Fallout: Equestria, Darkness Falls

“... now and always.”

I opened my eyes, the morning prayers complete. To my surprise, the wasteland was not completely foregone of relics of the Princesses. I had found a small, pristine statuette of the Sun Goddess herself in all her dusty perfection (which I cleaned up as delicately as I could). Using the small figurine to represent Her and my pendant for Luna, I offered my respects as per tradition. I had one with me when I left Stable 46, but like most of my supplies it met a crushing fate back in Goldpeak. As I had done since I emerged from the Goddesses themselves.

Every prayer I gave was soothing. The means to spiritual ends and enlightenment. To happiness and tranquility.

And yet… it was not enough for the woe that plagued my waking thoughts.

I hissed softly and set down the stained shard of glass that I sterilized, coated in my own blood and now my day’s penance for my sins. With Ghost away and the foal in the other room, I had the privacy I needed. The blood that I have spilt needed to be paid in turn. The ritual done, I wrapped my foreleg in bandages once more.

Feeling my heart quicken in my chest, I had but one choice: shake the thoughts from my head or risk having another meltdown in the decrepit office building. I carefully picked up the small statuette and gently placed it within my saddlebags, intent on keeping it. There was no doubt that the original owner was no longer among the living, therefore I would not break the tenant of no thievery. Plus, as much as I loathed the concept, Ghost was right about the need of finding and procuring more supplies whenever one could. I might have been more adamant had my supplies not been destroyed in Goldpeak. That and I convinced myself that this meant spiritual needs, too.

I sat near one of the dirty windows that was clean enough to see out of after fetching a strange drink - ‘Sparkle-Cola’ - from a busted vending machine. We had no such thing in Stable 46, so the fizzy bubbly-ness caught me not unpleasantly by surprise. My thoughts wandered to how the beverage would taste if it were hot or cold as I took sip after sip. And for some reason, my pipbuck beeped with each one as well.

Boom.

I jumped as yet another distant explosion resounded in the far distance, followed by the quick succession of a pair more. I frowned, nonplussed and reasonably concerned by what could have caused it. Ghost explained that the fighting never really stops in the Stalliongrad wasteland; though Ghost would not elaborate further, much to my frustration. Fighting was happening somewhere and at some place and time in this accursed hell. It made me long for the silence and the peaceful drone of Stable 46, where my only source of heart-stopping scare-tactics came from Harmonics or the magic twins, Pedal and Flicker.

And then my heart and shoulders sank as I thought more about home. Sitting here reminded me of the days where I would fret at my desk about the next sermon, making sure I had every sentence memorized, ran through the checklist of preparations, et cetera. My old concerns paled in comparison to this new reality that I inflicted upon myself. I needed to take my mind off of things, lest I spiral further into depression.

I glanced at the new rifle at my disposal: Conviction.

That glance turned into a glare as a tremor ran down my mending hoof. The dusty manual next to the accursed weapon caught my eye.

‘You need to read that and learn how to maintain that gun, Stable-dweller. Now’s a good time to not be stupid.’

“Fat chance,” I spat, then promptly left the room, fighting the limp in my forehoof. I wasn’t about to learn to operate that blasphemous device. If I had my way I wouldn’t ever use the thing. The very thought of doing so reminded me of the atrocities committed by Whiskey.

After checking on the foal - she was sound asleep - I took a trot outside to survey the new home for the children while they were away with Ghost. The strong stone wall could easily keep out the wild radscorpions once the larger holes were patched up and would hopefully provide a protective curtain from other demons of the wastes. Most of the windows were blown out, so they would need to be boarded up somehow…

The very front of the building had some kind of statue, though the bulk of its form had long since been destroyed by some unknown force. The surrounding courtyard had mounds of trash and garbage, some things seemed like they might be useful, but there was no way I could tell what was good to keep and what was not. Regardless, the place needed some good housekeeping. Luckily, the walls here seemed mostly intact; only small holes here and there, though certainly not big enough for a giant radscorpion to crawl through and high enough that they can’t get over. All in all, this place could be a safe haven.

My ears quirked at the sudden music that steadily grew closer. It was unlike anything I had ever heard before, certainly not of the same caliber that Harmonics made. Everything played in Stable 46 was soft and soothing, but this was a harsher melody with brief, hard beats and sharp whistling that made my ears bend back. I scrunched my brow and was lured by curiosity.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw movement, right as the music cut out. I stared for long seconds, tense and ready to run if I had to.

“Ghost?” I softly called when nothing happened. I was of the thought that maybe he was back early and messing with me. “Th-this isn’t funny!”

I came to a section of wall with a head-sized hole in it and cautiously looked through it. All I saw was the stretching hills dotted with sparse, lifeless trees and--

“AHHH!” A metallic thing was right at my muzzle! I hurled myself back and scrambled away.

“Oh! Sorry.” The little robot said with a tinny voice. “Perhaps she was right.”

At this moment I couldn’t care less what it was talking about. My horn flared, searching for my energy pistol that wasn’t there. When the realization came that I wasn’t being attacked, I forced myself to calm down.

