All night long, Graphite traveled towards downtown Buckago. He never stopped, and didn’t bother to take in the same old sights. He tried to make sense of what he has done, he tried to understand what kind of an animal he had become. For all this time, he thought that he was killing only to protect others or himself, but what he had done in that night was neither of them. He pondered how he let himself go in a blind rage like that.

As the sun rose over the horizon, Graphite came to a large metal wall, blocking his way. The wall had been built between two high buildings and was almost as tall as them. It was built right through the walls of the two buildings, some sections tearing through the brick and glass. It was mostly made out of large pieces of scrap metal and train parts welded together. He could even spot a ‘Sparkle Cola’ billboard welded between the large pieces of metal.

Graphite looked up and could spot guards near the wall and on the rooftops. Unlike raiders, these were properly dressed, or as properly as one could dress hundreds of years after the apocalypse. They sported actual shirts and pants, rather than the iron scraps of armour the bandits commonly wore. A lot of them had leather overcoats over their shirts -- leather seemed to be in high supply after the apocalypse. The ones that wore pants had padding and patches to close the tears, the ones that didn’t had belts to hold their ammo and canteens. Most of the guards carried semi-automatic rifles, which he recognized from his training back in Camp Sequoia.

Graphite was in shear awe at the size of this scrapyard wall. Suddenly a voice caught his attention; it sounded muffled and electronic, like something out of a malfunctioning intercom. Graphite looked back down to the bottom of the wall, an intercom was sitting right at head height and muffled talk was coming out of it, but nothing that could be understood. Graphite raised his eyebrow, looking over at the guards. One of them gave a signal back over the wall; Graphite looked back to the intercom ahead. Without warning, a loud screeching noise whistled out of the intercom; Graphite jumped a bit, grabbing his ears just as the guards did too. The malfunctioning intercom came back online and the pony on the other end was speaking to Graphite in a very deep accent.

“‘Ey, you there in the black duster. State yo’ business in Rossmore”

“Oh, uhh - I didn’t expect to run into anyone out here-”

“-Have you been livin’ under a rock? This is Rossmore - one o’ the biggest settlements in Buckago. Now tell me what you want to do o’er here or you can get lost,”

Graphite thought for a moment, he had to choose his words carefully, “I want to get some breakfast - is that okay?”

“Okay... I guess that Stripe’s Bar will have somethin’ for you. I’ll have the guards unlock the gates. Oh, and sorry for the rude welcome, we don’t get many visitors this early in the mornin’,” Then the voice stopped and the intercom went silent again.

Graphite stood in front of the wall as the large gates slowly opened, making a loud racket. The gates were made up from large pieces of scrap metal, just like the rest of the wall and blended in so well that no pony could tell where they were located when they were sealed shut. A bit of dust fluttered down the walls as the gates opened and the shaking knocked the buildings around.

As the gates lifted up, the view of the sun shined through the gap in the wall, and the Buckago sunshine casting back through the gaping doorway. He was downtown now, and breakfast was waiting for him just inside.

“Well, we don’t have all day now,” The voice in the intercom stated.

Graphite stopped his sightseeing and entered downtown, the gates behind him rattling shut behind him before making a loud thud against the pavement. Graphite looked back at the gates, seeing a puff a dust surrounding the ground around it. He turned back to face forward, the sunrise was now just a graceful backdrop for something less than worse. Graphite saw that the streets just before downtown were lined with old, run down buildings and homes that could barely stand without a few planks to hold them up. The first obstacle after the wall was getting through this shanty town. Graphite started his slow walk again, his goal was right in sight and he was just steps away.

Graphite passed through the last bit of the wall, seeing the booth the guard on the intercom stayed. The road ahead was long; the old roads couldn’t be paved with asphalt, so the road was lined with old, irregular stones carved with blunt picks and such. Graphite turned direction to the guard in the booth, whom was busy with some sort of paperwork.

Graphite came up to him and knocked on the faded window, grabbing the guard’s attention, “So, which way is Stripe’s Bar?”

