made sure to add some spare ammo for said pistol as well. The price made me feel a little guilty for spending so much, but I could only imagine the usefulness of such a modification.

“Is that a tail sheath?” I asked suddenly.

“Is it?” Warehouse asked as she wandered over to where I stood. I picked up the thin leather tube with its trio of thick buckles and recognized it. The leather was old and worn, but still strong. It was really a simple thing, a slab of tanned hide, buckles, and an adjustable bracket for a weapon.

“Yeah, it is. You slip it over the end of your tail and you can put spike, blades, or weights to add power to your tail strikes.” I held up my tail and demonstrated a few quick swishes. Experimentally, I slid the long serrated knife into the brackets and was happy to learn it fit perfectly.

“Cool! How do you know that?” She said quizzically.

“I’m a practitioner of the Iron Talon. Lots of griffin fighting styles use tail-based hits or weapons. The goal of any griffin style is to use every part of the body for different purposes. The tail can be used as a whip, and a grappling tool, wrapping around your opponent’s leg and tripping them, or neck and choking them. Talons for slashing and striking, paws for kicking or mauling, beak for quick, unexpected strikes, and even wings for overawing, or knocking prey over.” I went through a few rapid motions with the blade hidden in the tuft of my lion tail to demonstrate.

“There’re even things for putting blades on your wings. Get ‘em sharp enough and you can decapitate with one pass. The roots of pretty much every griffin combat art are based in aerial combat, letting you use every part of your body freely.” Practice with my tail had mostly been with just a weighted sack or bits of scrap metal to simulate having a blade. Another liberating rush spiked my brain at having more real, deadly ways to put my skills to the test.

Griffins had a long, colored history of combat. Unlike our equestrian counterparts, the griffin kingdom had often fought amongst itself or neighbors, testing their mettle and fighting prowess. It was considered an honorable profession to be a soldier. The ancient city-states that made up the griffin kingdom had often clashed with the old pegasus tribes.

To my eternal frustration, for everything I found or was told of old griffin wars and conflict there was never a shred of contemporary (and by that I mean two-hundred years ago contemporary) records concerning the griffin’s involvement in the great pony-zebra war. Even master Grimm had only the barest of knowledge regarding the subject. The only thing anyone I asked could agree on was that Rainbow Dash had gone before the griffin council seeking their aid. What happened after, or even at what point in the war this transpired, remained a mystery. To me at least.

Perhaps in her travels, my mother had found out. I couldn’t help but wonder.

“Do you have any other things like this? Claw weapons or anything?” Warehouse shook her head.

“Tell ya what though, next time I get in a good griffin weapon I’ll set it aside for you. Being a griffin in a mostly pony world was hard sometimes. The tail sheath was the first griffin weapon I had found. There was nothing to replace my broken knuckle dusters, but a tail sheath was almost as good.

Focus Ghost. What else did you need? Grudgingly, I put a pair of prescription flight goggles onto the counter.

“What’re you, a near-sighted griffin?” I just mumbled something offensive and sifted through my mental shopping list.

Alas, her stock of lunchboxes and explosives was rather low at the moment.

Two items still needed addressing. First, I put the pieces of the broken automatic rifle on her counter.

“How much would it cost to fix this?” Warehouse picked up the pieces, looking them over with her curious magnifiers. She gave a low whistle.

“It’s pretty trashed, though I can see why you’d want this one fixed. Not often you find zebra enhancements on a gun like this. Lucky for you though, I have a spare. She turned to a large case mounted on the wall behind her and unlocked it with a key, opening the opaque glass doors and floating out a plainer looking automatic rifle.

“Tell ya what. I’ll fix it for five thousand caps.” I felt my wallet twinge in pain. “Or, I can just sell you the bits you need for two thousand.” Whew, that was a little better.

“Let’s go with that second option then.” I said with a slightly nervous smile.

“That’s fine, wouldn’t be making that offer though if I didn’t know what you’d done for the Mayor, savin’ her nephew an’ all.” She appraised my surprised look with a sly grin. “Word travels fast round here. You did a good thing for this town. It was a real tragedy when Ravelin got ponynapped.” I nodded solemnly.

“Do you mind if I use your workbench?” Warehouse grinned.

“I’d be insulted if ya didn’t.” I made sure to add a generous pile of appropriately sized rifle bullets to my order as well.

“Oh, and one last thing. I was wondering if you knew what this is.” I pulled out a large, glowing bullet. If anypony knew what it was I suspected I was in the right place. I held the heavy thing up for Warehouse to look at. Her eyes widened and her mouth hung open a little. Was she… drooling? She caught the look I was giving her and composed herself.

“Oh dear, you bring all kinds of fun toys. Where ever did you find that?”

“Well, for starters I was hoping you could tell me what it is. Judging by your reaction, it’s something valuable.”

“You don’t know?” She looked at me as if I had suddenly sprouted antennae. I rolled my eyes and shrugged.

“I was hoping you could tell me.” She held out her hoof and reluctantly, I placed the phosphorescent round onto it. Warhouse lowered the jeweler’s magnifier over her eye and examined it carefully.

“This, my fine feathered friend, is a point five oh caliber depleted balefire round, manufactured and distributed by the Ministry of Wartime Technology.”

“Balefire? As in the necromantic dragon’s breath the zebras used?” She looked up at me and shook a hoof.

“Ah, see that’s a common mistake. Balefire wasn’t a purely zebra weapon. Sure, they used it the most because it was a readily available alchemical ingredient of some potency, but ponies used balefire too. Depleted balefire is a byproduct of distilling the dragon’s breath. You’d get hundreds of pounds of the stuff from making balefire bombs. Kind of like a solid waste. Well, you shoot this thing, and the force of the impact will crack the bullet open and cause enough of a kick to ignite the latent balefire.”

I was liking this.

“It’s not dangerous is it?” Didn’t want balefire blowing up in my face after all.

“No, no, quite stable,” Warehouse said as she continued to examine the bullet, poking at the glowing green band above the casing. “It takes the impact of being fired to really get the reaction going. Once it goes though, you’d best get outa the way.”

“So, is the pyrophoric reaction self-sustaining?”

“Excuse me? Pyro-wha?” Again, I rolled my eyes.

“You know, ignition upon exposure to the air.”

“Oh! Yes, nature 'o the beast. Balefire is necromantic and very lively. The more it consumes, the more it’ll burn. Shoot a pony in the hoof, the balefire’ll spread until the poor soul is nothin’ but ash. Fortunately for most of us livin’ now, these are pretty much impossible to find. Sure, they were used a bit in the old war, but however much of it was made, nearly all of it was used. Neither will you find it in anything smaller than this, that’s all they ever made it in.”

