Chapter One: All in Good Time

"Welcome to the equine race."

I opened my eyes with a yawn. Waking up had always been a pleasant experience to me. What could possibly be better than to greet the newborn day as the sun peeks through the thin blanket of white clouds and the birds begin their morning rehearsal for the ultimate song of life? Get up, make myself a cup of fine tea, check my TARDIS... Time Lord-y stuff, you know?

Well, I can say that morning was slightly different. The first thing that I noticed upon lifting my weary eyelids was the fact that I was, to put it bluntly, lying in the middle of some desert, with no buildings, or ponies, or at least some greenery for miles around. Moreover, I didn't feel the usual pleasant grip around my neck, which led to the conclusion that I had somehow lost my tie. And that, ladies and gentlecolts, had never happened before. I mean, I may have got drunk and lost my sonic screwdriver (and my sanity, at that) more than once... but a true gentlecolt never, I repeat, never loses his tie, which, as you all may have already guessed, is the main symbol of pride and dignity for him. That is, me. 'Cause I'm a gentlecolt, you know?

So, my tie was gone, and that surely didn't add a pleasant taste to the generally disgusting and steely flavour of the morning. I pondered for a moment as my lazy brain tried to make the gears in my head reel. Taste was indeed the right word, for I could very much physically sense a disturbing taste of steel in my mouth.

Oh. There was a gun in my mouth. And it was indeed pointed at me. My awakening had suddenly acquired new shades of puzzlement and confusion. I took an experimental lick at the barrel. I mean, anypony would have done the same, right? Natural reactions and all that jazz. And not because I'm gay. Because I'm not. Throughout my Time Lord career, I've been asked this question a lot of times, and the answer still stands: no. If you're interested, you can ask my friend - one of the few true friends I've ever had, and probably the only one who didn't turn his back on me when I regenerated into a pony. Just stopped hitting on me. ...You know, you probably don't want to meet him. Or know him. Or know of him... Ahem! Anyway. The gun in my mouth. Yes. A much more interesting topic to speculate on.

So, either I had somehow ended up going to bed while chewing on a steel barrel or-

"Wake up, bitch!"

-or somepony had, apparently, put it in my mouth moments prior, thus bringing about my awakening. Something (natural Time Lord intelligence?) told me that it was the latter, no doubt. While the form of addressing left much to be desired, the loud masculine voice carried a weight of dominance, which, supported by the weapon that the bearer was holding, made me slowly raise my hooves in an attempt to show that I, indeed, had woken up.

The barrel was immediately removed from my mouth and I slowly turned my head towards the source of the voice. I wish I hadn't done it, for what I saw surely didn't add any fuel to the fire of my morale. Next to me was standing a muscular grey stallion, his body covered with fearsome scars, his green spiked mane certainly giving the impression of deviant behaviour. As my eyes drifted towards his flank for a moment, I saw his cutie mark to be a spiked mace, with a drop of blood on it. I surely didn't want to know if it was a part of his cutie mark of if the blood was real: my stomach was already slightly retching at the unpleasant sight. He was holding a rifle in his magical grip (the unicorns; ever so lucky to have telekinesis!) in such a way that the barrel was just an inch away from my face... Actually, screw that. It was just a centimetre away from my face - we have accepted the metric system in the UK, after all! British stallions know their business well, mind it, even if they are in the middle of Celestia-knows-where.

It is usually advised that, in such situations, one shouldn't make any sudden movements, or try to escape, or, Celestia forbid, start running around in panic. Being the smart stallion I am, and keeping in mind that precious advice, I slowly turned my head towards the grey unicorn, my eyes widening as I saw another one standing next to him: a pink earth pony with an orange mane, a true epitome of brightness and cheerfulness, one might say, especially compared to the bleak surroundings. He looked like one of those ponies that usually greet you in amusement parks and hand out free coupons for something-or-the-other. Were it not for the fact that he was holding a spiked club in his mouth, a weapon perfectly resembling the one depicted on his flank. I gulped, trying not to think how he had got his cutie mark.