The guard looked to Graphite from the corner of his eye and pointed his arm behind him, “It’s just down the road, the two story building - you can’t miss it.”

He brought his arm back around and continued with his paperwork; Graphite just looked down that stone paved road then left the booth area. He trotted slow, taking in the shanty town’s depressing views. The houses were made of the scrapyard metals and woods just like the gate, but now ponies were using them as a permanent shelter. The woods were eaten through by termites, or discoloured and starting to rot. The metals were just as bad, rusted to the core and filled with what seemed to be bullet holes. The houses were poorly put together, simply made by placing the scraps in a wall shape then repeating the step three more times before placing sheets of whatever was left above it. A lot of the houses didn’t have doors in the front, just sheets of old cloth that hung over the door. The terrain was filled with moss and weeds that were growing out of control. The vines climbed the old walls of the buildings, they flowered white buds and other shades of the tainted white. It looked beautiful, but the buds just showed how old this side of town was.

Graphite kept walking. He noticed something between two shacks. A weak looking stallion with his child were sleeping next to each other under a blanket. The blanket looked old and it had some holes in it. The father rested his head on a green satchel bag. It seemed that everything they had in the bag was their whole world.

Graphite decided not to disturb the sleepers and just moved on. After wondering around the shanty town for a few poor minutes, he finally came across the two story bar about which the guard had told him about.

The bar certainly stood out amongst the rest of the small shacks surrounding it. It definitely looked sturdier than most of the buildings. Above the door hanged a neon sign from an old diner. The sign read “Stripe’s” in nice, cursive lettering. The other half of the ‘Diner’ part was covered by a wooden board and had ‘Bar’ painted in yellow on it. This was the place Graphite was looking for.

Graphite walked into the empty bar, meet by the sound of the wind blowing into door of the bar. The inside of the bar looked just like on the outside. The walls were plain pieces of sheet metal, with the occasional neon light poster of Sparkle Cola. The furniture had been made up from random pieces of pre-war junk and some makeshift bits made from the scraps. The building didn’t have any windows, so most of the light came either from the lanterns hanging from the ceiling and the neon advertisements hanging on the wall.

He walked over to the bar counter, resting his hooves on the bar stool and setting his rifle and bag on the counter top. Graphite took a look to his left and right, not a single soul in sight. Graphite turned back to the bar, not even a bartender was there to serve the members. A few empty bottles of beer were sitting on the corner of the counter, some pony had to be here to drink those bottles. Graphite tried his luck, and called out, “Hello?”

“I’ll be right with you!” A mare’s voice shouted from a back room.

Graphite sighed and waited until a mare walked out from the back room. The mare had a short, dark orange mane which looked well together with her lighter orange coat. She was wearing an old apron, covered in grease spots and other gross stains. Graphite also noticed something that he hadn’t seen on any of the mares he had met after he was unfrozen - she was wearing a pair of small, white pearl earrings.

“Sorry for being late, we usually don’t have customers this early. So, what will it be?” The orange mare said with a smile as she handed Graphite a small clipboard. Her smile was bright as the sun and white as snow. Graphite couldn’t help but grin.

The clipboard apparently was their menu of foods and drinks. It featured a lot of alcoholic drinks and other such beverages. Most of the food listed on there was some sort of meat.

“Wait, you’re eating meat?” Graphite asked in shock.

“Well yes, we all are. What? You’re a vegetarian?” The bar mare responded, a bit confused.

“Yeah, but we were all vegetarians back in my time.”

“What do you mean by ‘your time,’ sir?”

Graphite then sighed and told the mare his story. About how he used to live in Carnen, about how he joined the army, and how eventually he got frozen in cryogenic sleep. At times, it looked like the mare didn’t believe him, but he had a newspaper article to prove his truth -- the only thing he had that could prove his truth. The orange mare listened to all of this with a great delight, it seemed that she really enjoyed Graphite’s tale.

“So, you’re an actual pre-war pony? Wow, I always imagined that they all were just rotted away by now...”