“So what gun would I need to fire it?” Warehouse rummaged in the large mounted case again and struggled to levitate out the largest rifle I had ever seen in my life. With a small gasp she set the rifle down on the counter, nearly knocking the register off in the process.

“You’d need an anti-machine rifle. It’s really the only thing they chambered point five oh for.” The damn gun was longer than I was tall. I remembered such a firearm in From Muskets to Machine Guns, near the very end as a glimpse into the future of projectile weapons.

“Okay, so how much would one of these cost me?” As highly impractical as it would be, and for as much special training that I lacked, a small gun crazy part of me still wanted it.

“This baby’ll run you fifteen thousand caps.” I don’t know why I expected anything less from a gun that could probably blow me in half. I picked up the replacement parts for my zebra automatic and headed over to the work bench set into a little repair nook next to her. While I was working with the battered, broken gun, I struck up a little conversation with the trade mare.

It felt good to just have a nice talk with somepony. No jobs, no pressing mission or impending doom. She was pretty easy on the eyes too, as long as you didn’t stare too hard at her ridiculously bright mane.

“How do you know so much about this stuff?” Warehouse looked at me sidelong with a smile and handed back the balefire bullet. I pocketed the thing, not wanting to sell it for reasons even I didn’t know.

“You’re in Rust Town, Ghostie, guns and bullets are our way of life. We’re peaceful folk really, s’long as you’re peaceful in return. Besides, you seen all the old military outposts ‘round here? Sure, there was a whole heap o’death and doom when the bombs started droppin’ at the front lines. But don’t think that just cause the world was endin’ around ‘em that the ponies and zebras didn’t go at it one last time. All the bombs were aimed at cities, not actually at the lines.”

“And how do you know all that?” I asked as I tinkered a bit with the connection to the loading mechanism.

“Didn’t the mayor tell you?” I shook my head. Warehouse moved back behind her counter and propped her elbows up on it. “Not everypony who’s around now is a descendent of a Stable, some actually managed to survive the irradiated land in military bunkers. They were the first to really start populating the wasteland as their food and supplies ran out. A few scattered tribes even managed to scratch enough to live on up in some of the mountains where the radiation wasn’t so bad. Most went cannibal, but some stayed sane. The result of all those souls thrown into the wastes eventually came together into what you see now.

“Those were dark times though, before civilization resurfaced. When the snow wasn’t saturated with deadly radiation anymore, the first ponies ventured out into the open again. It was savage, brutal. They’d kill each other over a rotten piece of meat. Cannibals, the first raiders, and worse besides were everywhere. You were lucky if it was a slaver instead of a cannibal tribe that got you. The tribes would hold ponies hostage, harvesting them piece by piece while they were still alive. If you were a slave, at least you had some intrinsic value above how much labor could be carved from your hide.

“Like I said though, the towns started springin’ up one by one, bastions for the pony folk who didn’t feel like eatin’ each other. In time, they started talkin’ to each other, formin’ trade routes and the like. Yet, for every town, there surfaced a raider nest, or slaver camp. Then old Castle, Celestia rest his soul, started Rust Town. This little slice of security is the first and last defense against those who would rape or enslave what good ponies are left. Red Eye be damned, we got the future right here, entrenched behind our guns and walls.”

For once in my life, I felt lucky to have lived in a Stable.

I lifted up the now fixed rifle, sighting down the irons of it, admiring the heft and the solidity of the piece. There was no telling if the zebra enchantment still held charge or what needed to be done to activate it, so really it was just an aesthetic. The bolt drew back smooth and the firing pin slid into place with a healthy click. Experimentally, I sighted down the long barrel, checking all the sights before hoisting the gun easily by its handle. Magical or not, it was a nice piece of deadly hardware.

“You want a bayonet for that?” I chuckled, and handed over another small stack of caps. She floated me the long thin blade. It only took a moment to tighten the bayonet into place. I gave a few jabs at the air to get a feel for it.

“You sure you’re not a merc?”

Warehouse and I concluded our business on agreeable terms, me with fresh gear, many things to think about, and her with a whole heap of random weapons and other items to fill her little store with. My pockets still had a good heap of caps for any more expenses along the way. I gave the brightly colored mare one last smile and a flippant little salute. She giggled and again promised to keep her eye out for any special griffin weapons for me.

Zinfandel jumped a little when I opened the back door and deposited my new gear, being careful not to poke anything with my new bayonet. The fresh leather barding felt good against my hide, the burns on my chest mostly healed. While I wouldn’t like to admit the level of improvement my perception got from my new goggles, they did help hold the crest feathers out of my eyes.

I hopped back into the passenger seat, the Workhorse rocking a little bit with my weight.

“You finish with your rifle?” She nodded and returned to looking dejectedly over the steering wheel at nothing in particular. I held out a small sack with a generous helping of fresh magic power packs in it. Zinfandel curiously opened it up and gave a small squeak of delight.

“You sure know how to make a girl happy.” My mind had fun with the implications of that statement.

“I have my moments. So are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or do I have to guess?”

“Nothing is wrong.” The look on her face said otherwise.

I wasn’t an expert on mares. No one can be experts on mares except for other mares; it’s one of the great mysteries of the universe. Any male claiming otherwise is full of himself, or a liar. However, I did better than most, and one essential skills was understanding when a mare said one thing, and meant another.

“C’mon Zinny, what’s eating you? I can tell.” She made a noncommittal noise and refused to look at me. “Look, Ravelin dying… that wasn’t your fault. It was my fault if anything. If I had been able to get to her faster, or maybe if I knew a bit more about medicine like you do I could have been more of a help. I don’t know, if I had just… done something differently.” Zinfandel sighed.

“No, you should not blame yourself, Ghost. I should have provided better care. I should have known better. There are zebra medicine shamans who can bring you back from the brink of death with the simplest of powders or brews! Back during the war, there were such things, lost now.” Her voice dipped into melancholy.

“So are we going to fight over whose fault it was, or are you going to tell me what else is wrong?” She chewed her bottom lip a little anxiously, looking at me, then at the automatic rifle.

So that’s what it was.

“I got this from a dead zebra, down below the MAS facility. They were your squad right? Were you… close to any of them?”

“Well yes, of course.” She caught my look. “I! I mean, no. Not like that. Not close like that. Just, leave it alone, Ghost.” She warned.