“A little jumpy?” the thing asked. It floated through the gap, a spherical robot with metal wings, beaten up with dings and dents. It had definitely seen better days, yet it was still somehow operational. Given the killer ponitron demons from before, I wasn’t too terribly surprised by that fact.

“H-how are you able to talk?” I panted, standing back on shaky hooves.

“Speakers, powered by a magic battery,” the toneless robot answered.

I still didn’t trust it. The other robots could speak too and they wished death upon me! Though, as I studied the thing I spotted the weapon mounted on its underside; it had a few vaguely similar parts to the laser pistol when I watched Ghost clean it. Despite my stubbornness, it dawned on me that if it meant me harm, it would have shot me already.

“My name is Watcher,” it replied.

I blinked. “Demonic robots have names?” What about the ponitron demons in the M.A.R.S building?

The thing gave a very unsettling metal laugh. “No, no. This is a sprite-bot. I use them to talk to others.

I relaxed a little, knowing now that I was speaking to an actual person and not a possessed machine. Though I couldn’t be one-hundred percent sure.

Watcher continued, “What you did was very brave and selfless.” What did he mean? “But you’ll need to do more to survive in the Stalliongrad Wasteland. A maintained weapon to protect yourself. Those robes can keep you warm in the harsh winter, but it’s not armored. And you need some friends that you can trust and rely on. While being trusting isn’t a bad thing, don’t rush headlong into a situation that you don’t understand.”

I stared in disbelief. How long had this thing been watching me? A little creeped out, I asked, “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to survive.”

Before I could ask what he meant, the sprite-bot gave a hiss and a pop. The garish music continued and the robot floated away as if I didn’t exist at all. I watched it go, more disturbed now than I had been while listening to the raiders in Goldpeak. Okay that was a lie; I doubted this ‘Watcher’ could be crazier than raiders. At least crazy and insane was easy to spot. Well, now at least...

“Okay, then...?” I shook my head and sighed. This place just kept getting weirder and weirder. Seriously, I was beginning to wonder if the very air I breathed had some kind of hallucinogenic drug floating around. Maybe if I was lucky, everything would simply be some kind of bad dream and I would wake up back in Stable 46 and in my own bed. Yeah…

The thought of what Watcher said nagged at me. He said ‘maintained’ specifically, as if he knew that I had been instructed to clean Conviction and that I was refusing to do so. Was there some kind of omnipotence that I wasn’t aware of? Was the robot spying on me through a window and I somehow failed to notice?

“No, no…” I shook my head. “That’s crazy talk, Silver. Nopony is omnipotent. Only the Princesses have that kind of power. Nonsense.” I reassured, still checking the grounds over. Even still, I kept checking over my shoulder, expecting one of the little sprite bots to be hiding just out of sight and it made me increasingly paranoid. Stealth did not seem to be my strong suit.

Half an hour later, I thought I had done a decent job in scrubbing the various parts. My only sign of success was really not getting blown up when Conviction successfully functioned. A bittersweet and forced smile for a grim task.

Watcher’s words had an effect on me and I was wondering; what if another situation popped up and I couldn’t at least fend off an angry predator? I did not want to be unprepared. It was a sudden change of heart that unsettled me, but I supposed later that it was just having someone tell me what I needed to hear that wasn’t also calling me an idiot.

Speaking of which...

While finishing a second Sparkle-Cola, Ghost had finally returned with the fillies and colts. I could only guess as to why it had taken him so long, but I suppose it did not really matter. I made my way downstairs, avoiding the destroyed demon-bot ‘Ponitrons’ and going at a pace that my healing ribs would agree with to wait by the main plaza door.

“Well?” I asked as Ghost came close.

“Sentinel agrees,” he said. “He’ll also take care of the foal…”

I sensed a ‘but’...

“... if we can find supplies for her.”

Oh, right. I had forgotten about that little detail. And very briefly I had let slip my promise of finding the fillies and colts more things to make their lives easier.

“And do you have any ideas of where we should start?”

Ghost shrugged. “No.”

Darn. We would need to rely on Sentinel for information, then.

“Could there be another way we can help?” I asked, watching the children gaze upwards at their new home. “I mean, some other resources we could get for them?” No matter which way we sliced it, we would need to get other things for Sentinel and the others. Even if we did not quite know what to get the small foal, it would be good to start somewhere else in the meantime.

Ghost hummed as he rubbed his chin. “There’s a settlement nearby; kind of friendly, no real raider or slaver threat most of the time. We should be able to find some bounties there.”

I blinked. “What do you mean by ‘kind of’ friendly?”

“As in ‘most ponies won’t try to kill you on sight’ kind of friendly.”

Oh, because that is REAL reassuring, Ghost! I groaned aloud. “Sounds perfect,” I sarcastically replied.

“Hey, beggars can’t be choosers, Stable-Dweller. You’re the one that wants to do this.” Ghost pointedly reminded me with a hoof to my chest, which I batted away.

“Of course I want to do this! If we had not come along do you really think they would have survived that giant monstrosity?”

I had a valid point and Ghost knew it, but he would never acknowledge such a thing. I took my victory points when he remained silent for a moment, then he changed the subject, “We should get going. Being out during the dark isn’t a good idea.”

