Graphite squinted one eye open, looking left and right for the peep.

“Graphite,” Said the peep.

Graphite looked up, then down - Sunny was staring over at him, “Graphite,” She called.

Graphite sat up, dimly opening both his eyes, “Yeah?”

“Could you tell me more about the theatre?” She asked quietly.

“Well,” He rested his elbows on the steps to keep him up comfortably, “What did you want to know?”

“You seem to know a lot about the theatre - you knew about this place, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but back in the day - before the war - this place was a famous landmark for Buckago itself. Ponies from all around would come to this place to see the latest and greatest.”

“So ponies watched movies often?”

“Yes - very often. There were theatres all over Equestria - one for every town. It was one of those major things that everyone could get into and enjoy.”

“Did you go to the movies often?” Sunny continued to ask.

“Not really, no. My family never had a lot of money so all the bits which we had went to rent for the apartment and food. To this theatre in particular, I’ve been only once before, and that was when my parents let me go on a field trip with my elementary class.”

“What were your parents like?” She rested one elbow on the step above her, getting more cozy so she can focus on Graphite’s stories.

“Well, my father used to be pretty easy going - lived every day like it was his last. He spent most of his life working in a quarry, so he was never sure if he would be back home by the end of the day. When I was born, my mama asked him to find a safer workplace so he started to work at the docks. He started to drink time to time, but we were lucky that he got either very sleepy or very talkative anytime he was drunk,” Graphite chuckled shortly, then continued. “He sure loved to talk about what he saw at the port during the day. I was always there to listen to him.”

“What about your mother - was she nice?”

“My mother was very protective. She constantly worried about me getting into some sort of trouble whenever I was on my own. She was pretty disappointed with me when I traded in my job at the grocery store for a career of a marine,” Graphite paused before turning to Sunny, “What about your parents?”

“I don’t remember my real parents. They died when I was just a few months old. The mare I call my mother now found me by them though,” Sunny grinned. “I was laying by a Sunrise Sarsaparilla machine when they found me so they named me Sunny - I guess it seems fitting.”

“I think that my parents named me Graphite just because I left traces of my coat as all over the carpet as a kid - just like a pencil.”

“Oh, I can’t even remember what happened when I used to shed.”

“Yeah, well we all have to go through it once,” He smiled.

“Yeah... now when a foal starts shedding, the fur usually doesn’t grow it back.”

Graphite laid his head back once again, “I try my best not to think about how bad this world is...”

“I try my best too; but when you’ve lived in a wasteland your whole life, you start to get used to it - you start calling it home since it’s the only one you have...” Sunny sighed, laying her head on her hooves, “I’d give anything to see the world before the war though.”

“I wonder what happened to the other cities - Buckago couldn’t be the only surviving city. I mean, what about Manehatten or Canterlot?”

“Manehatten got hit by megaspells just like Buckago did. From what I’ve heard from travelers is that there’s this weird feel about it. Some also said that there were some ghosts, but I think that it’s about the same as the cloud wall around Buckago - it’s scary until you realize that the only dangerous thing in there is a rock ahead of you that you can trip over.”

“And Canterlot?”

“Oh, that’s a different story. No one has gone near the Canterlot ruins because of the pink cloud. What I’ve heard is that it’s some sort of a gas. Anything that it touches starts to deteriorate. The worst thing is that there is nothing can protect you. The gas even cuts through power armor.”

“That description sounds vaguely familiar.”

“What?” Sunny squeaked, switching arms to lie on, “Was it something normal back then?”

“No, no,” Graphite answered while shaking his hoof with emphasis. “You see, back in the war Zebras used to fight with tanks. But it’s a big hulking machine and it can’t always pass through thick vegetation. Whenever there was jungle that was too thick to get through they used a gas that ate away the trees, shrubs and anything else in the way. But the gas evaporated quickly and their tanks could move through without any damage. They did drop some canisters of them on our troops, but the ones that were in masks or power armor survived.”

“That couldn’t be the same thing then - could it?”

“It could, but perhaps more concentrated - I’m not sure.”

“Well, it sounds like the same type of gas, and whoever spread it over Canterlot had it concentrated enough to keep it over the city ever since the war.”

Sunny sat up from the step, rubbing some dust bunnies from her coat before moving on, “You were in the war, right Graphite?”

“Yea-”

Sunny couldn’t help her intrigue and let it show when she interrupted, “-How does it feel, when you’re going to war -- is it like that newsreel when the movies started?”

“It’s not as fun as I had hoped - and I didn’t expect it to be much fun from the start anyways,” Graphite humoured with a sigh.

“Then why’d you join if you knew it wouldn’t be anything you would enjoy?”