“Are you sure?” I pushed, but sometimes you needed a push.

“Leave it be.” Now her tone was weary instead of threatening. And sometimes you need to wait for the opportune moment to push. This was not that moment.

“You know I’m here if you ever wanna talk about it, okay? I’m not the best conversationalist, but I can listen.” Zinny would open up to me if she wanted to, or she wouldn’t. That was her choice, and I respected it.

***

By the time we had dragged Hammer from the ‘Fast ‘N Nasty’ it was time to meet back with the mayor and the Sherriff. He pouted a little that I picked something up for Zinfandel and not him.

“Well, maybe next time you can come with instead of flying off into some random bar… thing.” Hammer took an affronted look.

“I’ll have you know the Fast ‘N Nasty is the finest culinary establishment in nearly all the wasteland! Ya can’t find anything finer, roasted, barbequed, broiled, and baked. From radroach, to radhog, to radscorpion, to uhh… rad… food. Y’know what I’m sayin’.”

“Uh-huh.” Was all I responded with. At least I didn’t have to suffer through the two of them arguing over who should drive the Workhorse for very long as the town hall was nicely centered in the middle of town. We pulled up, disembarked, and I left the two of them to sort out driving rights, privileges, and seating arrangements. That would keep them occupied for an hour, if not two.

One of the guards at the front doors actually saluted me!

I awkwardly tried to mimic the gesture and failed somewhat miserably. I was good for a tipsy half-salute every now and then, but this really threw me off. Fortunately, if the colt noticed my discrepancy he didn’t show it and said that the mayor was expecting me.

There was another pony in Citadel’s office along with the Mayor. He was a slightly off-white, older stallion. His mane was starting to grey at the roots, and a wide mustache curled from his muzzle. The signature duster hung about his hearty frame and a large hat sat easily on his head.

“Hey there, I’m the sheriff of this town. Just call me Dusky.” I shook the offered hoof. The earth pony had a friendly smile and I felt a little more at ease.

“Pleasure,” I replied.

“Sheriff, this is the son of Blazing Glory.” Citadel swept an earthy hoof to indicate me. The mustached stallion’s eyes widened.

“Yer the son ‘o Blazing Glory? She talked about havin’ kits, back in ‘er Stable. Never thought I’d get to meet one.” He stepped back to take a good look at me. “It’s a pleasure t’meet ya, yer mom was the best damned griffins I ever had th’pleasure of knowin’.”

“How did you know her?” At that moment, I felt as though I could close my eyes and she’d be there. There was a hole in my heart, that had only one occupant left alive to fill it.

“She set me up as sheriff a long time ago now. Old Castle was in a bad way, had built up this town from nuthin’ and was watchin’ it slip into lawlessness. That’s when yer mom came, asked what she could do t’help. She didn’t ask fer nothin’, jus’ found me, listened to my crazy idea ‘bout a dedicated peace keepin’ force, an’ helped make it happen.”

The lawpony walked behind Citadel’s desk and gently took a framed picture off the wall. He came back around and held it out for me. I took the wood-mounted photograph carefully. Dusky pointed a hoof to the first figure on the right.

“There’s me, a few years younger. Between me an’ Castle is yer mom, then beside him is Citadel an’ ‘er sister Ravelin. Shame ‘bout her, always liked the little filly.” Sure enough, there was a slightly younger Ravelin and Citadel next to their father, a burly tan earth pony with one of the kindest grins I’ve ever seen. And between him and the sheriff was…

Blazing Glory, my mother.

Cinder took after her more than I did with bright red feathers, a large crest, and tan fur. She was a modest sized griffiness, and so stood shoulder to shoulder with the largest pony beside her. A happy smile was on her face for the picture, clearly infected by Castle’s good cheer. A simple set of leather armor covered her torso, and I could spot the butt of a gun in a holster by her side.

I laid a claw tenderly next to her image, framing it with my talons.

My mother had always been a beauty. Even with a little of wasteland dust, her splendor was all the greater without the wing bindings of our Stable. She had made our lives brighter. Soot had never really smiled much after she had left. Cinder became the only source of smiles for the both of us.

Seeing her brought on a deluge of memories, of happier times: Sitting in the soft grass of an orchard after a festival. Her bright smile. The soft smell of her down. Nuzzling into her neck when I was smaller, wanting affection. Of her laughter at some antic Cinder or I had gotten into. And more besides.

I felt my throat tighten, and struggled to choke down my nostalgia. It was a bittersweet thing. Somehow, I got the feeling then, that if she was dead that I would know it. Some undefinable assurance that she was out there, somewhere, pressed itself upon me and redoubled my determination to find her.

My pride in being of her blood swelled within me. Not only had she lived, bringing a group of escapees with her, but she had helped Rust Town! It was like I was following in her wake, walking down the same path. And maybe, if I kept on that path, I’d find her.

I looked up at the sheriff and asked the million bit question.

“Do you know where she is now?” The stallion shook his head sadly and I felt the ember of my hope smothered just a little.

“Sorry kiddo, ‘avn’t seen ‘er in… Celestia, not since that picture was taken.” I looked down at the image again. It made me realize I didn’t have any pictures of my family. The last portrait we had was back in the Stable of when Blazing Glory had still been there.

“Whelp,” he announced as he adjusted one of his holstered six-shooters. “I gotta get back to th’walls. Tell ya what though, I’ll keep my ears peeled. Folk come through our gates all th’time with tales abroad. Never know what we might hear. Mayor,” He tipped his hat respectfully to Citadel and clopped heavily out of the office with one last smile to me.

I held the picture frame a little bit longer before setting it reverently back onto the desk. The mare reached across and carefully hoofed the picture back onto her mantle. Part of me wanted to take it, but I consoled myself with the knowledge that when I found her I wouldn’t need a still frame.

And yet… that still left me without a lead.

I had come to Rust Town because that’s where the trail went, that’s where the clue had pointed me. In the town there had been other signs, living ponies who had seen her, talked to her! I could have scarcely hoped for more concrete evidence than that. And now the path was cold.

Blazing Glory had come to Rust Town, helped Castle and Dusky… and then what? For a delirious moment, my anchors in the real world were unmoored and a horrible question rang through my head. What do I do now? What else was there to do? I guess I could just pick a direction and start flying, asking every living thing along the way if they had every met or heard of my mother.

The Mayor got up from behind her desk with Rampart in a carrying bag on her side.