I nodded, “Oh and-...” I stopped, debating whether to tell him about Watcher.

“Hm?” He paused mid-turn.

I settled on a compromise. “I saw one of those… floating robot things wandering around. Are they dangerous?”

Ghost blinked, then rolled his eyes. “No. They just fly around and play that annoying music. Occasionally you’ll hear broadcasts from Red-Eye and Fire Song, but that’s it.”

Oh? Other ponies speak through them too? Interesting. Sensing that questionnaire time was over, Ghost turned away and gathered his things. Though I had a bit of information now; Watcher appeared to be secretive and that existence did not appear to be common knowledge. Furthermore, the question arose: what made me so special that he would talk to me?

Travelling without the foal, while barren of cuteness, was definitely easier! Or it least it kind-of was. I had my saddlebags and robes back, as Ghost had refused to carry them again once we cleared sight from the orphans. I did not complain, however. I never expected Ghost to carry my things, nor did I want him to now that we were on our own. If I found a sufficient time to leave, I planned on taking it.

Leaving behind the snowy hilltops, Ghost and I entered a more built-up part of the massive city that dwarfed Goldpeak by comparison. Large and square buildings, each one at least three stories tall with broken windows or blackened holes in the walls. Piles of crumbled rubble littered the street, along with unrecognizable metal husks of various size. The only reason I recognized them as forms of transport for ponies was due to the old skeletons that sat still within many of them.

Despite the staggering amount of death around me, the streets were not barren of life.

This part of the city was rank with raiders. Ghost and I had deftly missed several raiding patrols, and from their talking of all things vile and disgusting, we heard a few tidbits that sounded interesting. Firstly, there was some kind of network ahoof; a raider mare with a ghastly bloody skull as a cutie mark (and a hat) was chatting with her equally disgusting counterpart; a stallion that looked and smelled like he had never touched a drop of water in his life. Ghost and I had paused along a wall of debris that concealed us. Having no choice but to wait for them to move on, we listened in on their conversation.

“Ya hear?” The mare sat down above us. “Some little filly bitch is makin’ trouble for them in Ponyville.”

“So? The fuck do we care. That’s, like, on the other side of Equestria almost.”

There was a smack, then an ‘ow’ from the stallion.

“Hey, dumbass, the boss fuckin’ cares. Then there’s the little slut in Hoofington, plus the bitch that killed Deathrain and took out Goldpeak is around here somewhere!” My cheeks burned at the indignation of being called such things. “These shits get any hope, then raidin’s gonna get a lot harder for us. We’re on a schedule now, dingus!” The mare snapped and the stallion grunted in kind with no follow up argument. The conversation turned to things I would rather not remember, like the stories of some of their victims, to name just one.

When the pair moved on, I whispered, “What was all that about?”

Ghost shook his head. “Don’t really know, but that’s unusual for them.”

“To what?”

“Be communicating like that. Ponyville is near Manehatten and Canterlot, really far away and through the mountains. Hoofington is a ways away, too.”

I blinked.

Ghost nodded me forward, “Let’s go.”

The sun was beginning to set and we needed a place to hole up. Learning my lesson from Deathrain and the school, I waited by a large round tube and a metal can that once held newspapers for him to check the nearby building. He gave me the all clear and we headed up to the second story.

We took the corner on the far side, facing closest by our direction of travel and, coincidentally, away from the bulk of the raiders. When asked about the second story, Ghost explained that it is easier to defend against attack if we have high ground, but we also did not want to be too high up. In case we had to jump in order to escape. Naturally I had no problems with this.

“What are you doing?” Ghost asked, an eyebrow quirked.

“Lighting the fire?” I blinked, the laser pistol up and pointed at a little pile of rubble I had collected. “Don’t we need it to keep stygians away and stay warm?”

“Yes, we do, but… here…” Ghost said no more and looked around. He levitated up cinderblock after cinderblock and took them to the corner, arranging them on top of each other in a crescent with my rubble pile in the middle. He left, then came back with a piece of wet cardboard and put it on top. Lastly he used a pair of small rocks to make sparks, using a spell to amplify the resulting flames.

I watched it all and when he was done he explained; “The cinderblocks will hide the light so we can’t be seen from the windows. The wet cardboard will absorb the smoke. Lastly, don’t use your pistol to light fires. It draws too much attention and wastes ammunition. And for your weapon in particular, ammo is harder to find.”

Oh.

I nodded softly, deferring to his judgment since it made perfect sense. And then I realized; this is how Ghost had survived out here. He was not like the raiders; pillaging, murdering, and doing Celestia-knows-what else. The types of threats he faced included the sadistic raiders, among many others. Likewise, his tactics seemed quite clear: remain unseen, leave as small a hoof-print as possible, and strike from long range, fight only when absolutely necessary. It made more than enough sense, simply because of how dangerous this world was, especially when compared to Stable 46. I paled, wondering just how any of my friends would fare in this hostile land. I did not want them exposed to any of this. Not at all.

But with his experience, he had a unique opportunity.

“Why?” I asked softly.

“Why what, Stable-dweller?”