"May I get up?" I wondered softly, trying to maintain my politeness and keep my composure while being taken aim at, which, believe me, is not a particularly easy task.

The unicorn chuckled, revealing his ugly, rotten teeth, looking like a true book-ish villain at that particular moment. "You'd better get up, or I'll shove this gun here up yer ass till it comes outta your throat!"

Oh, thank you for the detailed explanation. From what the grey stallion had said, I could deduce three major points. First, his pronunciation left much to be desired, and his breath was as foul as toxic waste. Second, he was probably not familiar with equine anatomy, for the rifle could not pierce a pony's body in such a fashion... I guess. And, last but not least, he was holding a big gun, and commanding me to get up. Yeah, make that first.

Obeying the Mr. I-Don't-Brush-My-Teeth's command, I stood up, not too hastily, in order to avoid annoying my two... captors? I guess that's a suitable word for the situation. While my brain was pathetically trying to deduce where I was, what was going on, and how the hay I had managed to end up in such a situation, the grey stallion turned to his colourful friend, if such ponies could ever make friends.

"I don't think we'll get much caps for him," he said with a frown, betraying all rules of proper English and thus, Equestrian, grammar. "He's pro'lly a good-for-nothing scum. After all, what can his special talent be with a cutie mark like this?" The colourful stallion nodded in agreement, the club in his mouth preventing him from speaking.

As if you're the one to speak... I thought, eyeing Mr. Spiked-Hair's cutie mark. At least mine wasn't depicting a tool of crime, 'cause, you know, you can't murder anypony, or anyone at all, with an hourglass. At least there haven't been any attempts that I've heard of.

Oh, I haven't really told you anything apart from my name, have I? I'm a stallion. A British stallion. A British stallion who is also a Time Lord. That's the point where you give me a standing ovation. Thank you very much. Now, since I really didn't choose what to regenerate into, I ended up being an earth pony. Not that I hold anything anything against earth ponies, given that I'm one. Just... no magic, no wings... What to live for? ...Saturdays. I live for Saturdays. Just saying. I love Saturdays.

So... I've a brown coat and a black mane. Not too short, not too long: a perfect proportion. Guess that's it. Oh, and I can also travel through the fabric of Time and Space via my time-spaceship, TARDIS. But that's not really interesting to you, is it? I've a sonic screwdriver and I like playing cricket. That pretty much sums it all. Now, back to the point where I was being humiliated by two ugly ponies.

The grey stallion prompted me to follow him as he began his way through the lifeless desert. Now that I thought about it, it seemed more like wasteland to me. Deserts have sand, and some cacti, and scorpions, and what-not. This piece of land, on the other hoof, seemed dead: the scorched ground streaked with cracks and occasional bones (I really hoped those were not equine bones) surely did make an impression of a sombre, neverending wasteland.

Although I tried not to look back in an attempt not to give my captors any reasons to act funny, I could very well feel that I was being followed by the colourful earth pony, his club just an in- a centimetre away from my flank, and that surely didn't add a pleasant tingle to my stomach.

"You wanna know who we are?" Mr. I-Can-Magically-Hold-A-Weapon-And-Speak-Simultaneously wondered as we walked through the rotten wasteland, my hooves already sore from stepping on rough, insufferably rough ground.

Although some more important questions were haunting my head, of which I have already told you, I nodded, for my interest in who my captors were was pretty strong.

"Name's Broken Bone," he said, turning his head towards me, his weapon firmly aimed at my head. "This here," he extended his hoof, pointing it at the colourful stallion, "is Bloody Club, my pal."

Oh. Well, that explains everything. Broken Bone and his pal Bloody Club (a very fitting name, if I may say) were just walking across some lifeless wasteland, saw a poor sleeping Time Lord with no memories of the past few days whatsoever, and decided to sell him somewhere. Makes perfect sense. With the exception that it doesn't.

