Graphite finished his cigarette, tossing it on the ground below, and was ready to move on. He walked down the stairs and back into the yard, still a bit groggy. From there, he moved on back to the street. It seemed that the fog which covered everything yesterday had gone, it was completely clear outside; so he took a better look at the neighborhood.

The small two story flat houses had been replaced by larger, five story brick houses; they also had taken on the force of the blast and the edge of time. A lot of rubble littered the streets. Shattered bricks, planks, and sometimes even glass littered the across the pavement. The wooden frames around the buildings still remained, still rotted through and eaten by termites.

As Graphite walked through the neighborhood he noticed another thing - skeletons. The ponies seemed to have tried to run away from where he was heading to. Some of them had fallen right in the middle of the street. Others were bunched up in corners as if trying to find safety in numbers from death. They died running away from death, their lifeless bodies dropped to the floor fully sprint trying to avoid the blast. The ponies in the corner seemed like they were still cowering, the wind was blowing through their ribs, shaking their bones like they were shaking with fear.

Graphite was brought down by seeing all of this, his mind started to make up questions. He was supposed to be a hero, he was supposed to save Equestria and stop this from happening. But even if he hadn’t been frozen up when all of this happened, how could he stop it? He was just an ordinary pony, he couldn’t stop a storm of balefire. By the looks of it - even Celestia and Luna couldn’t do it. ‘What even had happened to the goddesses?’ He asked himself, ‘Where were they when all of this happened?’ He asked again, ‘Why use six innocent ponies to defend Equestria - what kind of idea was that?’ The questions he made up, he couldn’t find answers to. His mind was swarming with these unwanted questions; only the matter of almost tripping over the shattered bricks could restore his focus back on the road.

The road didn’t seem any more of an appealing place didn’t it did yesterday in the fog. There were still unending cracks lining the entirety of the road; the pavement had turned to gravel, loose rocks and bits of road were sprinkled all over the road; the sides of the road were just as dead as before, the grass was burnt down to the dirt and then the dirt was burnt down to dust. The border-towns of Buckago were very spaced out, nothing like the downtown he knew. He’s never downtown before, but he could see the skyline in the distance, and the large skyscrapers that poked holes in the sky. The buildings almost blocked the sun; the rays could only squeeze through the gaps between buildings and focus their beams in small dots over the landscape. The road he traveled led directly downtown, and he had nowhere else to go.

His duster flowed in the breeze as he walked, catching the drift eastward. The next buildings ahead were about another jog down the trail - like he was heading to the range. He fixed his rifle sling at the thought, fixing it back around his shoulder. The move downtown seemed like a long one, maybe once he reached midtown he could search the restaurants that always filled the majority of the town. He was nearing the next building. It was a corner building, one that curved around with the sidewalk. The lower story of the building had wooden walls instead of brick, maybe a general store was built in to the building. He decided, “Why wait until midtown to search for supplies?” So he picked up his pace to reach the building in time to keep up with the day.

There were two corner buildings on either side of the road; one was a pharmacy, the other a hat store. The hat store certainly had supplies if Graphite needed a new summer bonnet to go with his duster. He didn’t need anymore hats than he already had -- one being enough for a single stallion -- so the pharmacy was his best bet for useful supplies. The sign reading ‘Pharmacy’ that usual hangs above the entrance was faded down to the point the red letters were just as pale as the white background. He took a step forward towards the store, spotting a light brown disk sitting on the street. Graphite leaned in, a bit intrigued as to what it could be. The disk made a high pitch tone, Graphite flinching at the sudden noise.

‘Beep, beep, beep-’

His mind knew immediately what that noise was - he had heard before while in service - a fragmentation mine. He dived down on the street, covering his head with his hooves just as the mine went off. There was a loud boom, followed by the screeching sound of fragments whizzing passed his head. The smoke and debris shot upward, the shockwave sending a small wave through Graphite’s duster and blowing through his mane. A small cloud of dirt and dust puffed up, some small rocks pounded against his steel armour. The explosion almost blew off his leg, but he had reacted just fast enough to avoid getting hurt - but his ears were still ringing.