“I noticed your reluctance to help the orphans before. I’m asking why you don’t seem to help others more often? You are certainly equipped to do so.” Even as I asked the question it seemed redundant. He was helping me, but it felt more like he was leary of my sanity (as absurd as that seemed to me).

Ghost stared at me hard. I could only guess that when he realized my sincerity, that look softened significantly. Not into a smile or anything remotely bright, but enough that it did not feel hostile or annoyed.

“It’s simple. Stable-dweller, you’ve obviously seen just how dangerous it is here, something you have never dealt with. Believe me when I say that is just the tip of the icerberg. What made you leave you safe Stable?”

I blinked. “A friend of mine was killed. An outsider found a way into the Stable and…” I took a breath and a moment to regain my composure. Ghost patiently waited for me to continue. “And he used a similar gun to kill her.”

Ghost held up his revolver. “Shot her to death?” I nodded. He hummed and continued, “You see, that kind of stuff is common out here. Raiders pillage, kill, and rape. Slavers kill those who defy them in order to enslave the others; they go to a few different places, but the result is always the same. Machines and ghosts of the past still rampage across all of Equestria. Mutated creatures hunt us down. And if those things don’t outright kill you, there’s the environment waiting in the wings to claim your life.

“Hypothermia and frostbite out here can kill as readily as a radscorpion can. Then there’s razor hail; ice that falls from the sky in pony-sized sheets, thin enough to cut through weak wood and thin metal, and even bone. I’ve seen ponies get cut in half at the waist. In some areas, like over by Reprieve, hot acid rain falls, carried overhead by clouds from the irradiated jungle in the valley.”

I simply stared and listened, enraptured in the worst kind of way by Ghost’s terrifying list of possible deaths in this wasteland.

Ghost smiled what could only be a sad but jaded smile. “You ask me why I don’t consider helping anypony? Why I don’t make a real effort? Because everyone ends up dying one way or another. I’ve survived on my own since I was nine. Anyone else has been a futile effort.”

“And me?”

Ghost simply looked at me. “A matter of time.”

Despite knowing better, I would almost say I was looking at a fortune teller. One that could predict my untimely death before I could even imagine it. Taking stock, I had come within an inch of death many times and I had only been out of Stable 46 for a couple of days, three at the most. I wanted to say he was wrong, I wanted to dubuque and debate his state, but his experience over mine...

Do I even have a chance…?

As if They could sense my doubt, the pendant gave the slightest movement on my chest. I placed my hoof over it, focusing on the item of my faith rather than the grim thoughts of death. The confliction wavered; death was something that I did not want, as I had a purpose and a goal, not to mention a Stable to soothe and lead when I returned. I still had my duty to perform to Eternal Dawn, Harmonics, everypony. On the other hoof, however, death was merely the beginning and the way to the open forelegs of the Princesses. So long as a mare’s heart and soul are pure, they will be welcomed to the paradise of the Everafter instead of being condemned to Tartarus.

Probably seeing my distress, Ghost spoke up with a sombering promise. “If it helps, Stable-dweller, I won’t let you suffer if I can help it.”

I didn’t have to ask what he meant. I supposed that such a promise was all I could realistically ask of Ghost. The memory of the radscorpion returned, the pain and panic of the situation. If things had been different, I would have been devoured alive. If there had been no way to save me then I definitely would have preferred a bullet to the brain than to be slowly eaten by the vicious predator.

Extremely grim thoughts aside, I settled down to sleep. Or at least try to.

“Ahahahahahaaaaa! Die, die, DIE!”

Another shattering of glass, then whoosh of searing-hot fire. Another ‘molotov cocktail,’ as Ghost had called them, lashed deadly flames at my tailside as we ran.

Ghost and I had barely slept for two hours when the sound of one of his traps went off, followed by the pained screams of a dying raider that had been unlucky enough to fall victim to said trap. Unfortunately for us he had friends close by that could hear her death screams.

Now we were being chased by a trio of raiders, the unicorn tossing fireballs at us had a manic grin across his half-burned orange coat. The soot covering his goggles did not impede his aim as far as I could tell. The other two were a pair of earth pony mares, one taking potshots while the third attempted to run us over every chance she got; which would have proved fatal due to the macabre, bloody spikes that were bolted on the front and sides of their vehicle.

Oh, and did I mention the very fast, four-wheeled mechanical demon that they were riding around in? How could I forget...

“Left!” Ghost shouted and darted down an alley just ahead of me. I turned to follow and took the turn as sharply as my aching ribcage allowed. Thankfully I was mostly healed by this point or I would have buckled from the pain.

The massive roar of the infernal machine quickly closed the distance. The night grew impossibly bright as the headlights found me. I froze and screamed, the mental image of my imminent death upon me.

Pang!

“Shit! Motherfucker!” cursed the raider.

Ghost fired a shot from his rifle, poking out from the alley just enough to cover me and forcing the driver to veer off, missing me by a scant few feet as the whooping psycho-ponies sped off.

“We have to find some kind of shelter.” My senses returned and I joined Ghost in the alley, achieving safety for the moment. He added, “We can’t keep this up.”

