Graphite stepped out from the exhibition hall. He held his breath, not knowing what to expect from the new world outside. As the doors swung open, he knew there wasn’t going to be a crowd of ponies to welcome him to the world; not a single pony would be outside to greet him or pass him even a ‘good day.’ No sounds of wagon wheels grinding against the pavement, no patterns of random chatter from commuters, nothing but the chill of the air and the empty streets to introduce him into his new home. He made it out with all his thoughts trailing behind him, his legs finding the hard surface of the sidewalk. He was now in new territory.

When everything seemed okay -- or as much as it can be okay for a post-apocalyptic wasteland -- Graphite breathed out a sigh of relief. The air didn’t seem any different, but it actually felt warmer outside than it did in the Hero Exhibition. After adjusting to the city winds, he looked about the surroundings to figure out his next move.

The sun was just rising over the horizon, but it still was too dark to see anything clearly. In front of him, he could barely make out a street which intersected at the corner of the street where he was standing now. The rest of the view behind the street was obscured by a burnt down neighborhood and dead trees which were charred down to what resembled used matchsticks.

Graphite noticed the remains of a cart-stop in the near distance by one of the burnt down houses. It was a small steel booth with a sign outside, though the booth now resembled more of a shack with three walls. It’s walls had some rust on them, the booth had been scratched and even featured some holes in one of the walls.

He trotted to the cart-stop and looked at the blue square sign. “Roseland Heights,” the sign still read in blackened letters. Graphite sat down on the bench in the cart-stop and brought up his Pip-Buck, switching to the maps section. Though there were no location markers on the map accept the “Hero Exhibition” one, the highways were still clearly marked on his map as long white lines.

Now, he was stuck; he had no idea of where he should go first. Graphite sat on the bench and tried to remember any meaningful places near Buckago. A faded memory of a small two story brick house appeared in his mind. He remembered a section of a highway going over the houses and heading away from the city not too far from there - but wasn’t exact to which highway it was.

If he would follow the nearby highway, he might reach the outskirts of Buckago by the early afternoon; but he had to figure out which highway to take. He searched around the remains of the town, hoping something would help to jog his memory. To his left were a pile of bricks, reminding him that the house was made of a rustic red brick. He tried the road signs; the closest to him was “Valourous Blvd.” This just reminded him of his duty as the element of valour. He looked to his right, a section of building merged into another building across from it. He remembered how you would have to merge unto the highway from one of the streets. Graphite was racking his brain, trying to remember this location was unnerving. He clenched his head, looking left and right for some answers. The cart-stop sign caught his eye again; he remembered the road you have to get on to reach the highway - “Applejack Dr.”

Without further doubts - and no other options - Graphite set course for the only place which still meant something to him, or at least he thought so. He wasn’t sure where he was going or why, but he was moving and that was all that mattered now.

He continued down the road which lead to Landing Drive. On his way, he kept a watchful eye on his surroundings. He couldn’t see any signs of life anywhere, everything was cold and abandoned. There were no voices, just the sound of wind blowing through the cracks in ruins of houses. All the roads were dull and littered with abandoned carts and knick-knacks dropped by rushed ponies wanting to get off the road in a hurry. The forgotten doodads and whatchamacallits ranged from small stuffed animals to dropped wallets and to books, files, and journals. All of these things, everything - even the buildings and walls - were covered in a fine layer of ash and soot.

Graphite stopped when he reached Landings Drive. He looked down the road, noticing as it merged into the highway. He still wasn’t sure how far along he had to travel down the highway to get where he was going, so he was mentally preparing himself. A few deep breaths, shaking out his legs, and cracking his neck.

“All right... here we go...”

He started off the road and down the long highway. The highway was a straight, wide, six cart lane stretch of asphalt that continued on far into the horizon. The highway wasn’t left out of the free blanket of ash that must have came from the miles of burnt buildings around it. With every step Graphite took, a small cloud of dust would float away from the newly made hoof print on the ground. He looked up at the sky, trying to get his mind off the destruction around him. The sun was just over head, splitting the clouds just as it should. The rays reflected and shimmered against the particles of dust that floated around in the air.

Graphite looked back down, he was still traveling that stretch of road - that empty stretch of road. He imagined he could close his eyes and walk straight for a day and not hit a single thing. He reached a bridging portion of the highway and stopped to look over the edge. The water had evaporated into less than half of its original amount and had become diluted and foggy. Graphite remembered something; he forgot water. He forgot to remember the water. Graphite had to get of the highway soon before he became too dehydrated.