“...Well, not every pony as you can see.”

“Yeah- oh, I almost forgot. You’re still waiting for your breakfast - what will it be?”

“Oh, yeah- do you have some, uh... oatmeal? Oh and a cup of coffee - it’s been long night.”

“Okay,” The mare smiled and went back into the back room.

She left Graphite to take another look around the bar. The old pre-war advertisements on the walls provided some sort of an entertainment; he had forgotten that some of the products even existed. He saw a poster for a toothpaste brand that was made way before even he was born -- it’s a shame toothpaste was lost in the blasts, a lot of the ponies were in need of dental hygiene. Graphite wasn’t left alone for long though, just after a few minutes afterward the orange mare came back from the room with a tray. She set the bowl of oatmeal in front of him and a cup of black coffee right next to it. The coffee was steaming and the smell was rather strong; the oatmeal was just as hot, the smell a bit lighter, but just as aromatic.

“Thank you... err, miss...?”

“My name’s Sunny, and you?”

“I’m Graphite,” He answered as he turned to his bowl of warm oatmeal.

Sunny watched Graphite as he ate his breakfast. Graphite ate it with a vigor, this was his first real meal since last night. He wasn’t starved, but this this wasn’t canned nor cold and chewy. It took him a minute to notice Sunny watching him; but, when he caught it, it made him feel uneasy. Eventually he stopped eating and looked back at Sunny.

“No. You just don’t look anything like the others around here do.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well your mane is short and clean - just like your coat. You don’t begin every sentence with a cuss word - oh and I don’t think that I’ve ever seen anyone with an armor like that around here.”

Graphite took another spoonful of his oatmeal, “Yeah, the suit makes a pretty big statement - it’s certainly saved my hide here and there,” Graphite swallowed his food before taking a sip of his black coffee.

“Something that thick has to protect you from a lot of stuff. I know that raiders come around just outside the gates every now and again,” Sunny commented.

Graphite finished off his oatmeal, then gulped down the last of his coffee. He got up off the bar stool, wiping his hooves on his duster. He held in a burp and excused himself, but continued, “Yeah, those guys seem to be everywhere out here. Uh, how much is this going to cost me?” Graphite asked, pointed at his empty bowl and mug.

“That will be thirty-five caps.”

Graphite paused, confused and worried, “I don’t have any... ‘caps,’ but I have this...” Graphite reached into the wallet in his bag, pulling out a few pre-war bits.

Sunny shared the same amount of worry and confusion as Graphite, resting her hooves on the counter she said, “We don’t take that kind of um- currency.”

Graphite stuffed the bits back into his bag, “I don’t have anything to pay this... with...” Graphite was starting to choke up.

“Oh, well... I guess I’m going to have to take you to see the owner; I’m sure he’ll work something out with you,” Sunny walked to the doorway right before the backroom, waving Graphite to follow.

Graphite went around, walking through the gap in the bar to get to Sunny. They both walked into a small room, there were no more decorations except a few busted ones that sat in the corner. The walls were bare and the sheet metal was very exposed. The kitchen was hiding in a room right of a staircase. Besides the staircase just to the left and an old door near the back, there was nothing in the room.

“His office is up here,” Sunny directed, standing half-way up the stairs. Graphite continued to follow her lead, reaching a short hallway with only two doors on either side. The door to the right was labeled, ‘Storage’; the other, ‘Stripe’.

Sunny sighed, shaking her head when she set her hoof on the door, “Here we are...” She said in a solemn tone.

She pushed the door open, it opened up to a small office. The office was rusted down and dark, only lit by a little lamp that sat on the desk that sat in the back. There was a row of filing cabinets that rested against the wall to the left. The cabinets were all dented and scratched, all three of them different discolourations of green; the drawers didn’t seem to stay in, one of them were hanging just a big out and the papers inside fraying outward. To the right, a table stacked with as many papers as the cabinets held. They were scattered about randomly, blown off the table by the fan that was sitting on the cabinet. There was a single picture to make up for the blank office space that was hung just above the table, it was a portrait of an older couple - farmers because the barnhouse behind them and the pitchfork the gentlecolt had in hoof. The portrait was old, starting to be eaten up around the edges; the painting was framed in a golden frame with a complicated design carved over it. The stallion featured in the picture seemed to be sitting at the desk smoking a dark cigar - or at least - his same, grumpy and old, brother.