“Walk with me, Ghost. We have some things to discuss.” I followed, if only because I had nothing else to do. The mare led me past restored colonnades and up cracked marble stairs to the roof of the courthouse. It held a commanding view of the whole town, being about level with the large wall a good distance away.

With my vision correcting flight goggles I was able to get an interesting view into the insides of the town’s heavy fortifications. Ponies in their signature long coats moved to and fro at a calm but hurried pace. Several were shouting orders and directing others with wave of their hooves to one of the massive ravelin emplacements. At a signal, three of the mounted field guns opened up. The boom echoed through the air.

Even braced for it as I was, it still came as a shock at the fury unleashed by the heavy pieces. A few feeble crackles of gunfire came from outside the walls before the double barrels of the turreted tank cannon voiced its own deadly roar. The gunfire was silent.

Below me, I saw the townsfolk just going about their business as usual, no more nonplussed at the sound of cannons as I was in my Stable with the hum of the power generators.

“There’s a joke, y’know, about Rust Town. ‘Every drill is a live fire drill.’ And it’s true.” She chuckled. “Every pony we train to be a member of the Peacekeepers is expected to use live ammunition in every training drill. It’s harsh, but there isn’t room for foul-ups out here. Which is related to why I wished to speak with you, Ghost.

“This town has a few vital resources that make it the target for every raider, ganger, and scumbag with a greedy heart. We have clean water for one, and not just water talismans either. Our wells drill down to an actual rad free aquifer. Another blessing left behind by my father. I don’t think I need to tell you the value of a clean water tap out here in the wasteland. It’s beyond priceless. The wasteland and the badlands around us are a thirsty land. Sure, the rain is pure, treated by those pegasus bastards, but once it hits the ground it’s just as bad as all the rest.

“You may have noticed all the trade, caravans and the like running into the town. That’s because we’re located at a sort of crossroads. We’re smack in the middle of the easiest point of transit between the zebra continent, the equestrian mainland, and hoofington. Unless you’ve got a boat, we’re the biggest stop for everything you might need between any of those three places. Prospectors looking to strike it rich in the hoof almost all stop by here at some point before heading down into hoofington proper. Ghoul city is another popular point for scavenging, if you make it back alive from all the ghouls that is. Really, many come here planning on jumping off to the hoof, then hear all the stories of the few who actually come back and decide to just settle down.

“Then of course, there’re our guns, and our walls. You don’t see raiders and their ilk setting up shop like we do, but the moment good, honest ponies decide to make a stand, everyone else wants a piece of the pie they didn’t help make. Too many bastards and assholes out there wanting to take what doesn’t belong to ‘em just because they want it because it’s better than what they got. There’re a lot of military depots and bunkers around here that survived the end.

“That means weapons caches and ammo dumps ripe for the scavenging. We’ve stripped the majority of the ones close to here. You aren’t going to find a bigger arsenal in a hundred miles than Rust Town. Every scum-sucking shit-gargling mother-fucking son of a whore what calls themselves a ganger would fuck their own grandmother to get their hooves on a third of the bang sticks we’ve collected.” Citadel’s tone had deteriorated into a rather heated drawl as she spoke. Damn, I didn’t want to get between this mare and any target she set her sights on. From what I’d seen these ponies were devoted to their mayor, and she to them.

“So what’s with the anti-air guns?” I pointed to several emplacements that were pointed straight up, recognizing the flak cannons from my prodigious reading.

“Oh, that’s so Ragtag doesn’t get close to us with that damn airship of his.” Airship? Airship?!

“He has an airship?” I asked incredulously.

“Yes, the Ave Maria. He doesn’t dare get in a hundred miles of Rust Town. That’s why he’s always been so desperate to find some way to take over this town without attacking it head on. With control of Rust Town, he’d have an unassailable fortress. He could terrorize and enslave the entire region. Nothing could stop him with land and air superiority.”

“I thought the pegasi didn’t let anything in their airspace. Why don’t they zap him right outta the sky?”

“Oh, he keeps it low enough that they don’t really care. The pagasi haven’t shown themselves in years. They’ve happily kept their feathered asses out of our business, and I like it that way personally.”

“So how did all this get started? You’ve got a prime location, good scavenging areas, and fresh water.”

“My father, Castle. Our mother died in a raider attack many years ago and my father wanted a safe place for his foals, somewhere we could grow up without fear. So, he gathered a bunch of other ponies who felt the same way and convinced them that making a fortified town here was a good idea. Rust Town started out as a slaver nest that had grown up near the well. Of course they were too stupid to realize that they could drill for more and still not tap out the aquifer.

“Castle and the rest drove ‘em out with two salvaged artillery pieces. It demolished quite a few buildings, but my dad figured that he could build better ones. After all the slavers were cleared out he set up every pony he could find with jobs building the wall. There used to be a giant pile of wrecked tanks and zebra robots piled up in the middle of town where that fountain is now. It started off small, only a few feet high, but it grew.

“I’m not half the mayor my father was. He was kind, charismatic, a hard worker, and a genius architect. It was his idea to refurbish the artillery and the tank cannons for use defending us, and him who found the ponies with the know-how in order to make it work.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did…”

“He die?” She sighed deeply and had a look I knew myself. “My father would never ask anypony to do anything he himself wasn’t willing to do. He helped operate the artillery that cleared out the raiders. He worked side by side with the ones who helped build the walls, was with the groups that cut apart old tanks for armor. And whenever we were attacked, he would go to the armory, grab a gun, and help hold the walls himself. That’s why there’s a statue of him in front of town hall, because he built this town up from nothing with his blood and sweat, and died defending it.”

Wow, that was quite a shadow to live under. I could see why Citadel carried the burden of her leadership so heavily. Whenever anyone looked at her, they would see her father the hero. I understood that too, albeit in a slightly different way. When my father would look at me, he would be reminded of Blazing Glory, but without my sister’s glow to alleviate some of the pain.

“I’m sorry, I tend to tell our history to anyone who sits around long enough.”

“No, no please, it’s quite alright. I… I am from a Stable.” I held up my PipBuck and gave it a little shake. “The whole outside world is a new thing to me. I lost…” I caught myself before I launched into my own sob story again and cleared my throat. “The outside… Well, I wanted to get out here for so long, and now that I’m out, it’s more… and less, than what I expected. My Stable door opened right out into Ghoul City. I’ve seen a lot of bad things there, and since. Any information you have is useful. Besides, this place is really cool, I can tell you that much.” I said with a smile.