“But we have to lose them first!” Doing so was going to be hard. We both had torches, which were the only things keeping us from getting torn to shreds by the thousands of Stygians silently gliding above, waiting for a chance at easy prey. But these same torches that kept us safe made hiding impossible at the same time. The raiders always knew where we were at.

“Over there, dipshit! I want to COOK!” came the sickeningly enthusiastic screech of the raider, followed by the squeal of tires and the putrid stench of burning rubber.

I grimaced and looked around when we reached the other end of the alley. The passage was thankfully too narrow for the massive vehicle to traverse through; if it could, we would have been an easy kill. Instead the raiders were more than happy to block our previously used route with another molotov, which negated any attempt to backtrack.

“What about there?” I hesitantly suggested. My hoof pointed at a large building with pillars, dark and only partially boarded up. It had a large cloth banner, torn and hanging by one side and decorated in many faded letters.

After studying the structure to make sure that it was a valid option, Ghost nodded. “As good as we’re going to get. Let’s go before they round the corner!”

The two of us lept from the alley and galloped for all that we were worth. I had to ignore the fatigue of practically no sleep and an injured rib cage despite the burn. The stretch of ruined street seemed impossibly long, as though Discord himself were warping reality, pulling our shelter back before our very eyes. The distant howl of blood-thirsty raiders was great motivation to keep moving, however.

The dreaded headlights reappeared some distance down the street and were closing fast! A row of cars shielded us as the side mare took more pot-shots, the bullets pinging off of the rusting hulks that gave us cover. Once the speeding trio passed, Ghost and I emerged, running up the cracked steps to the sandbag wall (of which every single structure of unknown importance seemed to have).

Bang!

The report of Ghost’s rifle, supported by the bag wall, reported and was followed by a distant scream, barely heard over the roar of their engine. I risked a look and molotov pony fell, blood squirting from his neck as he fell back into the cab.

“Gotcha!” Ghost celebrated with a smirk as he ducked, the retaliatory spray of poorly-aimed bullets struck the bag wall. Who would have thought that sand was so great at stopping bullets? At least now I knew why they were everywhere.

“I’ll get the window?” I half-asked, not wanting to make the same mistake as Deathrain.

Ghost nodded then popped up to fire another shot. I crawled over to the window, keeping as low as I could to prevent getting shot.

It seemed to be the only window on the ground floor that was not boarded up, but still had its glass intact. I thought nothing of it as I turned and bucked as hard as I could. The glass was stronger than anticipated and I slide onto my face.

“Ow!” There was no time to complain. I got back up and steadied myself, then bucked again. This time the glass shattered. I winced, the thought crossing my mind of what Dawn would say if she knew I was breaking things like a poorly-behaved filly.

Somehow I think she might understand, given our present situation.

The window now open, I made to climb in. “Come on!”

Ghost waited instead. He fired again and the raiders moved out of sight to avoid being shot. At that point, Ghost hurled his torch as far as he could, into another alley across the street. My heart skipped a beat as he was enshrouded in darkness and my ears perked at a sudden flapping of wings. Before I could speak, the blue unicorn lept through the window.

Right on his hooves was a monstrosity unlike anything I could imagine. All I saw was a row of teeth, black leathery wings, talons as long as my fetlocks, and angry red eyes.

Something clicked in my brain (whether it was me remembering that stygians hated light or unbridled panic, I could not say) and I swing the torch wildly. The thing gave a pained screech and zipped away as quickly as it had come.

Ghost lay on the floor, but had no time to rest as he got to his hooves. “Quick! Help me with this before they come back!”

He moved to a nearby desk and started to move it. Sensing his urgency I moved to help. In moments we had the thing propped against the wall, covering the window. Ghost then grabbed a dusty sheet and draped it over the desk.

“There,” he said. “That should get them off our tails.”

“Thank the Goddesses…” I sat back, holding up our remaining torch, just in case. “Why did you throw your torch, you could have been killed!”

Ghost laughed softly. “Had to. Stupid as raiders may be, even they would have figured out where we had gone. Had to give them some bait.”

It made sense. They would just keep harassing us until we were dead if they knew where we were. It dawned on me that they could have lit the building on fire and then we would roast alive. Not a very pleasant thought indeed, as memories of Goldpeak General popped up in my head.

Outside I could hear the thrum of the vehicle every now and again, the raiders undoubtedly searching for us.

“So, what now?” I turned back to Ghost.

He looked around, his ears turning as he assessed our surroundings. “Well, seems we’re alone in here, but we should be careful regardless. I don’t hear anything, what about your pipbuck?”

I nodded and brought up my Eyes-Forward Sparkle. There were a couple blue blips, which Ghost identified as ‘radroaches’ and advised that if I left them alone they would leave me alone in turn. Frankly, I’m shocked that there are creatures in this land that were not immediately hostile.

Ghost found a broken table leg and made another torch. “Look around and see what you can find. I’m going to set up some traps, just in case they look in here.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? I mean, that’s how they found us the first time.” I raised an eyebrow in question.

For once, Ghost seemed to pause at my words. What’s this, did I actually have a valid point for once?

“Alright.” Ghost frowned as it seemed I was right this time. “No obvious traps, then.” When I asked what he meant, Ghost clarified that he would devise something non-lethal that did not scream ‘there are ponies to kill in here!’.