"So... where do you presume to take me now?" I enquired, trying to keep my tone as soft and nonchalant as possible. Like... a tea party. Yes, a small, cosy tea party with two friends on the verge of stuffing my rear with a rifle. Sounds amazing, I know.

Apparently, either my phrasing was too sophisticated for the unicorn or my voice wasn't sweet enough, because he frowned and tossed me a dangerous look.

"Shut your hole, bitch," was his reply, and that was more than enough for me to obey and close my mouth, keeping my speculations and questions to myself.

Unfortunately, my brain didn't want to contribute to my thinking process that much. I had no idea where I was, why I was here, and what was going on in general. I was lacking my TARDIS, my sonic screwdriver, and, more importantly, my wonderful green tie. I had gone off to sleep the previous day, and had woken up here some half an hour ago. Those were the facts, which I recited in my head over and over; alas, the pieces of the puzzle didn't want to fall together, no matter how hard I tried. My head ached and my stomach was retching dangerously. I considered concussion to be a possible reason for all of this.

The route we were following had reached some form of a proper road now: scorched, lifeless soil gave place to a badly cobbled stone path, which looked particularly lonely in the middle of the wasteland, leading all the way up to the horizon. I couldn't see its end; not that I wanted to, of course. If anything, I was waiting for something to change the situation, for someone to come and save my sorry flank, as it had always happened before, each time I found myself between a rock and a hard place.

No such luck. Apparently, all heroes around here, if there were any, were either busy with their heroic affairs or unwilling to lend a helping hoof to a confused and disheartened Time Lord. Ah well.

I can't really say for how long we had been walking. Funny, right? A Time Lord who doesn't possess the ability to tell the time? But facts were facts: even though I could travel through time, I still needed a watch, or a clock, to know what time it was, like any other pony. I presume we'd been walking for hours, for my poor hooves ached painfully, unused to covering long distances at such pace, and without making any stops, no less. At least the sun was hidden behind a thick curtain of clouds that was covering the whole sky for some reason, some reason which I had no will to think about. What mattered to me was the fact that the sun wasn't burning my spine as I walked, and I was perfectly fine with it.

Suddenly, Mr... Broken Bone (now that I knew his name, there was no reason for me to give him fancy nicknames) stopped dead in his tracks, the barrel of his rifle no longer pointed at my face, but instead at something in the distance. I squinted my eyes and saw three blurred dots approaching us. I couldn't make out what exactly they were, though - we Time Lords aren't particularly well-known for good eyesight. I even wear glasses when I read something! And I look good while wearing them. Just saying.

Bloody Club left his place behind my back and stepped forth, readying his bloody club for battle. (See what I did here? Excuse me while I laugh at my hilarious joke.)

"Shit. Radscorpions," Broken Bone cursed and aimed his rifle at one of the growing dots.

Radscorpions? As in, scorpions? That certainly did add a point to my "scorched desert" theory, as opposed to the "lifeless wasteland" theory, which had just lost one. ...But I digress here, right? Before my brain could process the new information, my instincts had already kicked in: realising, albeit on a subconscious level, that my escorts' attention was now diverted from me, and so were their weapons, I took a very quick and an immensely reasonable step. I turned, and ran away.

'Cause, you know, running away is what we Time Lords do best. Travelling through Time and Space and running away. If there ever were some kind of Olympic Games for Time Lords, those would be the only two disciplines. But I digress. Again.

Trying not to pay attention to the pain in my hooves, I galloped away, not really watching where I was going, the wasteland (desert?) looking all the same to me. I heard gunshots from behind, but no hoofsteps, apart from my own: that meant that my ex-captors were too occupied with shooting scorpions to chase me.