Graphite scratched his ear and cleared his throat before he went on, “Well, I told my parents it was because I wanted to travel the world and help the needy - which was a good incentive, but it wasn’t the reason I had enlisted. I- well, I told you my father worked in the docks-”

“-Yeah-”

“-Yeah,” Graphite broke Sunny’s interruption, “Working the docks wasn’t exactly a high paying job. He worked his coat off in long hours to bring home minimum wage - it was just enough to keep us fed and housed, but that was all. My mother was busy with keeping the home, so I went ahead and got a job at the grocery. That paid minimum wage as well, only good for getting us butter for our bread. The real reason I joined the military was so I didn’t end up just like my father - working a dead end job until the day he died...” Graphite paused, shaking his head at the regretful memory. “The pay for marines at the time was much better than the grocery store bag-colt so, I signed up as soon as I could.”

“And you never told your parents about?”

“They hated me for signing up for the military enough as it was; if I told them the real reason I left, they would never let me set a hoof in Carnen.”

“Your sure your own parents would do something like that with their only son?”

“Of course - here they were working hard everyday for their boy, and here I am signing myself away to war,” Graphite chuckled, but his smirk slowly died down into a frown.

Sunny came up the steps, sitting beside Graphite and wrapping her arm around his shoulder, “Maybe you’ll find it was a good decision eventually.”

“Eventually...?”

Sunny smiled at him, looking into his eyes, “Well, you would probably never be here right now if you hadn’t signed up. You would still be in Carnen, bagging canned corn and bread into paper bags,” She patted his back, “You wouldn’t have been frozen all those years ago - you would have never be here now if you didn’t make that one -- maybe stupid -- decision to join the military.”

“You’re probably right, Sunny... but that decision I made is still something I’ll bring with me for the rest of my life.”

“Ignorance is bliss, you know. Uh, try to get some sleep, maybe you’ll forget about it in the morning.”

“Yeah, sure - thanks, Sunny...” Graphite groaned.

“I’m always here to help,” Sunny gave him a wink before sliding down the stairs back to her first step, where she had planned to sleep the night.

Graphite just watched for a moment as Sunny sloped down the stairs to her step before he turned away. He laid his head down on the steps with his hooves behind it, staring at the cracked ceiling before his eyes became heavy once more and fell asleep.

Graphite was heading up through the cold metal corridors of the battleship that had set sail about a few days ago. He and a few more members of the crew had been called to the briefing room for something important. He went down the winding hallways and through the tiny doorways until he reached the briefing room just a way’s away.

Graphite reached the doorway and was about to step through, until another stallion came by wearing amour similar to his, and cut ahead of him. Graphite flared his a nostrils at the pony’s rudeness, but stepped through the doorway with ignorance knowing he had more pressing matters. He piled into a room surrounded by ponies who were all wearing a suit of amour similar to Graphite’s. They were all ponies; unicorns, earth ponies, and pegasi alike - all of them killers and all of them waiting anxiously for the pony to brief them.

They were all gathered into a oblong semicircle made of collapsible chairs, Graphite was just another point along the disordered line of the perimeter. A few shifted their eyes and heads around the room looking for whomever was suppose to be briefing them. Graphite kept a steady sight, staring straight ahead towards the board where a projector was casting an image of a map. He couldn’t see it since the lights were still on and were overtaking the weak light of the old projector. It was just a few minutes of tempered waiting when the lights went out, and a burly unicorn stallion with a voice higher than what his outer appearance showed and thick accent to go with it. He was light brown all over except for one spot near his right hind leg. He had a short-cut, dark brown mane that was covered underneath a green beret. The beret had a tin fleur-de-lis pinned to the front of it - he was obviously from somewhere far east from Equestria’s lands.

The room rose to attention and saluted. The stallion came near the projector, his face just lit up by the projector’s light, “At ease soldiers,” He guided, grabbing for a pointer stick from the desk where the projector sat. “I am Commandant Cognac, I will be the one to brief you on your assignment and the one that will be commanding you on this mission.”

The lights were down, and the map on the board was clearly visible - it was of the second island contained in the Triolet Island system. His pointer made a circle around the picture of the island, and he continued, “This is you all’s target. Now, I am sending you in with the rest of the marine division to aid the troops already present on the island. Our main objective is to take back the Triolet Islands from the zebra forces. Each one of you will be assigned to a separate unit, each unit will be heading into a different area of the island,” He took a pause, heading to the projector to load up the next slide.

One of the stallions just to Graphite’s right spoke up, opening with a question, “Why not just send us all in one unit? What’s the purpose for sending us in with all the others?”

“To decrease zebra morale,” Cognac answered astutely. “We put you in black coats for a good reason - it stands out from green all the other ponies would be wearing, non? You all are the best your military has to offer; so when the zebras see their army wiped out by a single pony in black, then the zebras will know fear,” The commandant smiled, almost giggling at the thought. The briefing wasn’t finished, Cognac continuing after his moment, “Yes... and when the marines see ponies scaring off the zebras with just a stare, then they will know courage.”