It was a dark green stallion with jet black mane. His fur was unkempt and dirty, years of smoking seem to have taken its toll on the stallion’s mane. The parts of his mane that weren’t dark as night were silver and shown through as they poked through his poor grooming. He was wearing suit that was just as black his mane and a dark gray tie with crimson red stripes lining across it. Graphite was surprised to see the stallion could fit into a suit, his figure was short and very round. Not even anything on his desk went with that hideous shade of red. He had one ink pen that was a solid silver colour, it rested on a large sheet of paper and was sitting just below his name card. He was focused more on his buddy, who was sitting in a chair just across his desk, than any of the work he had on his table. His friend was a yellow unicorn, just as bright a yellow as one could be. His mane was a perfectly styled, aqua blue that went well with his white suit and pale blue tie. His cutie mark was a white lightning bolt that flashed down his flank. He sat down on the chair, leaning against the backrest, a whiskey glass in tow under his levitation. He was taking it sip by sip, letting the taste last in his mouth.

Sunny and Graphite walked into the office, both the owner, Stripe, and his friend turned to the duo slowly, giving them dirty looks. Stripe pulled out his cigar, glaring right into Graphite’s eyes, “This better be the fuckin’ ruler of Equestria if you have the nerve to bring him up here at this hour, Sunshine!” He blurted in a groggy and rough mumble.

“I’m sorry, mister Stripe. This young stallion said he was looking for a job,”

A pause of silence filled the room. Graphite didn’t even say a word; Sunny started to glare at him as well. Graphite looked back at her, still confused as ever. Sunny nudged his leg with her hind leg, then Graphite realized what he had to do.

“Uhh, yes I’m new in town and was looking for some money. Seeing as you are owner of the only bar in town, I um- came to see you as soon as possible.”

“Well, if you’re looking for a job, you’re at the right spot, sonny boy. Mister Stripe is at your service,” He then gave his friend a look. The yellow stallion got up from his chair and shoved Sunny out from the office, closing the door behind her, “Alright, now that we’s are nice and private like, we can discuss the details. Now, I’ve never seen anyone like you in town - explain that to me.”

“I’m a traveler, been one for the last couple of weeks.”

“A traveler, eh? Well it’s always nice to see some pony new in town, ain’t that right Flash?”

“Sure, Stripe,” The yellow stallion groaned back.

“Now, you don’t look like the rest of the poor schmucks in this town. I think that you have the looks of someone who can handle a more... conspicuous assignment...”

“Conspicuous assignment...?”

“Yes, something that needs a certain amount of precision than most other jobs do.”

“Well, I could say precision is one of my strong suits-”

“-Perfect! You’re just the stallion for the job!” He lifted his arms up a bit, emphasizing his excitement. He rolled himself back in his big chair to lean back more.

“Which would be?”

“Deacon.”

Graphite raised his eyebrow, it seemed that ponies in this town didn’t like to make sense.

“This stallion, Deacon, he needs to be taken care of,” Stripe told Graphite, taking another smoke of his cigar.

“You mean like, what?” Graphite asked as he inched a bit closer.

“I want him dead.”

Graphite thought for moment before asking Stripe, “Alright, what’s the pay?”

“No questions asked, my kind of pony,” Stripe acclaimed to himself, “Five hundred caps.”

“I say eight hundred,” Graphite demanded.

“Hey, do you see me swimming in caps? I think that you better be grateful that I gave you a job at all!” Stripe barked.

Graphite sighed, “Fine, five hundred it is,” He turned around and was about to leave the room when Stripe shouted at him,

“Oh and no guns - make it all look like an accident,” Stripe admonished.