“Your mother helped make this place as safe as it is now. For that reason, and because you rescued my sister, and my nephew, I want to ask you something. It’s not required or anything, I just thought you’d maybe want to help.”

“Sure, what d’you need?”

“You’ll be compensated I promise. Discounts at all the stores, eternal gratitude of the people of Rust Town…” The mayor began rambling.

“Miss Mayor, I’ll help, with or without compensation.” Though compensation is always nice.

“Oh! Do excuse me. You’re a lot like your mother; she helped my father without a second thought. Celestia guides us in mysterious ways. First the father and the mother, and now the daughter and the son.” The connection was not lost on me, and still it was odd to hear it stated aloud.

“Before he died, Castle always dreamed of having this artillery piece he saw in an old Equestrian army manual mounted up here on the roof. He spent quite a few caps on expeditions and data mining excursions to try and locate a possibly working model of the gun. We think there should be one left in a bunker not too far from here, but we’ve never been able to really get into it.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one thing, it’s in the middle of Steel Ranger territory. Castle was working on a salvaging treaty with them for rights to send a team in. We’d get the artillery piece, and they’d get anything else. Of course, Elder Druid was as stubborn as a mule about it, but was slowly coming around. After my father died though, Druid wasn’t willing to negotiate with anyone else. Honestly, we’d just say fuck it and go get it ourselves, but the armory is surrounded by still active army robots that’re hostile to everything.”

“And you want me to go get it?” She must have heard the disbelief in my tone I couldn’t completely mask. I wouldn’t lie, charging headlong into Steel Ranger territory filled with hostile robots did not strike me as a fun outing. The temptation was definitely there however, to retrieve a nice shiny piece of death-dealing hardware.

Another part of me wanted to do it to help Rust Town, and its mayor. These were good, honest ponies, so unlike the bastard ones that inhabited my home. It didn’t take a wasteland veteran to see just how rare places like Rust Town were.

“It’s not as simple as smashing your way through the robots. Even if you did manage to do that, you’d still need the keys and the passcodes that only the Steel Rangers have to get into the bunker. That’s why the negotiations were so important. Getting the artillery back here is the easy part. It’s portable, folds up nice and neat, and has a tow hitch that’ll hook up to your truck… er… thing. At least with you having one of your own you won’t have to barter use of a Steel Ranger transport to do it with.”

“That sounds like quite a tall order.” I was trying to think of ways to accomplish this mission, and kept hitting dead ends, usually involving death. I did not know the Steel Rangers, and they were quite an unknown other than they commanded troves of pre-war tech. There was no way to tell if they’d just shoot me without some way to send an intermediary or if they were friendly at all! I began to see why Castle’s dream had died with him.

Looking at it realistically, it was a little crazy that I was considering it so easily. Negotiating with hostile forces with enough firepower from the stories to turn me into a griffin flavored smear? Sounded like lots of fun. When I thought of declining her though, that gaping lost feeling returned with a vengeance. My rationale was that it would help her, the town, and keep me from going crazy without a solid direction to fly to.

“I know, I know, and I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it would really do this town some good. Raiders and gangers would think twice before getting in a dozen miles of our town! And also, there’s Red-Eye. Word is that he’s building an army, an army to reunite the wasteland. Hmph, my ass. He’s just another slaver lord with delusions of grandeur.” Her tone turned somber.

“But he might actually be able to do it. Half the Talon griffins have already sided with him. If we’re to survive something like that, we need better ways to defend ourselves. Well, more ways at least. If we’re to be fighting two bastards like that, I wanna be able to smash them to pieces before they even catch sight of our walls. Will you help?”

“It may take me a while to get everything together like you say I’ll have to, but yes, I’ll do it. If the opportunity for negotiations with the Steel Rangers presents itself, I’ll jump right on it. No promises when I’ll actually be able to get it here though.”

“So long as it’s before Red-Eye or Ragtag come banging down our door, it’ll be right on time.”

***

Citadel and I were discussing the information she did have before the negotiations fell through with the Steel Rangers when one of the sentries poked his head inside the office.

“Uh, ma’am, there’s somepony here to see Mister Ghost. You want me to uh, send him in?” Citadel looked just as surprised as I felt. Who knew me? Who would know where I was?

“Did you check him for weapons, Stake?” The guard nodded.

“Yes ma’am, all clear.”

“Very well, send him in.” Stake nodded again and disappeared. Citadel and I exchanged worried glances. The door opened all the way and the mysterious stallion strode in. He was an earth pony with a scraggly mane and colored a slightly darker blue than Hammer Horn. The pony wore nothing other than a simple set of combat armor, and a mask.

His masked face turned to me. The facade was bone white, several cracks breaking the solid surface and covered the top of the stallion’s face. His blue eyes were surrounded in black, giving him a sunken, skull-like visage. It went all the way from his mane, with holes for his ears, down to his nose, leaving his grin and too-white teeth showing, furthering the macabre appearance.

Mask, eyes, grin…

Blood, everywhere was blood. It rained, it flowed, it dripped from his mouth, his eyes, his mask. Blood and viscera and gore.

He was standing on a pile of bones, screaming in rage against the sky. Blood soaked him. He bathed in it, waded through it. Crimson saturated him. It soaked his fur and tainted his very hide. I saw him tearing out a mare’s guts with his teeth. Death stalked behind this pony, waiting for the next deluge of bodies. Every one of his steps cracked a skull that formed the road beneath his hooves.

The reaper held this stallion in a tangled skein of shattered lives, a web of suffering and malign will. But for the life of me I could not tell which was puppet, and which was puppeteer.

This lone soul had slain so many, their spirits shrieked around him, tearing at the thin veil of life. And he laughed at them, laughing in a manic way as he killed, and killed, and killed. There was no end to his lust for battle. Such carnal yearning could drink an ocean of violence and still not be sated. And Zealot was so very good at it.

There was another side to it. However insatiable this pony was, there was weariness, paradoxically coupled with a biding will to go on.

I watched three of his legs being broken by a raider with a bat only for him to beat the pony to death with the remaining hoof. In another instant he was holding his own intestines in after having a knife drawn across his belly. That stallion was chopped in pieces while he screamed.

Atrocity after atrocity was inflicted upon and by this individual, and still he carried on. No matter how grievous the injury or unthinkable the act, he just kept going. With broken bones, with lacerations, after impalement, burning, shooting, stabbing, and things that chilled me to the core to imagine.

And he was… tired of it? How could one soul crave so much and feel so little? So much death, and it all blurred together. After wading through that life of carnage and becoming it, what else was there?

What was greater than that?