A bullet ripped through the air, just above my shoulder, making my hair stand on end. Or they were simply sure that they'd shoot me without giving chase. Well, let them try. I gritted my teeth and appealed to all the resources my body had in order to outrun the deadly lead that was now swishing through the air all above me. I took a turn to the left, another bullet piercing the air in the exact place where my right hind leg had been a second before. Praising my intuition, I ran on and on, until the sound of gunshots could no longer be heard.

I stopped, breathing heavily, sweat pouring from my brow, my legs trembling terribly. I was exhausted to the bone from running, and my poor lungs couldn't get enough oxygen from the air, as if the atmosphere was... polluted with something? Taking a quick glance around and sending a mental prayer to Celestia with a big "thank you" for making my ex-captors decide against following me, I collapsed onto the sandy surface, which was adorned with rocks and occasional cacti (desert! Told you it was a desert!) and exhaled in relief. I was safe, at least for the time being. All thoughts left my head, making it heavy, albeit empty. I yawned and rolled over.

The world could wait. So could my thoughts... and those ponies... and cacti... Why am I thinking about cacti?.. At this point, my eyelids grew heavy and I drifted off to sleep.

***

Have I told you how unlucky I am yet? No? Well, I am. I mean, some ponies are naturally unlucky, and I sure as hay am one of them. It's not that kind of unluckiness when you lose your tenth poker game in a row, or trip and break your leg every other month or so, or something like that. No, ladies and gentlecolts, I am the epitome of unluckiness. Because every Celestia-damn time I wake up, I find myself in the middle of something, and that something is rarely pleasant. My each and every day begins with some kind of adventure and, while some four hundred years ago it was exciting, now it just freaks me out.

I woke up, lazily licking my dry lips. My mood was somewhat high, due to the fact that I was, a) alive; b) alive; and c) alive. These three little facts surely meant the world to me at the moment. Only now had I realised how good it was to wake up without a rifle in your mouth, knowing that you woke up at the exact place you'd gone off to sleep, and, more importantly, alone.

My eyes inspected the bleak surroundings, which, as I may have already mentioned, left much to be desired: sand, stone and occasional cacti were the only forms of amusement for an inquisitive mind, which once more drove me to the conclusion that I was lying in the middle of some desert.

I yawned and rolled over, with a clear intention to take my time and think over the situation. I mean, there must be a reason for my being here, with no TARDIS, no tie and no ideas about the past or the future. Or the present, for that matter. Alcohol? Barely: I didn't remember drinking anything the previous night. Besides, my alcohol tolerance is supreme. You can compose myths about my alcohol tolerance. Stuff of legends, you know?

Time-Space rift? Possible, but unlikely: although it had happened to me many times (like, many many times), I had ensured that TARDIS was in its "No-time-travelling" mode before going to bed. Never want to end up somewhere (and sometime), with no idea how the hay you had ended up there, right? Oh, wait a minute, there's something I'm missing here...

...Scorpions? No, that wasn't a suggestion. That was reality. As I rolled over, the gears in my head turning idly, I saw three kings of the desert, three regal insects, their sting deadly and ever so swift. If I said that my eyes widened to the size of saucers, that would be a severe understatement; they outstretched far wider, almost popping out of my head like in one of those old cartoons; my breath became shallow, almost silent, and I was pretty sure one of my two hearts stopped for a moment. Oh yeah, we Time Lords have two hearts - neat, huh? I mean, even for an earth pony! ...Though, neither of them would probably help me live longer if I got stung by a scorpion... A very big scorpion, at that. A hell of a scorpion, to be exact. I'd go so far as to call it a giant scorpion, from my point of view. What did those guys call them? Radscorpions? Yes, seems to be it.

Anyway, I felt that the fan had just met a certain old acquaintance, if you know what I mean, and damn it if it weren't facing me. Because it totally was. Three scorpions... erm, radscorpions, whatever, were slowly approaching me, their tails up and prepared to land a killing blow.