Satisfied at his caution, I moved away to start searching.

The ground floor was huge. Glass cases large enough to hold two ponies were arranged in orderly rows, most of them broken and their contents missing. Shadows moved and flickered from my torch over every single one and it had me nervous, wondering what would dart around the corner to find me as a special creepiness filled the room. The air was thick and I felt every breath as lazily floating dust particles wafted through the air. The few cases that were not broken had their contents; one had some old swords and spears, another a tarnished set of armor which I recognized as those worn by the Princesses guards (what was that doing here?), and others that were old, archaic equipment that looked like they were used to farm food. One large statue of a muscular stallion stood tall in the middle of the room. I found the engraving and dusted it off.

I read aloud, “Big Macintosh, leader of the famous ‘Macintosh’s Marauders’ of the Equestrian Armed Forces. This monument, among many, is dedicated to the Hero of Shattered Hoof Ridge, where this brave stallion sacrificed himself to save Princess Celest -- what!?”

I reeled, shocked by what I had just read. How could a mortal pony, let alone a stallion, save the Goddess of the Sun herself? What preposterous, scandalous nonsense was this?! Princess Celestia was immortal!

I fumed and glared up at the statue as my outrage boiled over. No less than half of me wanted to pull out Conviction and blast hole after hole into the marble’s carved face. The only thing that held me back was the muffled roar of the engine outside; the raiders were still on the prowl and would undoubtedly hear the weapon’s report.

I moved on, torch held in magic, as quickly as I could away from the blasphemous statue.

The next hallways were a little more barren. Dingy red velvet railings artificially narrowed the hallway, protecting dusty paintings from curious hooves. Even if there was electricity it would not have mattered as all the long fluorescent lights were blown out and shattered. I tried a few doors and some were locked, but one was slightly ajar towards the end of the hall. From that gap I could make out a very softly glowing green light. Another working terminal, I assumed.

I pushed the door open as quietly as I could, wincing at the rusty hinge that created a racket that was all-too loud in the deathly silence.

It was a relatively small room. A single desk next to the door with a bookcase opposite. There was barely enough room for the toppled-over chair and the centuries-old skeleton of some poor soul that had perished here. My ears folded, I muttered a quiet prayer and moved the bones as carefully as I could to get to the terminal.

Unlike the computer that we found in M.A.R.S., this one was not password protected. It still showed the last entry, too:

The sirens are wailing, everypony is in a panic! Goddesses, it’s really happening! There’s shooting going on outside. It’s not the zebras. Soldiers are trying to get everypony into their homes and many are resisting. But why? What’s the point? Let ponies leave! The museum staff are too scared to set hoof outside, unwilling to brave the crossfire.

I sent them down to the basement, hopefully they’ll be safe there until things settle down. But who am I kidding? If the radio is right, this is only the beginning; things will only get worse. I don’t know if locking them in was the best idea, but it can’t be worse than going outside, right? They will thank me later.

The air outside looks wrong, I can only hope the boards hold and nopony thinks to look in the museum for looting or whatever else panicked ponies do…

The message ended suddenly. Given what I knew from Goldpeak, the radiation must have killed this one. Somehow I doubted the ones they locked in the basement faired any better. I left that entry for another one, dated several months beforehand.

Antiquity, I understand you have concerns about the ‘additions’ sent to us, but trust me when I say that they are quite safe. The Ancient Zebrican Exhibit will open on-schedule despite the protests. Just because we are at war, that does not mean we have the luxury of ignoring Equus history; this planet belongs to more than just Equestria, you know!

Also, thank you for bringing the staff’s concerns to my attention, but these ‘voices’ they’re hearing are simply a figment of their imaginations. Paranoia and delusions of grandeur, undoubtedly brought on by the stress of the Stalliongrad conflict being so close to our front door. The constant presence of troops, whom I find reassuring believe it or not, most likely raises those concerns of our staff.

Still, anti-Zebra sentiment is a more real concern. To prevent vandalism, I am locking away the exhibit assets in the Museum’s basement until we have adequate protective cases for their display to the general public (I am ordering bullet-proof glass casing and anti-magic dampener fields). Should you feel the need to inspect your assets under our protection, I’ve taped a duplicate key under my desk. Feel free to use it at your whim.

In greatest confidence,
Fossil

I blinked, then backed up to take a peak for myself. Indeed there was a key taped right next to the drawer underneath the desk. The thought came up that maybe there would be useful supplies down there, and I had to admit that I was curious about these ‘Zebras’ I was hearing about. I took the key and stashed it in my robes, then made my way out the door.

I found Ghost while crossing a hall. He looked about as happy as always. “We have a problem.”

My heart sank. “Yes?”

“The raiders have moved on.”

I blinked and tilted my head. “How is this bad news?”

Instead of answering, he gestured that I follow him. We came up to a boarded window (and I could see the faint light even before reaching it) where he encouraged me to keep my torch and volume low. I peaked through the cracks to see what was going on.