A loud yell came from the inside of the pharmacy. That yell was followed by another and another similar shout. Graphite looked up when the gunfire started pouring out the pharmacy. He ducked again, bullets whooshed over his head, scraping his ringing ears with their loud noises. He looked around, there was a big blue mail dropbox across the road of the pharmacy. He picked himself up and sprinted full speed towards his only means of cover.

The bullets continued to fire out the first story of the building, flying passed his head and cutting through his duster. He slid just as he neared the mailbox, pressing his back against the metal case of the mailbox. The bullets seemed to have no sense of aim or direction, they just shot anywhere and everywhere. He could hear the bullets poking through the front of the mailbox, just stopping as the envelopes inside caught hold of the bullets.

He pulled his rifle to his front, still holding his head down from the incoming barrage of bullets. They kept coming without pause and still just firing everywhere; he could just hear the yells and battle cries under the bangs of gunfire. He couldn’t move, he was locked down under the fire and fear of being cut down by it. One bullet managed to cut through the mailbox on both sides, just going right passed Graphite’s ear.

“F-fuck!” He screamed, knowing that bullet was just inches from being in his skull.

His back slid down the side of the box, his body slumping over slowly. He dropped his rifle, covering his head with both his hooves. He bent down as low as he could, until the bullets all stopped at once with a series of faint clicks from inside the pharmacy. Graphite opened his eyes, looking over the side of the mailbox.

Just as he head moved around the edge of the box, he heard the loud mumbles of what seemed like foals from the building.

“Damn! I’m out of bullets!”

“-Me too!”

“-Me three!”

Graphite was all but confused, his attackers were a group of small colts and fillies, one not even old enough to have a cutie mark. He could see one, the tallest one, had some kind of raider armour on. The torso consisted of a stained, leather undershirt and an empty bandoleer. The sleeves were armed separately by pieces of cloth and leather wrapped around them. The knees were protected by what looked like knee pads which were used for when ponies went rollerblading. His mane was an unkempt mess of red spikes and frazzled hairs. His coat was a dirty peach colour - it looked more brown than peach though.

Next to him stood a younger, golden yellow coloured unicorn mare with a burnett mane and was wearing a strange, blue jumpsuit. The jumpsuit had yellow lines going down the arms, legs, and down the middle of the front and back. It had some armored pads and a belt with mag pouches attached around it; overall, the mare and her clothes looked cleaner than the ones of the colt next to her.

Next to the filly was an even younger filly, just a foal. She had a black, cast iron pot on her head to use as a helmet; it went over her eyes. She seemed a bit lost, unable to see anything. Her mane was sticking out for under the pan, it was a long, dark red colour that contrasted her bright red coat colour. It was easy to tell she was only a foal since she didn’t even have a cutie mark yet; just a blank flank - with a gun in held in her mouth.

“Hey, you think we could call a cease fire?” Graphite shouted from behind the mailbox.

“No! You’ll die like the rest of the slaver scum that have came looking for us!” The colt shouted back.

“A slaver... what?” Graphite replied with a bit of irritation in his voice.

“You heard me-” The colt was suddenly interrupted, by the mare next to him. She was whispering something into his ear. The colt then looked over at Graphite’s direction, “Alright, we might let you live if you get up slowly and let us take a look at you!”

For Graphite there was no other way but to obey the colt’s orders - he couldn’t sit behind that mailbox forever. Graphite slowly got up from behind the mailbox and stood up on his hooves again. The ponies in the pharmacy window took a look at his armor and the black duster. They have never seen armour like that before, Graphite could see it in the looks on their faces.

“Well, you don’t look like a slaver. What the fuck are you doing out here then?”

“I’m heading to downtown Buckago-”

“Downtown? That place is a warzone!” The mare intruded on Graphite.

“War zone? But how- why-?”

“‘Cause the whole place is filled with raiders and slavers. If you’re not going to get killed for scrap, you’ll get enslaved and if non of them get you you’ll end up as some monster’s chow!”

“What? Repeat that again!”

“I said the whole place is crawling with slavers and raid- just come over here... but slowly!” She was getting very impatient, swinging her hoof to get him over.