In such situations, contrary to what you may have read, or heard, one's brain simply ceases to function properly. It's a natural reaction, to think about something else, anything but the approaching danger. I, for one, started searching for reasons why those creatures were moving in groups of three. I mean, really? Some unwritten law? Or, maybe, a rule-book for vicious killers?

Fortunately, my subconscious wasn't as stupid as the conscious part of my brain, so my body, tense and trembling, was trying to find a way to escape. I began slowly crawling away from the scorpions, very slowly, centimetre by centimetre, not diverting my eyes from any of them. My brain finally managed to get back on the route of thinking about survival (triple hooray), and I considered getting up at the first convenient point, as soon as possible. The scorpions were following me just as slowly, not rushing, however, and that gave me a smidgeon of hope. I just had to stay silent... Yes... another centimetre, one more... And another one... A few more, and I-

Crack.

Crap. I don't know what freaked me out more at this moment: the fact that I, apparently, had crushed a bone under my hoof, not looking where I was retreating, or that the scorpions stopped at once, lifting their tails even higher. One way or another, I yelled on top my lungs, forgetting my thoroughly-planned escape, and jumped up, running away. Needless to say, the vile creatures gave chase.

Oh crap. I ran with no intention of looking back, letting my feet guide my brain, for once in my life. Erm... make it twice. In a day. I couldn't see my chasers, but I could very well feel them: the tingling that was travelling down my spine non-stop told me that the scorpions were near, but I was determined to survive.

You know that feeling of determination, right? When you've used your last regeneration to turn into a pony (because ponies are cool, as you may already know) and you have not a single urge to die in a desert (or wasteland; doesn't really matter as of now), stung to death by radscorpions? Well, apparently, you don't. But believe me, this is a very strong feeling. It gives you wings. Yes, just like Red Pegasus (TM or something).

I ran on top of my abilities, ravaging my energy resources, and, to my delight, the tingling faded gradually. I was leaving them behind. I was bucking leaving them behind! Well, aren't I just the fastest living thing ever!

...Fate's a bitch. Sorry, I don't usually swear, but I think that this is an appropriate moment. Fate is a bitch, and I should have learned it long ago. Every time you think it's going to get better; every time you think you've overcome something; every time you think, "damn it, I'm good!" - Fate will crush you like a bottle of pickles. ...All right, that was a crappy metaphor (simile? Told you I was no writer); still, you get the point. Fate will cut you down, crush you into pieces and drive to utter misery.

So she did now. I assume by default that Fate, just as Luck, is a lady. If bitches can be ladies, that is. Anyway, as I ran without really looking where I was running, my little splash of cheerfulness diverted my attention from the road (imaginary road, if I may add), and I tripped over a stone, falling onto my back. The scorpions shortened the distance between us with glee, if scorpions can ever feel gleeful. These ones could, apparently.

I tried backing down, but my back propped up against something hard and cold. I took a quick look over my shoulder. Of course. A rock. A big, dumb rock just sitting there in the middle of the desert, waiting for an occasional Time Lord to stumble upon. The radscorpions drew nearer, clanking their claws, their deadly tails aimed at me like gun barrels.

Crap. Crap crap crap! Remember that part where I said I didn't swear? Well, forget it: I do, even though I try to keep it gentlecolt-ly. Yes, that's a word. I invented it. As the poisonous tails almost reached my body, being just a few centimetres from it, I closed my eyes in fear. It's a natural reaction. I'm afraid of death, too, you know? Well, I thought, at least I've lived a long and exciting life. Or something. Yes, I know, I'm not really good at last thoughts, I admit. I should've thought about something more heroic, like... I dunno, Life, the Universe, and Everything?

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

Huh? My eyes shot wide open, my ears perked up from the loud sound, and I took a quick glance around. What I saw surprised me greatly; in a good way, though: the scorpions lay dead, their once impenetrable armour shattered, disgusting goo pouring out of the bodies. I looked closer: a small object lay on the ground near my unlucky chasers, something resembling a round bullet. I placed it onto my hoof, inspecting it closely.