Outside was a flurry of activity. It was well lit and many ponies were meandering about, dressed in various fashion similar to raiders but without the obvious psychotic flare. Several wagons were parked outside as well, some of which I recognized as cages and with ponies in them. All of those outside the cages were armed with some manner of weapon. Suddenly it made sense why the raiders had left.

“Slaver caravan,” Ghost whispered when I brought my head back down. “They’re all over the perimeter of this place. We will have to wait until they move on in the morning.”

I sighed and gave a resigned nod. “Okay,” I whispered in kind. “What should we do in the meantime?” My heart ached for the captives and I wanted to help them, but against so many that was just not possible. By the looks of it, Ghost also knew that rescue would be just beyond us (of course I had my doubts that he even wanted to, but that’s another issue altogether), because we were just two ponies. And we would be up against dozens.

“Stay away from the windows, make as little sound as possible while we scavenge, and…” he paused for a moment. “You will want to pray that they don’t come inside.”

I stood at the basement door now.

Whoever designed this thing had heavy security in mind. It was a thick metal door with boltings and a locking mechanism that spanned its breadth and height. A little rust marred the edges of the door, but not enough to give it any weaknesses. Remembering the terminal, I could only imagine how the ponies must have felt as time passed, unaware that they were locked in a room that probably had no other exit. Just from looking at the door I could tell that nopony was going to get in or out without the key.

Of which I now had.

In the center of the round locking mechanism was the key hole. It slid right in, though I did not turn it just yet as I worked up the nerve to go through.

Scavenging had gone very well; in another office I found some replenishment for my medical supplies (a couple potions, an assortment of bandages and sterile tools, gauze, and a few other things) as well as cans of unopened food (pickled cabbages and beets, this one decorated with two young children eating on the feast with gusto). Along with that I had the luck of finding some golden bits should I need to buy something whenever we got to a settlement. Unfortunately there was no foal formula, however. Regardless I stashed everything into my bags.

“Do I really need to go in here?” The short answer was ‘no’. With my findings I could definitely go back to Ghost with my head held high in success, then simply find a safe space to rest until the slavers left in the morning.

I bit my lip. It shouldn’t be dangerous, but… the rest of the museum was deserted, why would the basement be different? Not to mention if I was able to find medical supplies and food in a passable amount, I could only imagine what the basement held with such security. Plus I was still curious about these ‘Zebras’.

“It can’t hurt.” I finally reasoned as I turned the key. The device gave a few satisfying clicks, clearly functional despite the time it has spent down here. The two metal bases retracted from the doorframe and allowed me to enter.

I pushed the door open slowly, torch and Conviction held at the ready. While I was certain it was safe, I was not going to go in unprepared. My EFS was up as well and it announced the room was all clear. Nothing, not even any blue dots in the dark void beyond (I made a mental note to bring up the EFS before opening a door). So I tip-hoofed forward.

The room was odd to say the least. Things I expected; lots of boxes, several of which were busted or damaged in some manner or another, drapes, dusty and rolled up rugs, all of them out of place when compared to the museum. So much so that they would be out of place even in Stable 46. It was like I had walked into another world entirely.

Most disconcerting was the very large masks adorned with feathers, crude paint, and carvings. Some looked positively angry while others were disturbingly happy, with overexaggerated mouths and slits for eyes, covered in zigzagging stripes of colorful paint of some kind. I recognized what had to be the Zebras’ analog for Equestrian weapons, though these spears and swords seemed to be carved from ivory bone or some kind of scale. Some of the armor was just skeletal parts of a larger creature, all held together with leather straps. In another corner I made out a very large part, easily capable of holding enough liquid to give somepony a bath.

Or cook them alive, my imagination taunted. I know it worked because I whimpered in response and shied away from the massive cauldron. What kind of monsters was I dealing with?

I heard a whisper and my head shot up, ears pointed forward and straining to listen. All I heard was the pounding blood within my ears.

Okay, Silver, calm down; no one is here. No one is here.

Continuing on with my search, that possibility seemed quite real as another detail became apparent. I was expecting to find more skeletons down here, like I did in Goldpeak postal office, but there were no bones other than the ancient Zebra armor. Not a single skeleton of a pony. I could not have missed them; the room has plenty of things in it but none of them obscured the expanse of the basement (and as the High Priestess of Stable 46 it was an awful waste of space, disorganized as it was).

A very light breeze whispered across my back, the--

CRASH!!

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!” I scrambled away from the sudden noise, Conviction and my torch brought up as a shield to cower behind. The shaking light illuminated a still-moving bowl which eventually came to a rest. Thank the Goddesses it wasn’t something hostile; Conviction was shaking so badly that I doubt I could have taken an effective shot.

It took me several minutes to calm down, a hoof to my chest and chanting several times, “N-no one is h-here, Silver. No one is here… yeah, I’m…” I gulped. “All alone… down here…” A quick check of my EFS confirmed that as I slowly spun in place.

Nothing else stirred, nothing else moved. I don’t know what was scarier; being down here all alone or with things lurking in the shadows.

I looked back at the door and walked over to it. Next to the frame was a chair, which I propped in the frame to keep it open. My paranoia would not let me leave it alone.