“No guns - got it,” Graphite remarked, heading out the room and into the hallway.

Graphite walked back down the hallway and down the stairs, he could smell something cooking in the kitchen as he passed through the back room. Sunny was taking orders at the head of the bar, there were about three stallions drinking and eating at the counter, and more standing about the room. Sunny turned when she heard Graphite trotting by, “How’d it go, Graphite?” She wondered, the same cheery smile on her face as before.

Graphite shared the smile and replied back, “He said he’ll think about it.”

“Oh, okay then,” Sunny said, returning into the back room for another round of beers for the members of the bar.

Graphite walked out from around counter and headed for the door. He pushed the open to be greeted by a warm gust of morning air and the sun blazing down just over the horizon. The streets were different than they were when Graphite traveled down them - they were busy and full of life. Joining the patrolling guards were kids running up and down the streets laughing and playing, some of the ponies were heading to work or adding another layer of sheet metal to their houses, some were still standing by on the sides of the road either too drunk to move or too weak, the rest were just shambling around aimlessly. Graphite got back unto the sidewalk and start his next trip - now all he needed to know who this Deacon character is, and what he even looked like.

Graphite was new in town; he had no idea where to start, so he just followed the crowd of ponies down the street. Most of the ponies were going down the same path, the ones coming from that path were caring bags of food and other supplies like medicines and clothes - there was probably a market just down the road. A lot of the ponies had odd walks; some limped around because of a pain in their legs, others trumped up and down just because they couldn’t walk. As he neared what he assumed to be a marketplace, he noticed the buildings getting slightly bigger. None of them were more than two stories, but they certainly got wider, and now wood was in better supply than the rusty sheet metal.

Just a few more blocks down the road and Graphite finally saw the market come into view. It was just as much of a run down place as the rest of the town, but ponies were gathering here by the dozens. The stands were old stands, held together with rope or just another layer of this sheet metal scrap they all owned. The merchandise matched the quality of the place; for sale were old rugs, sheets and blankets, cloth for clothes, and anything that could be used to hold stuff like wooden crates or lost purses and bags. The food for sale was not at all appetizing from the looks of it; they kept their fruits and veggies out where the sun could rot them away, the meats were surrounded by swarms of flies and the breads were crumpled or even molded at some stands. The clothes being sold were nothing but not; either clothes of leather or strips of faded cotton and old burlap meshes. The sad marketplace was a depressing place to walk about, but the character of such a place was something to experience.

The diversity of shady ponies and shifty sellers was something very intriguing; going around to see each of the ponies rip each other off was almost laughable if it wasn’t so sad. Graphite traveled through the aisles of the market, looking at each stand after the other. All of the ponies seem to look the same, all the same undertone gray or brown with tattered shirts and hungry stomachs. Of all these poor ponies, one stood out in the crowd - a bright red stallion wearing a blinding white head wrap. This pony wasn’t just a brighter colour, but his coat was a lot shinier and well kept, only a pony with money could keep his coat so clean. The stallion stood tall, over all the ponies in the market except for Graphite. The most interesting characteristic of this round and red stallion was his merchandise - two mats sprawled out with guns galore.

Graphite took his leave from the dingy old vegetable booths to check out this gun launderer. He was with a customer already, showing off a side-by-side shotgun with the length of the barrel sawed in half. Graphite galloped over, perusing over the assortments of guns and ammo. Rifles, pistols, sub-machine guns, and ammunition of all types. Graphite was focused on the selections when the owner came up to him with the widest grin a stallion could make, “Well, I’ve never seen you around here, what brings ya’ to?” He asked cheerfully.

“I was looking for a certain some pony, but then you caught my attention with your guns here,” Graphite answered back, pointing to the mat of guns.

“Well, I might be able to help you - what’s this mare or stallion’s name?”

“A stallion by the name of ‘Deacon’.”

“Oh, him. Yeah I remember that stallion. He came over to me and started to nag something about ‘how bad it is to sell instruments of annihilation’ or something. What bullshit! These are meant for uh... self defence.”