"Custom-made," came a voice from above, a very low masculine voice, carrying those notes of dignity and confidence that most stallions lack these days.

I looked up. Off in the distance stood a brown pegasus, his coat resembling mine in shade, although his was somewhat... dirtier? His short mane was silver grey, even though the stallion wasn't very old, judging from his muscular and lean complexion - that was a sign of experience weighing on him, a hard pressure indeed. A strange contraption was strapped to his back: a saddle with two guns on each side; grey-ish smoke was erupting from the barrels, driving me to a conclusion that this pegasus was my saviour; not that there were any other ponies around to have shot the scorpions, of course. What shocked me greatly was the fact that his cutie mark, or at least the place where his cutie mark should have been, was adorned with a scorched scar of some kind, which resembled a... thundercloud? Don't judge me - I told you my eyesight was far from perfect!

Anyway, I decided it was a good moment to express my gratitude towards the pony who's risked his life saving mine. 'Cause, you know, otherwise I'd be a dead Time Lord; a very dead Time Lord. And being dead sucks.

"Thank you, sir," I said with a polite bow, which came out rather clumsy, given that I was sitting on the ground.

The pegasus silently approached the corpses and began inspecting them closely. I blinked at his lack of reaction. Well, maybe he had difficulties with hearing; that stuff happens, right?

I cleared my throat audibly, just as the brown stallion took out a knife out of his saddlebag (quite skilfully, if I may add) and began cutting one of the three corpses.

"THANK YOU, SIR!" I shouted into his ear, moving closer, eager to deliver my gratitude one way or another. "THANK YOU FOR SAVING ME!"

He dropped the knife and turned his head towards me, a frown on his face. "Yell one more time, and your death will be swift."

Oh. Well, apparently, he was far from being hard of hearing; or from having good manners, for that matter. I mean, who in Equestria responds like that to a genuine show of emotion?

I struggled to get to my hooves - took me a while, though, as my hooves were trembling from running (not fear, of course! As if Time Lords can be afraid of a few insects!) and my whole body was shaking. Oh, and my stomach was protesting wildly against my very existence. Like a Celestia-damn anarchist. Hate those. A thought rushed through my head that I was apparently hungry. Which was kinda logical, though: I hadn't had breakfast yet, and throw your rocks at me if you know a single British stallion who'd miss the most important meal with glee and excitement. 'Cause there aren't any.

Meanwhile, my saviour had already taken the knife once more and was cutting some random pieces from the scorpions' bodies. Mmm, meaty... What? Don't look at me like that - I was hungry!

I watched him do his job in silence, and he surely had no intention of breaking it. He collected a few pieces of something-or-the-other from the corpses and put them into one of his saddlebags, promptly getting up and turning away from me. Only now could I see that his cutie mark was scorched at both sides of his flank. Not that I usually look at stallions' flanks. Just... Argh, moving on!

The pegasus got up, his brown coat gloriously reflecting the heat of the desert. And no, I'm not saying it was beautiful just because mine is the same colour. Just... Look, I'm trying to be a writer here. It's called "descriptive language", okay? As he began walking away, slowly, I followed him, a little offended by the fact that not only did he not reply to my "thanks for saving my life", but also took a French leave. So I followed him with a clear intention of fixing that! ...Who am I kidding - I was in the middle of some Celestia-damn desert, with no survival skills or a clear view of what was going on around me; of course I had to stick to him, at least for the time being, no matter how rude he seemed to me.

We walked in silence for a while. At first, I tried to clear my throat politely every minute or so, but soon gave up any attempts, just following his lead. The desert around me didn't really suit my fancy, if you know what I mean. And I mean that it was bland, plain and really dull. Boring. Gloomy. Choose any adjective you want. I occupied myself with trying to guess how many shades of grey the desert contained; and, believe me, I'd already counted to fifty or so when my companion finally turned around.