The kids didn’t seem to be too intimidating, but they still had their guns, so he did as they ordered and came over to them slowly.

The filly dropped her gun on the floor, she was still a bit heated though, “There’s raiders, slavers, and monsters all over downtown Buckago - so I don’t know why you would want to go there,” She put an emphasis on each thing downtown, telling Graphite just how dangerous it was to go out there.

The colt pushed her aside and asked his own question, getting right in Graphite’s face, “Why do you want to head downtown?”

“I’m... just wandering, I never got to see downtown before-”

“-And you’re not going to,” the filly interrupted once again. It seemed that this pony had no sense of manners, “Any pony that goes downtown won’t stand a chance without some-”

“-There’s nothing out there!” Now the colt decided to cut in, yelling even though Graphite was right next to him.

“Is that why all of you are here in this... um, pharmacy?”

“We got nowhere else to go,” A much quieter and softer voice came from below him. He looked down, seeing the little foal to his left. She told him this while looking at his knees, the pot was still cutting of her sight.

“Shouldn’t you all be with your parents?”

“Our parents were killed back at the slave camp,” The older filly now had an attitude, getting even more irritated by Graphite’s questions.

“Slave camp?” Graphite couldn’t help but ask another question, he needed to know why these kids would do this.

“We all were. All of us were trapped in the slave camps north of here,” The colt’s voice lowered, his yelling stopped when he told Graphite that. He still seemed angry, but like a bad memory was rolling back into his mind, his eyes had that look of distress.

“We won’t go into that right now, those bitches are still after us!” The colt added.

Still confused, Graphite asked another question, “You mean the slavers?”

The colt’s distress turned back into a temper, “No, dumb ass, I mean the cops - of course I mean the slavers!”

He fixed his gun over his shoulder and stormed to the back of the building, heading through the back door leading to the inventory room. The filly and the foal stayed put, watching as the colt ran through, making a loud stomp with each step.

“Don’t mind, Rotten; he’s just a rotten bastard,” The filly butted in.

“He seems like it,” Graphite chuckled.

“But, he’s still our only leader,” At the last moment, the filly cut back in, reassuring Graphite that Rotten was still of use.

Graphite still didn’t enjoy the colt’s irritating attitude; it was that teenage, cocksure attitude - like nothing or no one would get in his way - he was leader because he brought everyone else down by force. This band of delinquents didn’t seem like the best crowd to be around, but one stallion against a group of slavers wasn’t going to end well. The kids didn’t have any sense of proper fighting skills, but they did have numbers - maybe there was something Graphite could do for them for sparing his life. Maybe he could teach them how to defend themselves against the slavers and make sure they don’t come back.

Graphite was going to take the chance, all he needed to do was work it out with Rotten. He finished the plan out in his head, then turned over to the filly and the foal, “You think I could make a proposal with Rotten?”

“What kind of proposal?” The filly stepped around to Graphite, bringing back her attention away from the foal.

“You mean like a wedding?” The little foal wondered with a childish amount of glee.

Graphite smiled, there was nothing like the innocence of a child to bring joy in such a joyless place, “I mean like a deal, little one.”

She just replied with a simple, “Oh.”

The filly had a small smile, but lost when she asked, “What did you want to propose...”

“...Graphite.”

“Graphite, hm - oh - I’m Mayflower by the way, and that’s Hot-Sauce,” She pointed down to the foal that eager young foal beside her, “So, what did you want?”

“Well I was wondering - I know a good amount about fighting - maybe I could show you kids a thing or two to defend yourselves.”

“I guess that Rotten would agree to that -- I think it’s a great idea. He probably went back to his position at top of the building,” Mayflower pointed towards the back door Rotten charged through earlier, “I’d come along, but I have to stay down here and watch the roads.”

Graphite headed towards the door in his usual trot, but stopped for a moment and looked back, “Thanks,” he said, continuing to the back door.