Whether I wanted that question fulfilled or not, the answer came.

However great the endless thirst within him, however overwhelming the crushing weight of his sins, something overshadowed it all. Behind him was the silhouette of a darkness. A void that swallowed his petty desires and experiences like drops in a storm.

And I knew fear. Fear for my sanity and my soul.

I was a leaf before the tempest. The scope defied imagining, and for a terrifying moment, I was swallowed by that blackness. The blood was nothing compared to it. All the blood of every creature that had ever lived was a thimbleful to the deep. And in that abyss, something long and serpentine uncoiled. A being resided in that dark that was larger than a mountain, a titanic thing that swam and slithered.

And hated.

With a shuddering, sharp inhalation I opened my eyes. When had I fallen down? Had I passed out? What were these… hallucinations? Visions? A clammy sweat covered me from beak to tail. The source of the horrible vision leered directly over me. I recoiled from the hellish thing.

“You’re awake, excellent, EXCELLENT!” The stallion devolved into fits of laughter. “I knew you were the one! You do not know the joy it brings me to finally meet you. My lady has been anxiously awaiting a single soul to brave those horrid depths and bring back the treasure.” My ‘this is fucking wrong’ meter was doing backflips through my head.

Treasure, all seeking a treasure that was a viper.

“There is no treasure.” I denied reflexively, shaking my head to free it of the clinging visions.

“Oh but there is! The treasure is what you just experienced! You have been touched by the spirit that dwelled in those depths and not only survived, but adapted its gifts. Oh yes, you now bear the treasure in your blood, in your very bones. After so many of her agents- forgive me, I have forgotten myself.” He stepped back and bowed lavishly.

Fanatic, blood-preacher, harbinger of death and the void.

“My name is Zealot, and I am an agent of my lady, Nightmare. She has taken quite the interest in you, Ghost. She’s quite anxiously waiting the time when you meet her. In the meantime however, she has a task for you.” His previously rather manic demeanor had been somewhat tempered, however I could sense his rather disturbing amusement beneath the surface of his words. Zealot spoke in slow, deliberate, almost sibilant tones.

‘Lady Nightmare’? Any relation to Nightmare Moon, I wonder. Whether it was a link to the dark side of the goddess of the night or not, a sense of foreboding weighed behind that title.

“Not interested.” Anything offered by this pony and his macabre mask and oceans of death was tainted.

“Oh? So you don’t want information regarding your mother, Blazing Glory? You look so like her too.”

What. The. Blue. Flying. Fuck?

“You know her? Know where she is?”

“Me personally? No, I have never had the pleasure of making her acquaintance, but I do know where you can find clues as to her whereabouts. My lady has authorized me to share this information with you, free of charge or commitment as a token of her faith in you for having gotten this far.” I didn’t like this. Nothing about him struck me as trustworthy.

“No strings attached? You’ll just tell me? Why?” He chuckled in a deeply unnerving way, in that, ‘I know something you don’t’ way. This ‘Zealot’ had one too many screws loose. From my vision, I knew that this pony was NOT motivated by any kind of earthly desire. That made him dangerous, unpredictable, and unnatural.

A perfect red feather, but is it colored by nature, or by design?

Ow! I wish that too would knock it the fuck off! Fucking shit hurt!

“Because after many years, my lady Nightmare knows a great many things, the location I’m about to give you is only a miniscule morsel of that well of knowledge. Should you choose to accept the job; riches you could scarcely dream of lay in wait. After putting so much time and resources into it, she’s not about to see the one who finally brings her what she wants go empty taloned.

“When so many of her agents died trying to get what you now possess, she seeded the rumors about untold pre-war treasure buried down there. We’ve kept the legend of Ghoul City alive so that the scavengers would never stop looking.” He began pacing around as he talked. “Why, we even tipped off the zebra remnants, and the Steel Rangers! And we see how successful they were, now don’t we? At least, until you came along.”

“And what would I be doing exactly?” I didn’t think I would like the answer.

“Lady Nightmare is a… collector of sorts you might say. Of ponies with particular talents, and of special pre-war items. Many of these items are even out of reach of her agents, I am ashamed to say. However, you have been placed in a very unique position, Ghost. You alone have the abilities to not only obtain these items, but unlock their potential. Individually powerful, but infinitely more so when gathered together.”

Truth, collect and see the truth.

Fuck, ow!

I weighed the options, but in my heart, my mind was already made up.

“Alright, I’ll do it.” I agreed as I clutched my head, dearly wishing for a med-x.

“Wonderful! I knew you wouldn’t let me down. Now as I said before, the lady has taken a particular interest in you and your success. She has seen fit to grant you quite the gift. She picked it out herself, so you should feel quite honored.” The masked pony flung a large steel case up onto Citadel’s desk, making both her and I jump. Zealot flipped the catches of the steel case he had been carrying and opened the top. The stallion stepped back to allow me to examine the contents.

It was a gun, rather short, but with a wide barrel, a solid stock, and four spare magazines.

“This is the twenty-five millimeter Anti-Pony Weapon. It’s a semi-automatic grenade launcher, giving you the death-dealing capability of the grenade machinegun used by the Steel Rangers in a more portable package. Specifically, this package contains a standard magazine capacity of six grenades, a sharp rate of fire, and modest accuracy if you know your trajectories.”

I picked up the weapon, marveling at how light it was. I flipped up the sight, noting its distance markings and stared, open-beaked.

“We’ve been watching you for some time now, Ghost. My lady made sure to emphasize a little sweetener to this particular gift, that of a dozen, that’s two clips full, of incendiary shells. The rest are just explosive.” He chuckled as I admired the gun.

His perpetual rictus grin was really starting to fray my already splintered nerves.

“Perform these tasks, and you will find that my lady is a most benevolent mistress. She is liberal with her gifts, and believe me, they are bountiful indeed.” I quietly pondered what ‘boons’ this Nightmare had seen fit to grant Zealot. He had no apparent weapons on him, and only basic armor. Aside from his mask of course.

“I will await you at the location of the first item to be gathered. Please, take all the time you need. And remember, she is watching.” With one last manic laugh, Zealot showed himself out, leaving the case, and with more questions than answers.

I think the encounter broke my creepy meter. Everything after this would probably be lessened by compare.

I hoped.

“You ever heard of this guy or his ‘Lady Nightmare’ before, Citadel? I’ve still got the creepy crawlies.” The Mayor had stayed silent throughout Zealot’s proposition. I could really use some input now though. She had a grim expression as she looked at the case like her desk had sprouted a cancerous growth.