He felt he needed to hurry, but that would just make him dehydrate faster. If he traveled to slow, he would never get off this highway. It was a vicious cycle that played around in Graphite’s head. But even after all his worries and doubts, the small bit of food, and lack of water; Graphite just kept on walking. He walked on and on; wondering, pondering, guessing, imagining. He had nothing else he could do - there wasn’t another pony in sight for miles all around. Not a trace besides the few scattered commodities that lay on the ash covered ground. Not one pony to talk to. One question comes to mind - “Am I the last one?” This seemed to be true, Graphite was the only pony walking on this never ending highway. For that matter - there seemed to be no life left at all. He started to think about how nice to would be to see someone else alive. Just to see even a butterfly flying through the air, or any signs of life in this diminishing place.

A very loud screeching noise blasted from his earpiece. Graphite jumped, pulling the earpiece right out of his ear. He held his ear as it rang from the loud sting; he looked down at his Pip-Buck, seeing a message pop-up on it the screen. It read, “Radio Signal Detected - 108.3 FM.”

His ear was twitching a bit, luckily he hadn’t gone deaf in one ear from that loud noise. He placed the ear-bud in his other ear, and adjusted the volume on the device. A song was playing, Graphite recognized the singer - it was Blue Eyes, a singer who’s voice he distinguish instantly. Coincidentally, the stallion sang about Buckago and it was just where Graphite was heading now. The music was a bit uplifting for Graphite, it helped eliminate the dead silence of the depressing city that used to be Buckago.

The music also changed his step from a sluggish march to a cheerful trot; he even started to hum along with the song, bobbing back and forth with the beat of the music. Graphite was still a bit hard pressed about the journey, but the music carried him well off until he reached the next exit - and a problem.

The highway started to stretch out into an overpass above the below freeway, but both the overpass and underlying freeway collapsed into a large heap of ruble and asphalt. The other end of the highway was almost a few miles away, and the exit to the house was the next one over. The sun just passed it’s highest point and was beating down in Graphite’s eyes. He placed his hooves over his eyes and looked on over at the opposite end of the highway. There was a tilted over sign too far away too read, but he could see another exit just nearby. This is where he needed to go, the only trouble was getting there. Graphite looked at his options -- he had one. Take this exit down and follow along to wherever it may lead. The song on the radio was starting to play off, he lost his cheery feeling in that moment.

“Hopefully, there’s water...” Graphite sighed.

He took a step, and continued down the exit ramp and unto the adjacent road. Graphite followed it as it banded through rows of dead trees and brush, the road cracked and faded from lack of attention. The guard rails were rusted, some parts of it almost pulled out of the ground. There was a road sign to the right, a bit dented and scratched, but still legible. The sign informed of two restaurants and a rest area in the next neighborhood known as Carnen. He felt just a slightly optimistic about this place, he felt he needed a positive attitude to get him through this negative world.

The road made a sharp right turned, and headed straight into the neighborhood. A quaint little wooden sign stood in front of the neighborhood simply reading, “Carnen - the quietest little neighborhood in Buckago”.

Graphite smirked, the town was definitely going to be quiet if he was the only pony there. Not a very positive thought, but it kept him going. He moved into the town, and wasn’t surprised to see that it was desolate. Graphite stood in the middle of an intersection that crossed in four directions. Just ahead of him he could see the rest of the neighborhood. The buildings were a simple, aged brick houses; none of them no bigger than two stories. The buildings were so simple, they were sturdy - most of them almost untouched by whatever had destroyed the other sections of city.

The building that caught his attention first was a cafe with the big, wide open windows that were clear as the town was empty. Graphite could see the counter, along with some booths and tables along the wall. He couldn’t tell from here, but they seemed to be in good shape. Graphite took a left at the intersection and continued down the row of houses. They all were still standing; only but a few had some chunks of wall ripped off or had a broken window. He walked down the middle of the street until one of the houses grabbed his attention.

A house next to a general store had it’s door blown open and it looked as if it was inviting Graphite inside. There didn’t seem to be anything special about the building; it was just another brown, two story, brick building with its windows blown out. He thought for a moment, staring at the house. The town should have it’s plumbing still operational, so the sinks should still have running water - hopefully clean enough for Graphite to drink.