The pharmacy didn’t resemble one anymore; the shelves were all pushed against the windows to act as cover, they completely cleared the place of all its prescriptions and potions, the counter now had a row of half-full sandbags and some empty shell casings littered around it. He crossed through the counter, kicking the shells on the floor with his hooves. They clanged and pinged against his hoof and each other, reflecting the flickering ceiling lights above. He marched on through the door and into the back room, there he saw a group of four little foals - no older than seven or eight. There were just sitting in the corner, playing with a small, purple doll. It had dark violet hair with pink streaks running down it, it had black button eyes and a dark blue thread to hold it in the head, the tail was a matching purple and pink as the mane, and there was a pink sparkle on its flank with five white sparkles around for its cutie mark. The filly holding on to it pulled the string on the back, making the doll say something like, “Reading time is fun time!” Another pull would make it say, “Let’s play homework!” Graphite knew instantly that it was a doll of Twilight Sparkle, the leader of the Ministry of Arcane Sciences.

The foals were sitting on a blanket which looked like it hadn’t been washed in the last twenty years. They sat on it either way, sitting around in a circle playing together with the doll, passing it around and giggling. They took a great joy in what seemed to be their only toy. Their only source of light to see who had the doll came from a small, dimly lit lamp in next to their blanket and a fire escape in the roof.

Graphite took a step forward, stepping on a shard of glass - startling the kids. They all gasped, one made a quick yelp, but their combined noise had Rotten jump down the fire escape. He had his gun pointed directly ahead of him and ready to defend the kids; Graphite jumped, almost going for his gun as well. Rotten took a few steps forward, coming into the light of the lamp and finally seeing that the intruder was just Graphite, “‘The fuck are you doing back here? Did Mayflower let you in?” He questioned Graphite with his usual tempered yell.

“Yes, she let me back here - I just wanted to make a proposal with you,” Graphite answered. Rotten was getting on his last nerve, but he was keeping his cool for the most part.

“What, you mean like a wedding?”

“No, I mean I wanted to ask you for a deal.”

Rotten wrapped his gun behind him, heading for the door near Graphite, “Well why didn’t you just say so? What kind of deal did you mean?”

They both went back out to the main area of the pharmacy; Rotten walked up behind the counter and Graphite met him on the opposite side, “Look, I know you guys can defend yourselves - but you don’t really seem to know how to fight bac-”

“What are you saying? We can’t manage ourselves?” He whipped his gun back out, swaying and pointing it at Graphite, “I can shoot you in the ass right now and-”

Graphite leaped forward, grabbing the twerp by the collar on his armour and pinned him down against the counter with a hard slam, “I’d like to see you fucking try!” He kept his arm wedged behind his back - his gun slipped right out of his mouth - his face was pushed against the sandbags with Graphite’s elbow.

Mayflower and Hot-Sauce were outside over-watching the roads when they heard the commotion from inside the building. They both darted for the entrance, stopping to see Rotten’s face dug deep into the cloth of the sandbags on the counter. Hot-Sauce lifted the pot from her head by the handle to see why the stallion was hurting her rescuer. The four little foals in the back room also peeked their heads through to see what was going on.

Graphite ignored the watchers, keeping all his weight down on Rotten’s head, “There’s your first lesson! Don’t be too late to pull the trigger!” He pushed down again, sending another tight pain through Rotten’s arm and face.

“Fucki- let go o- of me-” Rotten was struggling and grunting, trying to escape Graphite’s grasp.

Graphite eased back, then pushed Rotten away and into the wall behind the counter. Rotten grabbed his arm and then seared in pain.

“Looks like he got you beat, Rotten,” Mayflower snickered while trotting inside the pharmacy.

“Very fucking funny- what the hell was that for?” He screamed at Graphite.

“To show you a lesson in real fighting,” Graphite said pointing his hoof right at Rotten with a cocksure smirk on his face, “I was going teach you guys how to fight in exchange for supplies.”

“No! I don’t need no damn lessons from you!” Rotten screeched, ricocheting away from the wall and back to Graphite’s space, “We got no supplies to give to you!”