Safety ensured (kind of) I ventured back in, Conviction still raised with the burning torch next to it. I tried to ignore the masks and all the other creepy things that surrounded me. Now the basement seemed far larger than I thought. The darkness almost went on forever, save for a box or shelf or something else that would materialize from the ether and then disappear again as I slowly passed.

“How long does this-- oh…” I trailed off as red emerged from the darkness on the floor. At first I thought it was rust, but the disturbing memory of Clover ran up to say hi.

Dried blood. And in no small amount. Somepony died here.

As I drew closer, the little dried puddle changed. Streaks across the floor, heading into the black. A chill ran from my neck down to my tail; the body had been dragged off.

Then another one appeared with the same streaks. Then another, and another, and another. Soon there were dozens. Every last one had streaks converging somewhere ahead of me.

Yet there were still no bodies to be found. Yellow flags were waving around like mad in my head, hoof subconsciously rubbed at my pendant for comfort and protection. Something very wrong happened here.

My ears perked, the slight whistling returned. This time I could almost make out words, but they meant nothing to me. None of them I recognized. It reminded me of Petal and Flicker as they came up with their own language that only they knew. It was cute when it was them, but this was creepy and scary and… Goddesses make it stop!

I folded my ears down as hard as I could, but against my better judgment I advanced. I had to know what was going on. I watched the blood stains; the streaks were converging now. I had to be close.

And then I saw it.

In the middle of the room, the surroundings clear except for the stains on the floor, was an object that I had never seen nor would I ever forget. On a thin pedestal stood a circular object with an intricate web of fine strings which wrapped around the glinting piece of oddly shaped metal in the center. The border was decorated with exotic colored feathers that hung off to the side. The whole design was inset within the jaw of a large skull that was easily bigger than a pony’s; a larger snout,rows of sharp teeth, and two big empty and soulless eye sockets. There was no doubt in my mind that this was some form of demonic artifact. Was that what Zebras were? Worshippers of Tartarus? Why else would anypony make such a macabre idol. I tried to envision such a thing in Stable 46 and the thought was just impossible.

I stared at the idol, unwilling to go any closer yet my eyes were locked with the empty sockets of whatever the creature had once been. Eventually I glanced down to see that the blood ran up the pillar and to the base of the skull, only to disappear and not mar the old white bone.

“What in the Goddesses’ name…” I whispered. What heresy brought this thing into existence?

Long moments passed and the idol started to sink back into the shadow. I tried to see if something was moving it and even expected to see a tentacle, or something, wrapped around the base. But that was not the case.

My torch had started to dim, my life-line flame shrinking at an alarming rate.

I blinked and stared at it in rising terror. “No. No, no, no!” I lit my horn and tried to keep the rapidly fading flame alive. One thing became certain, it was time to leave!

Slam.

I paused mid-turn as the terrible echo reached my ears. That sound could have only meant one thing.

“Ghost?” I timidly asked, hoping it was the detestable unicorn playing a cruel trick on me.

No answer came and my torch continued to dim. I looked to Conviction and turned, my rifle raised to the strange demonic idol. If it so much as twitched I was going to pull that trigger until the battery was drained.

Long seconds passed before the flame finally went out. Darkness fell around me, swallowing every inch of the room and me along with it. All that remained was the very light glow of my magical aura that held my rifle up. The sheer stillness, nothing but my own panting permeated the air.

“The Princesses’ light protects me,” I murmured the prayer, trying to stave off whatever may come. Only now did it sink in just how foolish I had been. I should have left as soon as I saw the blood stains. I should turned and fled, pride and curiosity be damned. Now I was about to pay the price as Ghost’s words came back to haunt me about how right he had been.

Only a matter of time.

A tiny dot of red light flickered into existence… then another. The darkness wavered and rippled as though alive, spreading out in all directions from where I had last seen the idol, like a miasma of death and decay. A sudden taste of iron found my tongue as the air grew thick and an ominous whirring noise saturated the darkness.

“The Pr-princesses’ light p-protects me!”

And yet there was no light. Down in this basement I was so very alone, and it hurt. I wanted somepony, anypony, with me right now.

I could see the monstrous teeth. The red eyes now had enough intensity to bare them, yet the rest of the room stood blacker than ever before. There was now a red blip on my EFS.

“The Pr-rincesses’ l-light--”

There was a sudden scream, I don’t know if it was mine, the creature, or something else. I jerked the trigger on Conviction and a bright and angry red lance soared forwards. Something shattered as something else slammed into me with enough force to send me sailing across the room. My head split in agonizing, burning pain; it felt as though my very soul was being torn in one direction, my mind in another, and my body somewhere else entirely. By far it was the worst sensation I had experienced yet.

I slammed against something hard and metal, which went careening off into the distance to splinter a wooden box with a sickening crunch. I fell to the floor, my entire body throbbing.

The darkness was still pressing around me, no light to speak of, but at least it felt like normal darkness again. Nothing else jumped out at me, which was good, but now I just wanted to sleep.

But I didn’t want to… the monstrosity I saw, the demon, the horrid thing that could be nothing else.

Those two red eyes…

Footnote: Level up.
New Perk: Night Owl: Faith sustains and keeps you alert, even in the darkest of nights. When indoors or at night, gain +2 Perception.