"What. Do you want?" he rapped out the words with good measure, his blue eyes fixed on mine, as if he tried to penetrate my very skull. How nice of him.

"I want to thank you for saving my life," I replied, stopping with a little bow of my head as he stopped as well, eyeing me curiously.

"Gratitude doesn't bring in caps," he said grimly, turning away from me as he continued his way through the desert, me following him in confusion.

"Caps?" I wondered. As in, cricket caps? Oh, at least I'm not the only one here interested in cricket! Great! Sure, he may have acted like a ruffian and what-not, but at least he had some respect for the best game in the world! That adds a few points to his profile for sure. Oh, yes, and the fact he'd saved me. Can't forget that.

The stallion sighed without stopping or even looking at me. "Caps. Bottle caps. The main currency here in the Wasteland."

"The Wasteland?" Damn. There goes my Desert theory. Aw well, if he says it's a wasteland, let it be a wasteland. After all, it seemed that he surely had some experience in this strange place.

Now, he stopped and pierced me with that Why-are-you-so-damn-stupid look of his. Sticks and stones... "The Wasteland. The fucking shithole we're in. Where are you from? The fucking moon?"

Wow. That sure was an impressive wave of profanity. I shook my head. "No. Not exactly. But I've found myself here this morning, with a gun pointed at my face, and now I have no idea how I ended up here in the first place," I explained, supporting my words with an idle hoof gesture. "I'm a time traveller," I carried on, immediately recognising the "Oh yeah, sure, and I'm Princess Celestia's auntie" look that he gave me. "I'm serious. I don't know a thing about this place; I usually travel through Time and Space on my spaceship, TARDIS," I said, deciding that it was for the better to be completely honest with the pony who'd saved my life so valiantly, even if he didn't believe me in the slightest.

The pegasus sighed and shook his head in defeat. "Look, I don't know whether you're a junkie or just insane, but you can stick to me for the time being." He looked at the horizon, as if he could see something more than the scorched earth and bleak surroundings. "Or maybe you're really some time-travelling pony; I don't give two shits." I winced slightly, not used to such a way of expressing one's attitude. "Just don't be a bother and try to be helpful." He cast an estimating glance at me and frowned. "Forget it. Just try not to be a bother."

My mood rose slightly as I followed the brown pegasus cheerfully. Even though I hadn't had breakfast yet; even though I had no idea what this whole place was and where this affair would lead me; even though I had been dancing on the edge of dying twice that day - I had somepony to stick to, somepony experienced enough to keep us alive. At least, that's what I told myself.

"Where exactly are we going?" I asked after a few minutes of walking in silence. All right, maybe after a few seconds. I'm impatient by nature, you know?

"Where I am going," he distanced himself from me as he said it. "The tower."

I waited for him to elaborate but he just kept walking on and on, not paying attention to me, while I was trying to catch up to him, his pace being faster than the one I was used to.

"What tower?" I asked, trying not to offend my saviour and companion (at least for the time being).

"Not Tenpony, that's for sure." He let out a chuckle, and I felt obliged to smile as well, even though I had no idea what he was talking about. Some kind of inside joke, I assumed.

We walked in silence for a while. My head started to feel heavy; my sight grew slightly dim, and the de- the Wasteland seemed to lull me with its constant sameness. I really wished for a change of scenery, for I couldn't let myself fall asleep here, lest I be devoured by some scorpions or sold into slavery or whatever these crazy wastelanders (I guess that's a word) used to get a kick out of.

"What shall I call you?" my companion asked suddenly, making me snap out of my sleepy state and blink in surprise. A-ha! After all, he did care for me, at least a little! "So that I know what to call you when you may come in handy."

Or not. Or he was just looking forward to using me. Well, he did have such a right, after all - I owed him, and I owed him my life, no less.