“If you’re going to survive the next slaver attack, you’re going to need to know how to defend yourselves - you can’t just shoot everything that moves-”

“-I can, because it works-”

“-No, it doesn’t-”

The two ponies went back and forth with each other, squabbling over the petty deal. Hot-Sauce and Mayflower were standing aside along with the four foals standing at the back doorway still. They shouted back at one another, their mess of words mixed together in an indiscernible mesh of babble. Rotten’s rotten temper was boiling hotter and hotter, he was ready to through punches, until Mayflower finally stepped in, “Back the fuck off you two!” She screamed, pushing the two aside.

Rotten almost pushed Mayflower out of his way, but he knew her too long to do anything to hurt her - but he still glared down Graphite. Graphite stepped back as Mayflower pushed him away, fixing his chest plate and sweeping off the dust. The young mare kept Rotten back, pushing him back a ways to keep from a fight, “Calm down, Rotten!”

“Just let me get one punch in!” Rotten yapped, still struggling with Mayflower.

“You couldn’t even reach me you runt!” Graphite hounded back.

“Don’t tempt him, Graphite!” Mayflower interceded. She lost her concentration for just a second, but that was enough to let Rotten break through her push and charge Graphite.

Graphite got caught off guard, the colt tackled him to the floor. Graphite fell to the floor, his suit hitting the floor with a clang; he grabbed the colt’s sides and threw him to the floor.

‘BANG!’

A gunshot echoed about the pharmacy. The kids screamed and began to cower; Rotten and Graphite just stopped. Mayflower was holding a police revolver with her telekinesis spell, the short barrel was smoking, and there was a newly made bullet hole in the middle of the ceiling.

“Start fighting again and I start shooting again!” Mayflower demanded, “Now knock this shit off!”

The whimpers of the children were being carried out in the background, Graphite and Rotten didn’t move a muscle, “You may not agree with Graphite - but I do - and I think he can really help us...”

Rotten jumped up, trotting towards the back door. The foals saw him coming and ran back into the inventory room. Rotten didn’t speak a word, or even bother to give a glance back, he just stormed up the ladder and back to the roof. Graphite lied on the floor, breathing out a sigh of relief and annoyance.

“I’m not letting you off the hook either...” Mayflower called out to Graphite, walking to the back room - getting no glares from her either.

She stepped into the inventory room; the sounds of the ladder clanking with her hooves climbing up the ladder told Graphite she was going up to see Rotten. Graphite finally picked himself up, staring at the empty doorway in the back. He was alone again; he could hear Rotten and Mayflower yelling at each other from up on the roof, but Graphite was stuck on the first floor with himself. He looked to his left, where he had thrown Rotten, and saw something underneath the broken tiles. He slid over to the break in the floor, and moved aside the loose tiles.

Beneath the tiles, lying just underneath the floor, was an old, wooden crate. He lifted up another tile, but ended up lifting an entire section of tiles - it was a hidden under cropping in the floor. Graphite lifted up the rest of the covering, pushing it open and letting it fall down on the opposite side. He could see whole crates and boxes of supplies and ammo. There was a large, long shaped crate labeled, ‘Foods’. The two teens were still at each other’s throats on the ceiling - there was nothing to stop Graphite from taking their supplies and booking it before they even noticed.

There was everything he needed; munitions, food, water - all the necessities and more. Graphite could make it through here to downtown with no troubles or worries -- other than the raiders and monsters. He knelt down, reaching for the box of .308 cartridges, when he heard a faint voice of a little filly just to the left of him, “What are you doing?” She asked.

Graphite turned his head; he saw Hot-Sauce staring at him with her big purple eyes, like big, plump plums straight from the branch. Graphite looked back at the supplies beneath the floor, then back at Hot-Sauce and responded, “Um, nothing...”

He reached over for the hatch, swinging it back and slamming it close on the floor. He looked over at Hot-Sauce again, her childish innocence was in a loss as to what was going on. Graphite wasn’t quite sure either - he couldn’t believe he was going to steal all these kids’ only source of food. He heard someone’s hooves clanking down the ladder steps from the back room. Mayflower came down, she seemed very annoyed to say the least. She took in a deep breath, almost immediately calming her down, “Well, Rotten’s going to be sitting your training out, but the rest of us are still looking forward to it,” Mayflower announced.