Graphite went through the arch which used to hold the blown out doors. He got inside, noticing that the house looked like someone had just left it yesterday. The furniture had barely any dust on it, and it was all in place around the room - the sofa faced the fireplace, the table stood against the wall with a radio sitting on top of it, and the lamps were all in good condition. The kitchen was behind the staircase, comprised of just a small walkway underneath the stairs. Graphite peeked his head into the kitchen. There were some plates and a dirty pot still in the sink, and a moldy piece of bread on the counter. Small black and white tiles checker-boarded across the floor, the cabinets were a matching white wood along with the dark granite counters. “Granite...” Graphite thought, something in his mind was telling him something about ‘Granite,’ but he wasn’t quite sure what. He moved over to the sink and turned the faucet - nothing came out, not even a drop. He tried the other handle, still nothing. Graphite sighed with despair before leaving the kitchen.

He trotted back and went up the staircase. The old wooden stairs supported his weight without a creak. The carpet on the floor had dust from the street all over it and had long lost its colours. The top floor was made up of only two rooms and a bathroom - one of the rooms was more of an office space than a room, but either way, was still smaller than the bottom floor. The office space was empty, just a few cardboard boxes and some loose tools. He checked the bathroom to see if its water might be working. Graphite pulled both handles, neither turning on the faucet. It would take years for a neighborhood’s water supply to dry up. How long has Graphite been frozen in that building? This was just one house, Graphite really wanted to keep his optimism; he decided he could try any of the other houses.

Graphite was about to leave the room, when a shout came from outside the house. It sounded like a little foal was calling for help. He rushed over to the window and saw a white colt with a brown mane running down the street. It looked like the little colt didn’t even have his cutie mark yet. The colt was running towards a blue mare with a mane of white and blue strands that was covered with a head wrap.

One thought got off Graphite’s mind - he wasn’t the last pony in Equestria. His eyes were fixed on those two ponies as he continued to observe the mare and the little colt from the apartment window. As he looked out, he saw the little colt took cover behind the blue mare as she pulled out a pistol from her satchel bag.

A group of three awfully dressed ponies - two stallions and rough looking mare - ran out from the nearby side street. All three of them were horribly bruised, their clothes looked like they had strapped the whole household goods store to them; the last stallion to the right seemed to have burn marks across wrapping around his head. They seemed to carry the rest of the store; the mare carried a lead pipe, the brown stallion had a knife, and the remaining one had a pair of brass ponyshoes. Their manes were made up in different ridiculous ways; yet, it was obvious that they were not there for fun.

“There he is, get the kid!” Shouted the mare, as they ran down the street with their clutter of armour clanking with every step. The trio stopped when they noticed the blue mare protecting the colt.

“Lookie who we have here,” Said brown stallion on the right, “Listen, I promise that we won’t rape you again before we kill you if ya’ hand over the kid nice and easy...”

“Take a long walk off a short pier, you motherfucker!” Shouted the blue mare and pointed her pistol at the brown stallion. She had an advantage over the trio because she was the only one with the gun - but she was outnumbered. They stood in a stalemate, none of them dared to make a move.

Unknown to the mare and the trio of bandits, Graphite was also stuck in a duel. He could help the mare and the kid - the awfully dressed ponies clearly meant no good. On the other hoof, Graphite lacked ammo. He had only quarter of a magazine and he wasn’t sure if he could still use a weapon. He also didn’t know what would mare do after he had taken out the bandits, she might just walk away as if nothing had happened, she could panic and shoot back, or not even think to thank him. What should he do, he couldn’t let the first ponies he’s seen just kill each other off - he had to do something now.

Acting now was going to take longer than he wanted, his ability to use a gun was questioned by himself. He had the knowledge that, at some point in his life, he had used a weapon before - but the memory of how to use it didn’t appear to him.

Then he remembered - none of the ponies down on the street saw him. Thus, he maintained the element of surprise; he could carefully take aim and take them out before any pony saw him. He took the opportunity to act.

Graphite sat down by the window and took his rifle off from his shoulder. He placed the rifle on the window sill, keeping the rifle from swaying. He adjusted the scope and took aim for the bandit mare’s chest as it was the only place which had left free of any armour.

He placed the crosshairs in the scope over her and started to take deep, long breaths. After a hundred years of sleep, he was about to do his job again - killing ponies to protect ponies.

The loud sound of a .308 round shot rang out through the street. The bullet tore through the dirty mare’s chest, spraying out bits of lung from the exit wound. The mare fell down on the cracked asphalt. The stallions didn’t even get to blink when another loud shot rang out and the brown stallion hit the dirt.

The blue mare didn’t seem to pay attention to the shots, as if she knew that the one who made them were on her side. She took her aim with the pistol on the last remaining stallion.

The last stallion dropped the knife which he had been holding in his mouth this whole time and turned around to run away. “I don’t wanna die!” The stallion shouted as he ran and almost falling over his own hooves as he did.