The slides on the projector changed again, flipping to images of various locations on the island. The island vegetation was eaten up and destroyed, the gas clouds had chewed away every metre of grass and every tree was chipped and chopped by the constant cannon fire from the navy’s ships. The land was dark with scorch marks and filled with depressions from the explosions. Any further bombing and the island would be wiped clean from the ocean, with just a faint smell of smoke and ash to designate and island was once there.

Cognac brought back attention, “This is the current condition of the island. Now, as you can see, most the trees have fallen from the Navy’s cannon fire - so this will leave you more open to enemy sight. Once you have arrived on the island, you will each receive specific orders based on which units you will be assigned to.”

The lights came back on in the room, the projector slowly dying off as Cognac centered himself between the circle of soldiers, “Is every pony clear?”

The whole room answered back, “Yes sir,” with varying levels of loudness and inflection. Everyone was then given permission to leave. Graphite left just as soon as all the others, heading through the small doorway and back into the cramped hallways of the battleship. Graphite watched as the others walked out ahead of him, all of them packing their own weapon of their own type. Following with the ponies were sniper rifles, shotguns, submachineguns of all kinds, and the occasional rifle that always came standard with any soldier.

Graphite took a look back at his rifle - it was in need of some R & R just as much as Graphite was in need of it. The wood had chipped around the trigger and near the ejection port, Graphite had secured the scope using some old leather and string since the rail had cracked, and the wood in general was looking beat up and dirty. The metal seemed just as bad, months of dragging it through the dirt and mud had scratched it badly. Graphite adjusted the gun back on his shoulder, staring down the ship’s never ending corridor. He let go of the strap on his rifle and started on his way.

Graphite flowed through the hallways like his thoughts through his head. He was thinking of his current assignment. He was being sent in like a hero to a place he had never been, expecting to pick through an army he has only faced in small squads. The army was using him like a movie star, hoping to raise morale simply by showing up to the dangerous island. Graphite trotted through corridor after corridor of the ship, losing his sense of direction while his mind was caught on the thought of being blown to bits by a zebra. It didn’t take long for Graphite to get lost in the bowels of the vessel.

He crossed through another hall, stopping just as a group of soldiers walked by on their way to the main deck. They were wearing the normal combat armour every new recruit was strapped into since boot camp, a green armour set made of some newly developed plastic and high grade ‘polymers’ - if Graphite remembered that word correctly. They were light weight, cheap, and tough as steel. Graphite’s was almost the opposite, only similarity being the toughness. The metal plates in his suit were heavy and klutzy, the design based off the original set of armour develops a few years back. This set was the ‘commando’ line of armour, the only notable distinction was the tan colour of the armour and the black duster, rather than just a forest green suit. He jumped back to where he was heading, which happened to be nowhere in particular. He reached an end to the corridor, the path splitting off in two directions.

Graphite looked back and forth, both ends of the hallway looked identical - metal. He had no idea what to do next, so the only reasonable option was to continue forward. Down through another pressurized doorway, down another line of pipes and wires; eventually, he made it to a stairwell. He followed it up, taking the next flight of stairs out to the mess hall. Graphite was caught during supper, a wave of ponies had already started grabbing bread rolls and hay burgers.

One of the more experienced ponies in the war walked by with a rifle strapped around his shoulder. There wasn’t any bit of wood on this edition of rifle -- fresh from the market apparently. It was completely made of clean cut steel and a few plastics for the hoof guard and stock. It had a carrying handle that doubled for the rear sight and magazine that could easily hold twenty rounds if not more.

Graphite was almost lost with all the new improvements in war fighting. He had grown accustomed to the heavy, hoof-made guns and the outfits he knew weren’t made for fashion. Graphite wore the old uniform for one combat mission - after that, they strapped him into his suit and he never seen those memorable rags again.

It was a long change for the EAMC to adapt all these modernizations to its soldiers. The other branches of service had most of this technology by the time Graphite had heard about it. The EAMC probably guessed the zebras would use the same tactics they did back in the North; that would turn out to be false when they came charging in by the hundreds down South.

After finishing his thought, Graphite moved out of the mess hall - he wasn’t needed there, and he didn’t want to get hungry and suffer through the island on an empty stomach. His mission was still in his mind; he knew, without question, all the details and all the objectives.

The mission was to capture the Triolet Islands - invading all three of the islands at once using different tactics in each. There was a lot of interest in this island system - and for good reason - it was the last of the Zebras’ defense just before their mainland, so the military had always waiting for their chance to strike.