Graphite played off the finding the supplies nonchalantly, “Alright, let’s get to it - now, where to start?” Graphite pondered, then a thought popped up in his mind, “Could you show me what weapons you’ve got? That way I could understand what to teach each of you.”

“Alright,” Mayflower said and walked over to where Graphite was standing. She lifted up the hatch where the supplies were and took out the food and ammunition supplies. It seemed they had enough ammo to spare. Underneath there was a weapons cache; most of the guns were wrapped in cellophane bags to prevent the dirt and dust from getting into the weapons.

“That’s a smart move,” Graphite noted as Mayflower was lifting out guns from the pit, “But you shouldn’t hide all of your stuff in one place. Imagine if some clever raider comes in and finds all of this lying in one spot. You’d probably never see that stuff again.”

“I guess so. We’ll find some new hiding spots tomorrow,” Mayflower then turned away from the guns for a bit, “Thank you again for the lesson,”

“No problem,” Graphite said and tilted his head, “Now, show me what guns you’ve got,” He requested and walked over to the small pile of guns which were lying on the floor.

They were pistols for the most part. Some Graphite recognized almost instantly. There was a small pistol, just like his except it was matted black rather than his silver plating. It was a .45 calibre just like his; the slide was smooth, with only a few notches at the end to use as grip; the handle itself was just like Graphite’s, the wood was a just a darker shade. There was also another pistol, an odd one, but Graphite could recall seeing that gun somewhere before. The grip was rounded at the bottom, and was entirely of wood; the receiver was strange, it seemed to act like more of a rifle’s than a pistol’s - the magazine was held forward the trigger rather than inside the grip, the ejection port slid back but there was no slide, and the barrel extended out quite a ways - there was also label on the side of the gun reading “10mm”.

“And we also have this,” Mayflower interrupted Graphite’s inspection of the guns.

Graphite rose up his eyes and looked at Mayflower. She was holding a very large, dark sapphire rocket launcher - the size of a colt; it was a menagerie of long tubes, pipes, and metal plates that were clobbered together to make a beast of war; there was one large magazine at the top of the gun, it was a large panel that encased the tube of rockets; there was a shoulder guard and two metal handles that were used to keep the giant block of rockets up and pointed at the enemy. Graphite was in a general daze, he had never imagined a weapon so big could be used by one pony. An even bigger mystery was how this pack of foals and fillies found such a weapon.

“Where did you ever find this?” Graphite wondered with great surprise.

“I wouldn’t be lying if I said that this fell off a cart,” Mayflower smiled a bit, “While seeking for a place to settle down, we passed an old military convoy. Over there, we found all of the weapons we have now.”

Graphite chuckled, he still couldn’t believe these kids found a rocket launcher that just fell off a cart. He didn’t know what to say next, but Mayflower went ahead and gave the launcher to Graphite. The gun dropped into his hooves; he expected a heavy load, but didn’t think he would almost drop it when it hit his arms. He checked out the incredible weapon, looking down the length of it. He gave it one last look, then swung it over his shoulder, resting it there, and lifting it up to get a feel for it. There was a electronic optic sight that extended out as he lifted the barrel up to his view.

It popped out, the screen on the optic fizzled and buzzed for a quick second when it turned on. He looked down the sight. Inside was a type of sights which were rather usual for the rocket launchers in the army, and the screen had a yellowish tint to it. The sight probably featured a night-vision of some sort. Graphite could feel a strange feeling biting at him as he held it, unsure what it could be.

“This is quite the find, Mayflower. The weapon is new - but it can’t shake this feeling like I’ve seen it before,” Graphite said and looked over to Mayflower.

“It does? Say- um- how exactly do you know so much about weapons?”

“I was... It’s a long story,” Graphite looked down and sat down the rocket launcher on the floor, “I’ll tell it to you some other time, right now we need to teach you what you need to know about weapons,” He looked up and faced Mayflower again, “Could you please pick up the weapons - I saw an alley just right of the building, we can set up a shooting gallery over there.”