Yet, the mare didn’t pay any attention to the stallion’s plea, she took aim and let out three rounds into his body before he too hit the ground like his bandit friends. The bandit hit the pavement face first as the blood began to pool around his twitching body. She turned around to the little colt and hugged him, “How many times have I told you not to leave mommy?” It looked like the mare was ready to cry.

Graphite took the rifle away from the window sill and placed it on his back again. He rushed down the stairs, almost tripping when he got to the last step. He’s just glad no pony was there to see that.

He calmly walked outside and slowly approached the blue mare, he didn’t want to scare her. “Are you two okay?” he said in a gentle voice.

The blue mare and the white colt then looked up at Graphite, “Yes, yes we are,” the mare replied, “Thank you... you must be the one who saved us,” she guessed.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, tilting his head.

The mare proceeded to hug Graphite when he came closer. She had tears forming in her eyes, “You have no idea for how long have they stalked us.”

“I’m glad that I was able to help, m-ma’am,” he told her and also hugged the mare. He wanted to keep this hug, it was the first sentiment from any living being he’s had in a while - but he didn’t want to make it awkward.

The mare wiped her tears and pulled the little colt by her side, “My name is Turquoise and this is my son Adan.”

Graphite tilted his head again, “I’m Corporal Graphite.”

The mare smirked, “Yes, I can read that on your armour.”

Graphite blushed a bit and chuckled, the neck plate of his armor was basically a business card apparently. Turquoise took a second to check out Graphite’s armour, she had never seen anything like it before, “Where’d you get this suit of yours?” She asked politely.

“Oh, I...” Graphite thought about it for a moment, he felt another slight headache. This one didn’t seem to hurt as much as the others, but he remembered something about the war, “I... think I got it some time during the war-”

“-War?” Turquoise interrupted, “You mean the war with the Zebras?”

“Of course! It couldn’t have been maybe just a few months ago-”

Turquoise interrupted him again, “-A few months? I think you mean a few hundred years - the war ended almost two hundred years ago.”

Graphite was baffled; he knew he had to been frozen for some time, but not two hundred years. He was confused, trying to think of a reasonable question to ask. He went ahead with the obvious, “So the war is over?”

Turquoise facehoofed, seeming a little annoyed, “Yes! A very long time ago - probably about two hundred years - the war ended. That’s because every corner of the globe was hit by a megaspell bomb! We don’t know from whom, and from where - we just know that the world ended that day. The one’s who survived were left to wallow in what was left.” She was very pestered, like a foul had asked her the same question again and again. Turquoise kept her temper down the best she could; letting out a long sigh afterwards.

Graphite was just in awe. It seems one can miss a lot in two hundred years. He felt stupid and bothersome, but he just needed to know what happened, “I’m sorry, it’s just that I’ve been trapped in a room for those past two hundred years.”

“Two hundred years? I’m sorry - that’s kinda hard to believe. The only ponies who can live that long are-”

“I have proof!” Graphite butted in and took out the newspaper cut out from the pocket of his duster. He unfolded the paper, and handed it to Turquoise.

The mare looked at it, noticing when it was dated, and couldn’t believe it was really him in the picture. She blushed a light red, “I guess you just wanted to know what happened after all those years... sorry.” She folded the paper back up just as before and handed it back to Graphite, when her colt cut in from behind her.

“You’re just like the pony on the poster!” Adan spoke, looking up to Graphite with a smile.

“Uh, What poster?”

“The one I have by my bed!” Adan looked at his mother, “Can we take him home? I just wanna show him the poster!” the young colt pleaded, grabbing his mom’s leg and bouncing up and down.

Turquoise looked down at her son, shooing him off, but smiled, “Well, you should ask him if he wants to come.”

Adan then looked at Graphite, “Do you?”

“Yes, that would be very nice - I don’t have anywhere special to go,” He answered with a grin.

“We don’t live far from here, just follow us,” The mare mentioned and they all took off, heading down the road and past the dead bandits.

As the three neared Turquoise and Adan’s home, the neighborhood became more and more familiar to Graphite. He knew the street which they walked, but he remembered it having more ponies walking to and fro across the sidewalks. The houses surrounding him also seemed familiar, but he never had the chance to be inside them.

They finally approached a three story red brick house. The blasts had torn away the roof and the top of the third floor, but the rest of the house remained more or less intact. The windows were blown out, but were covered up by large pieces of plywood.

Graphite stopped, feeling another headache approaching. He stared at the red building and whispered, “Home...” Without paying any attention to the headache he started to run and ran past the family of two and shouted, “I’m home again!”