“Just a few rumors that they’re bogey ponies that steal children in the night. I’ll see what I can dig up about them. When I find anything substantial out, I’ll let you know. Stay the night, you can set out in the morning. And don’t worry about getting in contact with the Steel Rangers right now. Find your mom.”

There wasn’t really anything I could think of to say, so I just nodded dumbly. It was rather late at that point. I re-latched the case with the twenty five millimeter launcher and the ammo before taking my leave.

***

Hammer and Zinfandel had both asked about Zealot after seeing him walk out of the building. I had deflected most of their questions away as they knew about as much as I did, neither having heard of him or his ‘Lady Nightmare’. I left out the bit with my visions.

For me, it just raised so many questions my head hurt to try and contain them all. Hadn’t I sort of had visions like that before? And what was up with the cryptology in them? Was it just a rule of the universe that all prophetic visions had to be in metaphor? I mean, really.

With what light of the overcast day was left, I had swapped out all the fluids and the easier to get to parts in the Workhorse. It wasn’t strictly necessary for it to run, but it would take a lot of the strain off the repair talisman and hopefully make the rig run a little bit more fuel efficiently. And eke a little more mileage out of it as well.

By the time my zebra and unicorn companions had bedded down for the night I still found myself antsy and tense. Also, Hammer snored. Citadel had given us a room on the second story of the courthouse. I wandered aimlessly through the empty halls, just listening to the tiny echo of my steps. Up to the roof, and back down again, unable to quell my restless muscles, tensing and relaxing them as I walked.

None of my calming exercises worked.

There was a light glowing under Citadel’s office door. Was she still up at this hour? I was about to just push on in when I caught myself and knocked softly. She called me in without hesitation, probably expecting a messenger or someone else.

“Ghost! I didn’t expect you to be up at this time of night. Not sleeping well?” Citadel took off the reading glasses and pushed a stray strand of mane behind on of her ears. She had let it down from the tight bun and wasn’t wearing the suit she had been earlier either. She looked at me over her desk which was piled high with paperwork and various reports. The mare looked as tired as I felt. Citadel seemed a lot younger, and a lot older at the same time.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, Mayor. Do you have a minute to talk?” She shook her head.

“Please, right now I’m not a mayor. I’m just Citadel, if you please.” I grinned at her informality before examining the ceiling in thought and soon found myself talking and unable to stop.

“I dunno, just can’t really sleep. It feels weird to go to sleep in a sort of safe place. I keep closing my eyes only to open them again, expecting something to either be coming to kill me in my bed, or to wake back up in my Stable. This whole thing still seems like a bad dream when I stop and think about it. It’s like if I slow down and stop, something will catch up with me. But what’s chasing me?” Citadel set down her quill, folded her forelegs up onto her desk and set her chin upon the fleshy cushion with a weary sigh. I took a seat across from her, resting my haunches on the cool wood floor.

“Don’t feel bad, Ghost. It’s a common wasteland feeling. You live so close to the edge for so long and it’s hard to think any other way. It’s like there’s a survival switch in our heads that once it’s been on long enough, you can’t go back to living normally. Makes you sleep less, see shadows jumping at you. Takes a while to get used to, but don’t worry.” She smiled at me. “A gun under the pillow helps too.”

“It’s not just that. It’s also that… Zealot guy, and his ‘Lady Nightmare.’ I can’t get it out of my head. I’ve been… having these visions.” Citadel’s face turned concerned.

“I’d heard of weird ponies in masks wandering around. I’ve never heard anything that would indicate they were dangerous, but be careful. I know he said he’d help you find Blazing Glory, and yet something tells me that you can’t trust him. I’ve seen crazies before. A while ago a whole wave of missionaries came through preaching about the true ‘Goddess’ or some other shit like that. They converted a few folks and led ‘em all north on some holy pilgrimage. Never saw them or the ponies who went with ‘em again.” I nodded sagely, well accustomed to rather eccentric religious figures. A certain glowing ghoul came to mind.

“Which reminds me,” Her eyes sharpened in a way that made me feel distinctly like a butterfly pinned to a page. “Blazing Glory said her kit’s name was Ashes to Ashes, not Ghost.” My heart skipped a beat in fear. Wait, why was I afraid about her knowing my real name? Maybe it’s because I hadn’t trusted my companions with it, and maybe because I was afraid of all the baggage that came with that name.

I remained mute, my tired mind coming up with no solid rebuke to the mare’s accusatory statement. This happened a lot. Whenever I had been caught red-taloned doing something I shouldn’t have, I’d freeze up like a kit with a paw in the cookie jar. Whenever I came back with a reply immediately, it always ended up being scathing or acidic, which never went over well with a pony in Stable 57.

To my immense relief, she gave me a searching look before smiling reassuringly.

“Don’t worry, you secret is safe with me. I won’t ask why you decided to use an alias. Maybe the fewer who know who you really are the better. Less chance of those who would want to hurt your family knowing where to look. The wasteland forges all of us differently. Whether you bend, or break depends on your mettle.” Unexpectedly, she walked around her desk and came within a hoofs reach. I suppressed the nervous fidget reflex.

“Y’know, I always kind of fantasized about meeting you. Your mother talked about how handsome you were, and I see now that she was very right.” Oh ho, where are we going with this?

Her now half-lidded eyes were sultry and provocative as she took another step and pressed her chest up against mine. The warm cream fur of her chest brushed softly against my own. Out of the bun, her soft gold mane, like harvest wheat, hung in bouncy curls around her face. The mare surprised me yet again by pressing her muzzle into my fur, nuzzling me gently.

“How long has it been for you?” I asked the filly as I reached up to tentatively stroke a claw down her neck and back.

“I’ve had a crush or two, but I’ve been a little too busy to worry about myself.” The utilitarian way she kept herself made a bit more sense now. She was the image of somepony devoted to her post at the exclusion of all else. “I’ve got quite an itch, and I think you might just be able to help me scratch it.”

Luck be a filly tonight.

“Well ma’am, I am but a humble griffin mechanic. There might be something I can do about that itch though.” Citadel giggled and playfully pushed at me with her hoof. Ha! That one always gets ‘em. I felt my loins stirring with a familiar desire. It was a rousing feeling, that banished the drag of fatigue and made my heart throb with renewed vigor.

I was never too tired for something like this. The moment was almost spoiled by thoughts of Zinfandel, and our little… brush. Yet the zebra seemed not ashamed, but perhaps regretful, and I pushed thoughts of Zinny to the back of my mind.