Mayflower picked up the guns, just as Graphite ordered, and headed through the back room to the alley just behind the pharmacy. She used her magic to lift the launcher up and two of the pistols; the rest, she had to carry herself since the magic was too great trying to keep the launcher up. In the meantime, Graphite started to picked up ammunition which they could use for the training. He sorted through the ammo slowly, because he needed some time to think.

Mayflower’s questions had risen a dozen more questions inside Graphite. “How did exactly he know all of this?” He thought to himself. Sure, by now he remembered what he had been taught at the boot camp, but what about the first encounter with the raiders? Was killing one of his instincts? And if so, was he about to pass it down to a bunch of little children? Graphite sat down for a bit and thought about was this really what he wanted for the kids to know. There was no guarantee that they wouldn’t attack peaceful ponies after he leaves them - after all - this was the wasteland where almost anything could happen.

After a few minutes of collecting his thoughts, he picked up all of the ammo which he needed and headed out into the back alley. The alley was a very dark corner of the streets; an old dumpster and some forgotten trash bags lay rusted and dilapidated against the wall of the adjacent building. There was a little bit of weed growth, but now they grasses and small ferns that began to grow there shriveled up and wilted over, lightly flowing in the breeze that traveled through the alley. The gusts enjoyed banding together in this one alleyway and shooting all out into the streets, giving Graphite a very relaxing breeze as he walked up to Mayflower.

He was met by Mayflower and other five cheery faces; it seems the kids had already ran out while Graphite was clamoring through the munitions. The kids were all bounding with joy - big grins on their faces as they waited for the first lesson in destruction. Graphite was joyed to see the children so happy, but a bit worried seeing that the children were so happy to be taught how to kill. He could imagine that the kids were as gleeful to learn how to murder as it was to learn to say the alphabet. They waited a long time for this moment, and it had finally arrived in the form of a young war veteran in a steel suit of armour.

The kids imagined different. They were to young to understand the concept of right and wrong, or good and bad. They didn’t know that killing another living being was a heavy burden on the killer - whether it was in cold blood or not. They just knew they were being taught something new and exciting, and couldn’t wait to get their small hooves on that rocket launcher Graphite was drooling over back at the pharmacy.

Hot-Sauce was the oldest of the foals, but she spared no less enthusiasm to learn new tricks from a stallion who could beat Rotten in a fight. She even took her cast iron helmet off to see the lesson be given. Graphite dropped the ammunition to his side, just near the guns, and stood at attention in front of the fillies and colts.

“Alright, you guys are in poor shape to be fighting off raiders, so I’m going to teach you how to properly fight,” Graphite pronounced, acting as if he was a drill sergeant -- it helped entertain the kids a little.

One of the colts didn’t laugh though, he just stood by staring deeply at Graphite. It was a small colt; his coat was a very rich and deep, dark green colour and was nicely brushed; his mane and tail were a blinding black that blended in with the shadows of the alley. Graphite noticed this little colt - he was the only one without a smile on his face - he walked up closer to him, and bent down to his eye level, “Hey there,” Graphite spoke to him in a small voice. The little colt just turned his head away from Graphite, not making a single noise.

“Don’t worry, I don’t bite,” Graphite tried reassuring the colt - to no success.

Mayflower walked up to Graphite, setting her hoof on his shoulder, “Don’t worry about Olive, Graphite; he doesn’t talk.”

“He’s just a little shy, I’m sure if-”

“-No, he won’t talk, Graphite,” Mayflower grabbed hold of chest and back, telling Graphite to stand. She brought him a few steps away from the kids, and pulled him into a whisper, “Watching your parents die is very hard on a kid...”

“I can’t imagine how painful that could be.” He replied, knowing that he couldn’t feel the same pain, he could still sympathize with the bashful colt.

“I can - I was there too. They killed his parents in front of all the slaves when word got out about our escape, ‘This is what will happen to you if you try to escape!’ That’s what the slaver said to us before taking a hatchet to their skulls...”

Graphite couldn’t respond other than a low, solemn, “Oh...”

“He still could use the lesson, so let’s get back to that... okay?”