The blue mare shrugged and just looked at Adan, they had no idea why he got so excited.

Graphite ran through the door to the staircase and up the stairs to the second floor. He almost tripped again on the stairs again, but ignored it and soon was in front of a black wooden door. The pain in his head bounced around like a pinball, but the excitement of being back at home sedated it.

He shoved the door open, it wasn’t locked, “Mama! Papa! I’m home again!” he shouted as he ran into the apartment. When there was no response, he stopped and started to slowly look around, he walked down the hallway and made his way to the kitchen which connected with the small living room.

The room was empty. The paint on the walls had crumbled off for the most part. Several tiles were missing in the kitchen, the cabinets were molded and eaten away by termites, and the counter-tops had some dents in them. The table which stood in the middle of the room looked like it had been gathering dust for quite a while; the chairs were no different.

Graphite continued to the bedroom. He opened the door, but stopped at the archway when he noticed a skeleton sleeping on the bed. It looked like it had been laying there for a long while; cobwebs collected across the corners in the room and stretched on even to the skeleton. He noticed a note by the hoof of the dead pony and levitated it over to read it,

“My name is Granite. I’ve taken a few different drugs which are supposed to take effect soon and kill me so I don’t have much time left. I’ve received a message that my son has gone missing while he was on the front lines. I haven’t heard anything from him or the military, he must be gone. My wife has also gone, her weak heart unable to keep on working. They were the only joy I had left and without them life seems pointless. All that I can leave to this world is this scarp of paper and nothing else. I leave you one last thing - a goodbye.”

Graphite froze in shock. The dead pony laying on his bed was his father. He walked up to the bed and whispered with tears in his eyes, lamenting his dad with silent sobs.

He fell down on his knees. He wanted to hold his father’s hoof, but he didn’t want to disturb his body. His hooves quaked with disparity; he was about to cry, when he heard a voice.

Turquoise spoke out of nowhere; she had walked up the stairs and into the room so quietly, that Graphite didn’t notice her, “I know how it is to find someone you love dead,” She knelt down next to him, resting her hoof on his back.

Graphite looked up at the blue mare, “How would you know something like that?”

“Well, my mom and I were scavenging somewhere in downtown Buckago. We were in what used to be a toy store and suddenly there was some shouting outside. My mother told me to stay put - so I did. I waited for her for hours, there were quite a few toys still left in the store so I had something to do, but eventually I went outside,” Turquoise frowned, she was getting a bit choked up, “The first thing I saw outside was my mother. She lied on the concrete in a pool of her own blood.”

Graphite asked again, “What happened to her?”

“Raiders... raiders happened. They chopped her with cleavers and knives. The left side of her face had been almost torn apart. The rest of her skin was covered in long, deep cuts.” Turquoise let out a long sigh, “Yet, she withstood that pain and didn’t even weep. She knew that if she would have screamed, I would have gone looking for her and would run straight into the raiders. She sacrificed herself for me...” There was a long silence; they both seemed to sympathise one another, they both were in a sorrow, and they both felt sorry for the other.

They didn’t know what to say next, they were both at a loss of words. He and Turquoise simply sat by his father’s bed, each thinking of their dead loved ones. Graphite only had his mother and father. He didn’t have any other relatives, but that only made him feel closer with the two he had. What was strange, was that now Graphite clearly remembered everything about his father - how he came home each evening from the work in the docks, telling about how many crates he and his fellow dockworkers had unloaded from the ships. His father’s stories were almost always the same, but every evening Graphite patiently listened to the stories and every time he could hear something new about the ships. All of those memories were of his father - he could just barely remember what his mother was like.

Graphite took this silence to try and think of his mother. There was nothing, barely even the image of her. He thought and wondered, trying to lead his mind into a memory of her, but there didn’t seem to be anything.

The silence was broken by a young colts voice, “Mommy, I’m hungry...” The colt stopped in the archway. Graphite and Turquoise both looked at Adan before Turquoise said to him, “Of course sweetie, we’ll be right there...”

Adan then ran out of the room, down the stairs, and vanished; followed by Turquoise and Graphite.

They went down into the basement. Graphite saw that the basement had been turned into the home of Turquoise and Adan. It had changed from a damp and dark room to a cozy nest underground. There was a small black stove and an old table with two folding chairs next to it. Above the table hanged a little lantern; it still hadn’t been lit as the light from outside still came into the underground room. By the walls, there were mattresses set on cheap wooden frames - one for each of them. A large recruitment poster hanged by one of the beds.