Citadel brought a hoof under my beak and stroked me there gently.

“You know what else I’ve fantasized about?” I kept my eyes locked on hers.

“Do tell. Maybe I can help you live out a few.” I purred silkily. She leaned in real close and whispered in a husky voice.

“I’ve always wanted to do… Mmm… oh so naughty things in this office.” Oh sweet Celestia. I felt a throb of blood rush to certain extremities at her muttered eroticism.

“I promise, once we’re done, you won’t even remember having that itch.” She leaned back and almost brushed her lips against my beak.

“I can hardly wait.”

Just as we were about to beginning consummating our carnal union, one of the wall cannons boomed, rattling the window in its frame. Both of us jerked in shock. From a crib in the corner, Rampart let out a needy squall. Citadel let out a heavy sigh and pulled away. The mare trotted over to the crib and picked up the crying babe. She gently laid him over a shoulder and shushed the colt.

He put up a fuss and didn’t want to go back to sleep after being so rudely awoken.

I walked over and helped Citadel soothe her nephew. It wasn’t the little guy’s fault that the mood had been shattered. The cool air against my fur that Citadel had been warming was like a bucket of cold water for my arousal. One look at the cream and gold mare told me she felt the same. Soon Rampart was obliviously snoozing away again and the mayor and I took up our previous positions across the desk. I stayed standing however, ready to take my leave.

“I’m sorry, Ghost.” I was quick to reassure her.

“Don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault. There’ll be another time. I just… need to think about some things for a bit.” She nodded.

“I’ll be here, when there’s a next time, okay?” My smile was a little more genuine for the promise in her words.

“Thanks, Citadel, that means a lot.”

***

I donned my barding, my silenced ten millimeter, grabbed some spare clips for it, and nothing else. The rest of my gear and weapons were stowed aboard the Workhorse. Walking around out at night alone, I wanted a little protection at least.

First Zinfandel, and now Citadel. Did I have a bad luck streak? Actually, if I wanted to really look at it, Honey Cup, then Zinny, then Citadel. Damn, I think I did have a streak going. Well, three times the… oh wait, that had been three times. Well… shit. Libido aside, it would have been nice to hold, and be held by, another warm body. Comfort, physical and emotional did sound soothing.

Really, I’m a simple griffin. I enjoy the little things. The taste of a fresh apple, the wind in my feathers, and burying my griffinhood in soft mare nethers were some of my favorites.

It was just… when Rampart started crying, I couldn’t get Cinder out of my head. Dammit, Ashes! You need to just stay dead, stay buried. Mental conflict was unbecoming.

Right then however, I needed to find someplace quiet and not think about anything at all. A tension headache was throbbing in my temples, making my skull throb like it was in a vice. It’s amazing how hard it is sometimes to not think about anything.

Don’t think about the tail you just missed out on. Don’t think about what the hell you were going to do about the creepy stallion who induced nightmarish visions. Don’t think about finding your mother’s bleached bones out in the wastes.

The list went on.

I found a bar that was still open, a simple, seedy place with mismatched tables and only a handful of patrons. A radio played just low enough that I couldn’t make out what the song actually was. The bar itself was old wood, countless spots worn away in the varnish by countless glasses and spilled drinks. Without a word I walked up to it, plopped down, and tossed a dozen caps to onto the countertop.

A gruff, tan colored unicorn scooped up my money.

“What’ll it be?”

“Vodka.” I replied simply. I just wanted a shot or two of something to settle my nerves. The barkeep nodded and magicked a shot glass and a tall bottle. With a grimace I downed the potent liquor. It burned so good.

After one good click, my faithful lighter produced its tiny flame and I pulled out a fresh cigarette from my pocket. Either my taste buds were going numb, or these things were actually starting to get a bit addictive. The strawberry smoke filled my lungs. I still wasn’t the best at it, and nearly choked on the puff. Wisps of grey flowed out of my beak unevenly.

My next inhalation went more smoothly, and a steady stream blew out of my mouth, curling away into the dark interior of the bar. The inside was lit by guttering oil lamps that caused the smoke to flicker with a life of its own, curling away in imagined shadows and shapes of dragons and manticores. The vodka was slowly muddling my thoughts, and making everything just a little tingly around the edges.

I was on my fourth cigarette and second shot when a pony walked up to the bar beside me.

“Hey, griffin, you the one who messed up Ragtag’s stuff down in Ghoul City?” Even in my muddled state, I still had the prescience to put a talon on the butt of the gun in my chest holster.

“What of it?” I wasn’t in the mood. In a sidelong way I examined the green unicorn, noting his caravan guard look. He was a little too tidy to be a ganger.

“Jus’ wanted t’congratulate ‘tcha. ‘Ere, drink’s on me.” The unicorn passed me a metal flask. Figuring it rude to decline, I removed my talon from my gun and took a small swig of the proffered container. Wow, and I thought Battle Brew was strong. I shook my head to try and clear it of the intoxicating daze that wrapped around my mind. With a shaky smile I handed the flask back.

Whoa, the room should not be spinning like that. A wave of intense vertigo made my stomach lurch, doing backflips in my abdomen. I clutched at my middle in pain and suddenly found myself unable to maintain balance.

I barely felt myself hit the floor.

I was faintly aware of being hoisted up and half carried, half dragged in some direction that felt like it kept changing.

And the world faded to black.

Level Up.

Perk Gained: Merc Skills - Just good, honest mercenary skills! You do 25% more damage with 10mm and 12mm pistols and SMGs, hunting rifles, assault and marksman carbines, automatic rifles, frag grenades, grenade launchers, APWs, and combat knives.

(Author’s Notes: I’d like to thank everyone who’s read this far in Ghost’s story! I never imagined getting this far to be perfectly honest. The road hasn’t been easy, filled with writer’s blocks, sandpits, and countless moments of self-doubt, but you, gentle reader, have made it all possible. So, from me to you, thanks. If you found this chapter a little dialogue heavy it’s because there was a lot to talk about. I know that the previous chapters have been rather lacking in good conversation (which I’m hopefully getting better at) so I hope this has been a good improvement. I promised myself that this chapter would just flow out. This was one of my ‘milestones’, so we’ll see how the next one goes.)

(Oh, I also secretly imagine Ghost being rather irate with me for giving him that perk despite all his insistence that he’s not for sale or hire. And credit as always to the glorious Kkat! We are all of us forever indebted for creating such a ripe, dark fruit upon which we may all take succor.)