"Doctor," I replied. "My name's The Doctor."

"Doctor who?" he asked idly, not looking back, which, as I assumed, was his usual manner of speaking.

"Just The Doctor. You can omit the 'The' when addressing me," I explained, wincing at my own lexical repetition. I hate those. Almost as much as anarchists. But not that much. A little less. Grr, there it is again!

"So you know a thing or two about medicine, huh?" my saviour continued in an idle tone, although I could sense a hint of curiosity in it as he asked me that question.

"Not exactly." I shook my head. "I'm not that kind of doctor. I tend to people's souls rather than bodies."

I could feel him frown even though he didn't turn round. "Another useless preacher, then," he concluded with a sigh. I thought it for the better not to argue. After all, I had told him I was no preacher but a time traveller. Unfortunately, I had no proof. I resolved to learn a little about him instead.

"What shall I call you?" I wondered, trying to maintain a little nonchalance. To no avail, as you may have guessed: my voice was trembling with excitement and my eyes were shining vigorously. Not that I could look into my own eyes... Just... I felt like they were shining vigorously. "In case I need your help," I added hastily, lest he assume that I had opened my sorry mouth out of pure curiosity. Which I totally did.

"Turner," he said in his I-won't-look-at-you-while-speaking-to-you manner.

"Pleased to meet you, Turner," I said, extending my hoof politely. To my dismay, he either hadn't noticed my friendly gesture or pretended not to have noticed it, and just trotted on. "So... Can you tell me a thing or two about this Wasteland we find ourselves in?" I wondered, trying to hold my excitement at the prospect of learning something new and trying to sound business-like at the same time.

"Long ago, the bombs fell upon Equestria," he began explaining on the go. "Destroyed everything. Now we try to survive in this shithole. The radiation doesn't add a pleasant bite to it."

Well, look who's being laconic. My pegasus saviour, if you haven't guessed. Still, his explanation was enough for me to understand that this planet, once a peaceful land of Equestria, was destroyed by some kind of nuclear conflict and this wasteland was all that was left. I've seen worse things, just so you know. But... it still struck my heartstrings a little. I mean, as a pony, I used to spend days in Equestria. It looked like a utopia to me. And now this utopia lay in ruins before my very eyes... Not a very heart-warming sight, what?

"I see."

We walked in silence for a while, until Turner stopped dead in his tracks, extending his hoof to his right, motioning for me to stop as well. I obeyed, looking around in concern. However, I couldn't see, hear, smell or sense, in any other way, anything that could be out of place.

Apparently, Turner could, for he reloaded his saddle thing-y (some sort of battle saddle, I guess? With guns and stuff) with a swift kick and bit on the string connecting it to his mouth, his tongue waiting to push the button.

"What's the-" I began, but was interrupted by a brown hoof that was shoved into my mouth. Ouch. Turner turned (you get it? Get it? Turner turned! Aren't I just a natural comedian?) his head towards me with a glare. He let go of the control string for a moment and whispered to me only one phrase, and that phrase came out rather grimly, if you ask me.

"We have company."

***

Footnote:

Level up!

You're S.P.E.C.I.A.L.! ...but you know that already.

Strength: 4

Perception: 7

Endurance: 6

Charisma: 7

Intelligence: 10

Agility: 5

Luck: 7

Traits:

Seasoned - You are over nine thousand years old! Okay, well, make it nine hundred. Still, that sort of experience lets you begin your journey across the Wasteland with maxed out INT. Aren’t you just lucky to be smart? And they say getting old is a bad thing...

Diplomacy - You really do have a smooth tongue. Your ability to pass speech checks is twice as great as any common pony’s.

New Perk: The Earth Pony Way - You're an earth pony. Earth ponies are cool. You gain +1 to Strength and Endurance when standing on soil undamaged by radiation. As if you can find such soil in the Wasteland...