The poster depicted a pony rushing out of a trench with a heap of dirt thrown up in the air by an artillery blast, in the background. Poster boasted in big white letters, “In the face of obstacles - COURAGE” and “Join the Equestrian Army Marine Corps today!” Just below. The pony in the poster held a vaguely familiar rifle, a black matte rifle with a long magazine and a sharpened bayonet on the end of the barrel. The pony was dressed in a suit of armor which was almost identical to the one which Graphite wore - it only lacked the black duster.

“See, I told you - you’re just like the pony in the poster!” A voice of a young colt interrupted the silence again. It seemed that speaking out of nowhere when others least expected it was Adan’s special talent.

Graphite inspected the poster some more, he could feel another memory coming to mind, but he stopped to talk to Adan, “Well, I guess I am.” He told him, taking a closer look at the poster while he stroked his chin.

He turned around and looked at Adan, “Where’d you get this, Adan?” Graphite asked him with a soft voice.

“My mommy found it when we went out scav- um- looking for stuff,” Adan stated. He had a very carefree smile that really seemed to beam and almost brightened up the mood. This little colt didn’t seem to realize he was stuck in an apocalyptic little village with a risk of bandits attacking him everyday - and he didn’t mind. Maybe it was because of his age, but Adan was just happy to be alive. Graphite felt the need to smile, before Turquoise came by, “Dinner’s ready, boys.”

Adan jumped up and yelled a “Yay!” and galloped to the table. Graphite followed close behind; Turquoise had the table all set with three bowls of stew heated and waiting for them to eat it. They only had one pair of chairs, so Turquoise had a small crate with a pillow on top to placed next to the table just for him.

“That’s all homemade, I hope you enjoy it,” Turquoise joked, tossing the opened can of soup in the corner.

“Yes, this looks fresh out the oven,” Graphite added with a sarcastic tone.

Turquoise took her seat when both the boys took theirs. Adan and his mother started to eat as soon as they sat down. Graphite sat down at the desk and looked at his dish and at the dishes of the colt and the mare. Each had a slop of carrot and pea stew served from a hundred year old can. Yet it was not the age of the food about which Graphite was concerned - it was the portion. Each of them had about one third of the can on their plates. A portion that small didn’t seem enough to feed Adan, let alone him or Turquoise. Though as shocked Graphite was, he was still hungry and was a guest, so he didn’t want to be rude. He grabbed the spoon and started to eat. The food was half decent; the carrots tasted slightly stale and the broth had a thick texture, but it was food. Soon, there was just a little puddle of soup and a few peas sitting at the bottom of the bowl.

Graphite looked at Turquoise and Adan. They hadn’t finished eating, so he turned his head at the mare and asked, “Those, um... raiders today - why were they chasing you and your son?”

Turquoise had her spoon halfway to her mouth, but stopped herself to answer. With a groan, she told him, “They were looking for ‘recruits.’ The raiders usually have no time to raise up their own young so they simply steal foals from other ponies.”

“And no one has tried to stop them?”

“Some have, and all of them failed. It seems like when you kill one - three more pop up! They won’t stop, show there’s only one way to deal with them - show no mercy. They would slit your throat if you hesitate for even a second.”

“So you just let them be?”

“Yes, we do; but if they ever come into our business, then I fight back. I’m just trying to keep Adan safe - I’m the only pony he has.”

“What about...” Graphite caught himself before he finished, bringing something up like that would just be devastating. He looked down at his empty bowl, a bit of carrot stuck to the bottom.

“He doesn’t have a father,” Turquoise expressed.

“Oh, I’m-”

“Don’t be...” Turquoise looked over at Adan, who was still enjoying his small dinner. She got up out of her chair and trotted over to him, “Mommy, needs to talk with our guest alone; and it’s just about your bedtime,” She told him in a soft tone.

Adan dropped his spoon in the bowl and looked up at Turquoise, “But Mom-”

“No buts, you’re going to bed now.”

Adan frowned, but nonetheless listened to his mother’s command. He turned around and lifted his arms up. Turquoise picked him up, helping him out of his chair. She rested her hoof on his back and guided him to his bed - Graphite just watched. Adan had his head down, he didn’t seem to want to go to bed. He finally got to his bed; he struggled to climb atop it. Graphite felt bad, the colt had no blankets to keep him warm; he didn’t even have a pillow to sleep on.