Graphite wasn’t sure how to feel for this mission. He should feel proud seeing as the marines saw him as a somewhat celebrity figure, but only because his greatest ability was taking out the enemy with his own unseen grace. He could feel scared knowing he was being sent to the last of the zebra’s strongholds - keeping in mind any zebra left in Equestria would be all be crowded on or near that island. He would feel angry for being sent as just a propaganda piece, if it wasn’t his duty to be risking his life for others in the first place.

Graphite was nudged from the middle of the corridor, interrupted in his deep thoughts by passing soldiers moving around the ship like bees buzzing around their hive. He looked down at the ground as he leaned against the walls of the hallway. He noticed something shaking in his duster pocket. He reached inside, pulling out a metal device named the ‘Pip-Buck M’. This seemed to come standard with every commando. It had everything a good solider already knew how to keep track of in one small, metallic package that fits in a pocket. It seemed useful, yet unneeded for Graphite - he knew how to look at a map, he remembered all the details for his missions, and checking physical condition was as simple as either breathing or not breathing.

Graphite stood back up straight, the cold metal starting to get uncomfortable. He decided to head back to his room which he knew had to be somewhere in the tangled mess of the ship’s corridors. He moved forward, following undiscerning arrows to new places that looked like the old ones. He remembered a number, “4,” but on a ship this size, that could mean the forth deck down; the forth room in the forth block of the forth deck; or the forth time he had wondered around this ship without seeing his room.

Eventually, he made it to his bunk, struggling with the door since there was no door knob but rather a big valve that he didn’t remember being there. He stepped into his room, pushing the door closed and sealing it, the door making a hiss as it pressurized.

He headed for the bunks. There were two in the room, he took the one closest to him. He was lying on his back, one hoof resting on his head as he stared up at the springs of the top bunk. He noticed the empty bunks beside him -- he hadn’t heard from Spotty or Blue Jay. Graphite had little worry for Blue Jay, he got his leave during Graphite’s special operations training and had gone away with his marefriend in Cloudsdale. The two had a little filly of their own and were living happily. The last word from Jay was his letter telling Graphite just that. Spotty was a little more separated, not a word from him since boot camp. That was years ago, Spotty was quite a character since Graphite could remember him years after. Graphite was suffering from loneliness, but he would soon meet up with some nice zebras - zebras who will give him a machete to the head, on the house.

Now, the mission was starting to swarm into his head. He could imagine all the trekking through the island, slipping down cliffs and rocks; dodging through the upturned trees while the bugs took bites at him like a buffet; hiking miles up and down the divots from the cannon fire until he reached an outpost full of zebras armed and ready to kill anything that comes their way. Graphite groaned, covering his eyes and turning in his bunk. He lay in his bunk, and slowly, the energy in him started to fade. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.

His eyes opened as he awoke, staring up at a golden ceiling as the world came into vision. He turned his head, looking down the steps over to where Sunny was sleeping. Graphite tried to roll out of his spot, but ended up rolling down a step before he caught himself on the hoof-rail with his hind legs. He grumbled to himself, slowly using the steps beside him to pick himself up and begin his trudge down the stairs. He stepped down, one by one, reaching his things at the bottom of the stairs. Sunny was getting in a few more minutes of sleep; Graphite didn’t want to disturb her, so he grabbed his things and stepped outside the theatre.

He strapped his backpack around his shoulder just as he stepped out the door, looking left and right at the sidewalk for the carts that wouldn’t be there. It was just a force of habit on Graphite’s part, but it’s always good to check just in case -- another pack of Talons could always be on its way. Graphite looked back at the theatre, then decided to take a stroll just down a few blocks. It was around noon, the sun burned hot down in the ruined streets of Buckago. The sidewalks were cracked, the buildings were ruined, the smell of death was strong in the thick air. Graphite didn’t think this town could be any different, whether two years back or two hundred. The sidewalk was going to be filled with litter, the roads ruined with the wheels of passing carts, the air filled with the smell of musk and industry. Graphite wondered why he came here in the first place, there didn’t seem to be anything Graphite needed to do here. He turned his head behind him once more, the huge sign of the theatre still visible behind him. Sunny was still in the theatre - alone now -- maybe there was a reason for Graphite to be here. Either fate or his dumb luck had brought him here, but Sunny still needed protection and that’s what Graphite was going to do. He turned about, taking his time in his slow trot to the theater.

Sunny awoke just a bit after Graphite left. She slid off her step, stretching out when she had the energy to stand. She reached down to grab her things, looking back to check on Graphite - who wasn’t there. Sunny looked left, right, and everywhere in between - not a sign besides his missing things. She tried to keep her hopes up, but it’s hard thing to do in the middle of a wasteland. She grabbed her gear, adjusting the straps and stepping outside - peeking over the doorway to see if it was clear. Some pony was standing outside, leaning against the side of the theatre. She knew it was Graphite, his armour was easy to recognize out here.

Graphite was staring down the streets, still trapped in his thoughts.