Mayflower started her walk back to the foals’ sides, Graphite replied back as she trotted, “Okay.”

She got back to the row, patting Olive’s head just before she got back to her place. Graphite tried his cocky drill sergeant impression one more time, the kids were still in their fits of giggles over it, “Alright you little ones, our first lesson will be in gun control,” with his over-emphasized movements, he grabbed the .45 calibre pistol from the pile of guns they brought out from the pharmacy and brought to display for the kids, “We’ll start with this one.”

The foals ooh’d, their big, round eyes fixed on the pistol, “So who wants to go first,” Graphite asked the fillies and colts around. He looked around at the foals as they flapped their arms around and jumped up and down hoping to be picked; one filly seemed particularly eager - and didn’t seem to be looking in one direction. This filly - a filly with a clean pale blue coat, a light yellow mane, and sapphire coloured eyes that looked in two directions - was overjoyed to begin her training. Graphite wasn’t completely sure what to think of this one; her eyes threw him off any sort of reasonable explanation - so he chose to go with the obvious foal excitement.

Graphite stepped up to the filly, kneeling down once more to get to her eye level -- a hard thing to do when one eye was looking up while the one went down, “How about you...”

“I’m Angel Eyes!” The filly answered the question with a very sunny smile.

“Angel Eyes! I like that name - how about you go first, Angel?”

The little angel’s eyes widened even wider than they already were, her mouth opened, and her excitement was so great that they couldn’t be expressed with words - only a very sporadic nod. Graphite handed her the pistol, “Turn around and point the gun that way, I’ll tell you what to do from there.”

Graphite turned the filly himself; She grabbed the pistol with her strong bite and pointed forward. Angel Eyes was facing two cinder blocks and a some tin-cans stood up on those broken cinder blocks.

Graphite pointed towards the bent tin-cans with his hoof and instructed Angel Eyes, “Okay, you’re going to bite down as hard as you can on that handle - make sure it doesn’t come loose - and aim the end of the gun at those cans down there; got it?”

“Um, okay,” Angel responded, the gun muffling her speech.

She adjusted the handle with her teeth, pressing her forelegs down against the ground to get a good footing.

“When you’re ready, pull the trigger with your tongue.”

Angel nodded her head, using all of her concentration to focus on the tin-cans ahead of her. Her eyes strained to follow the same object, but when she thought she got a good sight on it, she extended her tongue and pulled the trigger back. The gun banged, throwing the filly’s head back and almost knocked her down on her back - the kick did make her loose grip on the gun, and it flew back behind her and hit the ground. The bullet pierced the air and traveled on through to the tin-can, hitting it on it’s edge. The can twisted violently, spinning off the cinder block and hitting the wall of the pharmacy.

Angel Eyes suddenly bounded to her hooves, looking over at the cans and blocks, “Did I get it?” She questioned, looking to see if there was any sign of a hit target.

Graphite moved over to the blocks, reaching behind them, and grabbed an old, crushed tin-can with a noticeable cut through the edge, “You got it, Angel!” Graphite shouted back to her with happiness.

The look on Angel’s face was like looking at a cute little angel from above; her smile was wide and her mouth was wide open, her eyes beamed with joy in all directions, and she was ready to jump up to the moon. She turned to the others with that same look on her face and yelled, “I got it!”

The other foals shared the same amount of joy for her, except for Olive, who was still just as silent as a lamb. Graphite was positive he wanted to jump for joy just as the others, but his trauma wasn’t going to let that happen. Graphite still had lessons to teach, and ponies to teach too, so he promised himself he would have each one of these foals in fighting condition no matter the cost.

The training would fold out with the next pony in line - the line was always set youngest to oldest. Olive was the youngest, and would usually sit the training out; it went up the line from Angel Eyes, Hot-Sauce, Gum Drop, Blankey, and ending with Mayflower. Graphite also set a training regiment of gun handling, basic gun operating, close-quarters combat, survival skills, and anything else he happen to remember they seemed like a good skill to teach the fillies and colts. His bond with the foals grew during the time of teaching, it made him feel like he was part of a big family.