Adan didn’t seem to care, but Graphite did. He remembered the pair of pillows that cushioned his crate. He pulled them out from under him and carried it over. Turquoise was stroking her colt’s mane, not taking notice to Graphite. He didn’t intrude, he just walked in behind her, and rested Adan’s head gently on the pillow. Adan’s eyes were getting heavy, slowly closing on their own. Turquoise hummed a soothing tune, almost sending Graphite to sleep too. Little Adan finally shut his eyes and fell asleep; Turquoise kept petting him softly, but looked over at Graphite, “Thank you, I think we can talk now,” She mentioned. She stood up, inviting Graphite back to the table.

Graphite picked up Adan’s chair, and moved it opposite to Turquoise. She set aside the bowls of soup, pulled up the chair, and looked Graphite straight in the eye, “Adan’s not my kid.”

Graphite stopped, shifting quickly from Adan then back to Turquoise, “Did you find him somewhere?”

“No, I mean - he’s mine... just not legitimately...” Her voice was getting choked up again, but she didn’t let Graphite out of her sight.

“What exactly do you mean, Turquoise?” Graphite spoke in a low voice, he knew this was a much more serious matter - and he didn’t want to wake up Adan.

“Those bandits out there, that last stallion is -- was -- his dad.”

“How could that-”

“-If you let me finish, I will tell you.” Her voice picked up, slightly louder and more heated; this seemed to be a really hard subject for her.

Graphite sat back, becoming instantly silent, waiting for Turquoise to continue.

“It was about five years ago, I was just walking through this wasteland we call home, when I find a shack just outside the last town I was in. I needed the supplies, so I went ahead and checked it out. From the looks of it, it seemed abandon - just an old run down shack in the outskirts of some random city. I came up to the shack, I heard the sound of some pony’s hoofsteps, then I blacked out. I don’t know what happen - and probably never will - but when I woke up, I was tied to a dirty bed and all my stuff was gone. I struggled and tugged on the ropes, they weren’t going to break, but the bed frames seemed to nudge just a bit. I pulled on them again, but that’s when a stallion came into the shack. The shack was pitch black, all the windows were blocked off, only a small little lava lamp on a shelf above me to light the place; so when that pony swung open the door, it was like the sun had came in with him. I couldn’t see him, just his silhouette, but I could hear his maniacal chuckle just as he walked towards me...”

Tears were forming in Turquoises eyes, she wanted to cry, but she didn’t want to seem weak. She just wiped her tears, took a deep breath, and continued with the story, “I’ll never forget what that bastard did to me that moment... he came up to me... grabbed my head and forced me too look at him... I still couldn’t see him, but his cold stare was enough to see... he grabbed me, jumped on top of me, and then raped me-!” Turquoise couldn’t hold back her sorrow any longer; she wept. Graphite wasn’t sure what to do, he didn’t want to break the silence, but he had to comfort Turquoise. He was about to get, sliding his chair back just an inch, when Turquoise stopped him, “-I couldn’t bare the pain... but he finished... it was done and over... but I needed to get out. The cord from the lava lamp was hanging near my hoof. I tugged the ropes, broke the frame, grabbed the cord, and pulled. The lamp fell right on his head and burn the fucker right off of me. He was being cooked while I got free. My stuff was sitting in the corner; I grabbed it and ran. And ran and ran and ran. Time passed, and then little Adan was born - I named him after my father.” Turquoise still had a stream of tears, but she was looking better.

Graphite couldn’t speak; he was in a trance of pity. Such a depressing tale to hear, this world has turned to shit. He sat their, looking at Turquoise. She just held her head down, waiting for the tears to subside. There was no sense of time, there was nothing else to disturb them - just the feeling of sadness that couldn’t be escaped from. They both sat there in a silence, letting the pain sink in. Graphite wasn’t sure how much time passed between the end of her story and now, but eventually, Turquoise got up out of her chair and slowly trudged to her bed.

She stopped right before her bed, “If you need a place to stay, you’re welcome to use one of the rooms upstairs.” She sat down on the bed, planting her face in her hooves.

Graphite didn’t reply, he just got up out of the chair, and went for the stairs. He started up, just at the first step, Turquoise’s voice could be heard again, “Goodnight.”

Graphite paused, he didn’t go back, he just responded with, “Goodnight.”

He got up the flight of stairs. When he looked out the window, he could see that the sun had already gone down. He looked down at his Pip-Buck, 22:09. Just about ten o’clock. This was pretty early, Graphite thought for sure it would have been later. He passed through the second floor, past the front counter, and went up the second flight of stairs. He found himself back at his old apartment, and right back across from his parent’s room. The bad memory of his father’s skeleton was coming back, but he fought the memory. He pushed his door open.