“I’m looking for him - what does he look like?”

“Oh, he’s a white earth pony with uh- short brown mane. Always wears the same old stained sweater- something like a knitted sweater. Oh, and he loves to talk like he’d be some sort of a priest or something of the sort.”

“Okay, do you know where he lives, or maybe where he usual hangs out by any chance?”

“I think that he lives in the eastern part of the town. If I were you, I’d go looking for him over there.”

“Thanks for the help, mister-”

“-Pomidor! At your service!” The red stallion said and nodded his head.
Graphite held out his hoof and smirked, “Well, thanks for the help, Pomidor-”

Pomidor stopped Graphite, “-Are you not going to purchase anything?”

“I’m fine, thank y-”

“-’You sure?”

“Yes. Good day, Pomidor,” Graphite turned his head and started a trot to the eastern side of the city.

Pomidor was too eager too sell, and a bit worried to lose a customer, but he stayed back, coaxing Graphite with bad offers and fake deals hoping for him to come back and buy something. Graphite paid him no mind, his goal was eastbound and nowhere else.

Graphite pushed through the groups ponies swarming the market aisles, heading in the direction he thought was east. As he pushed aside pony after pony, he noticed another stallion pushing against the tide of buyers. It was a white stallion sporting a short, brown manecut and wearing a knit, beige turtleneck. Graphite assured himself this was Deacon, he fit all the details he knew about him. Graphite stopped shoving, hoping to blend in with the crowd. Deacon was moving the same direction Graphite was - east. He pushed aside the dirty ponies, and slide passed all the families and intrusive shoppers. Graphite stopped his shoving, but now the crowd was shoving him. A few nudges against the shoulder, a few light pushes, then a full thrust away. Graphite was losing Deacon’s trail against the waves of disgruntled ponies. He broke his cover for just a moment to charge through the group. He started into a gallop and threw aside any pony in his way. Deacon didn’t notice, something like this was probably apart of the town’s usual violence. Graphite broke through the heavy portion of the crowd, now it was all a matter of keeping the white stallion in sight.

Deacon was heading to the eastern side of town, Pomidor was probably right about where he resides. There was no way to be sure, so Graphite kept tracking him through the crowds. Deacon was starting to weave through as the crowd dispersed, his turtleneck bobbing along with his body. Traffic was dying down, traveling was easier - but so was getting seen. They reached the end of the market, hitting an intersection just before the roads to the houses started. Deacon kept straight, Graphite did so as well as he followed behind.

They stepped into the east side of town, a part of the town which was unbelievable - it was in worse condition than anywhere than the rest. The houses were dilapidated and overgrown with weeds and brush; whole gaps in the walls were exposed, letting creatures free to crawl inside them - whether pony or otherwise; the spacing between houses was wider and gave even more room for the weeds to grow; lost furniture was thrown out of the homes along with shattered picture frames and random toys. The overgrowth of shrubs took over the piles of trash and scraps and started up the now abandoned houses.

The last of the ponies heading down this street for the market had gone by, now it was just Graphite and Deacon left alone on the road. The hoofsteps of Deacon echoed around the desolate neighborhood; Graphite’s trots in his steel suit were echoing against the walls of the homes as well. Graphite was starting to worry, Deacon’s ears perked - he blew it off as his own echo but it wasn’t going stay that way for long.

Graphite looked to his right, spotting an overturned dresser laying in the grass and weed - so he carefully scooted aside and waited right behind the dresser, stalking Deacon down the road. Deacon only trotted down another block before turning his body to one of the houses ahead.

The house was supported on pillars to keep it level against the sloped street. A flight of rusted stairs was the only way in or out of the house, and Deacon was taking it up while humming his tune. The creaks and squeals of the rusty stairs under his hoofsteps was loud enough to echo down the streets and bounce its way passed Graphite. Deacon seemed suppressed enough - Graphite moved from behind the dresser to make his way to deal with Deacon.