His apartment was set up no different than the other rooms. The bed was just ahead of him, the robust wooden wardrobe to the left, and a work desk sitting against the wall to the right. A petite side table lay next to the bed; there was a lamp on top, but it was long since working. It didn’t take long to notice the ceiling was missing. The moonlight refracted all the dust floating about the room. There was a sort of twinkle over his bed. His sheets were a light gray, but were probably a nice red back in its prime. The pillows had lost their fluff, the bed frame looked weak, and the mattress springs were probably all busted or missing. Graphite closed the door behind him, then went over to look in the wardrobe. He reached for the handles, finding they were missing. He pulled them open with his magic. A cloud of dust wafted out of the wardrobe and into Graphite’s face. He coughed and wheezed, swatting the dust away from his face. He looked inside, still hacking dust out of his mouth, and saw nothing but a small cardboard box.

There was no wrapping around, no postage stamps or notes - it was just a dainty little box sitting in the wardrobe. He lifted it up using his levitation spell, bringing it up to eye level. He blew off the thick layer of dust that gathered on it and opened the lid. There was a silver plated pistol - about a .45 calibre - it was resting on top of the Equestrian flag, folded into a triangle. On top of the gun was a ragged piece of paper. He pulled it out, using his horn’s light to help him read.

“Dear Ms. Ambrosia,

This letter is to confirm our recent telegram in which you were regretfully informed that your son, Corporal Graphite, 678452056, EAMC, has been reported missing in action while on duty in the Triolet Island System.

We realize the distress, caused by failure to receive more information or details; therefore, we wish to assure you that in the event additional information is received at any time, it will be transmitted to you without any delay. If no information is received in meantime, we will communicate with you again in three months from the date of this letter. It is the policy of the Armed Forces, to convey you any details.

We extend to you our deepest sympathy during this period of uncertainty.”

So, one more reason his parents thought that he was dead - told your son was lost on the battlefield. It was just as bad as being told your son actually was dead, but now they leave the receiver the mystery of their loved one’s fate - driving them to anxiety, most likely. Graphite knew they must have sent this just before he was frozen in the chamber. Why the military would send this letter was out of his comprehension. Graphite wondered why couldn’t they just send them a letter saying he was going to be frozen for next two hundred years. He just thought it seemed idiotic, this one letter - this one false letter - and now his parents lost their only child. The only regards of them were this telegram, a flag they could pick up for a bit and a half at any store, and a pistol that they would never need.

He proceeded to check out the pistol. It was a ceremonial version of the .45 calibre sidearm that came standard issue with military personnel since its development. The frame was a dark silver and featured a brown wooden grip. The design was simple and smooth; the liability of the gun was the reason why it retained its usefulness. Graphite pulled the slide back and checked the magazine well. There was no rust, all the springs pulled back fine, and the slide kept its smooth pullback. The gun could probably be fired now if he had ammunition for it, but finding ammo in this wasteland is a long shot at best. He wanted the pistol though, so he took it out, but the flag was tangled on it. He pulled it off and the flag with it. Two magazines were hidden at the bottom of the box -- rather conveniently. The bullets seemed good enough, and he needed anything he could find out in such a a dangerous world; he took the mags and pistol, then tried to put the flag back in the box. The fold was such a perfect triangle, he had no idea how to get it back like that - so he just stuffed it inside the box, placing the lid back loosely.

He brushed away some of the dust on the box after placing the lid back; hiding under the dust was a message, “Be Brave, Fight On.” The package was for him if he was ever to return home, something Granite couldn’t stand to receive in his mail. He rested the box back in the wardrobe, never to be opened again.

Graphite laid the pistol and and magazines on the side table next to the bed, then headed for his desk. There was one column of drawers on the side, the desk had a headboard and two side boards. There was a small rack attached along the headboard. Nothing was on the desk except some scratches. He opened the squeaky drawers - nothing but blank paper.

It was getting late, and Graphite couldn’t help but yawn. The old, dusty bed was looking more and more comfortable. He dropped his bag next to the desk and jumped into bed. The dust flew upward in a cloud when he hit the bed, but it was a bed. It wasn’t much of one, but it worked.

There was no use in pulling up the sheets, the armour kept him warm enough. He lied his head on the pillow and looked up through his makeshift skylight. He could see all the stars that shined in the night sky. The moon was right in the middle of the sky, illuminating the bed he lied on. He tried to make out some constellations in the stars, but there were so many it was hard to make out even a straight line. Graphite stared at the stars for just a few minutes, then he finally closed his eyes and fell asleep.