After a few hours of walking along you reach the first trading post for traveling STALKERS, you approach carefully, nodding to the two stallions by the door and proceed inside, upon entry all eyes are upon you. You look around at all the different ponies, DUTY group ponies in the corner to the left of the bar look at you then continue their conversation. You approach the bar, only to be greeted by the overly enthusiastic bartender with his loud, Russian accent. "Welcome to the 'First Stop Trading Post and Bar' STALKER! What can I do for you?"  As you're about to speak up, a black coated stallion trots over, shoving you over, his bullying swagger and poor posture lead you to conclude he's probably a bandit, well that and his black leather coat with red tally-marks stitched in above the right breast pocket. "Bartender, gimme some fucking drinks!" his words are slurred and he spits all-over the bartender, you shove him back towards where he came from only to have him stumble over his own hooves and spill onto the floor. "Asshole..." is all you manage to say before a hoof catches you in the face.

You stagger back but maintain your balance, you feel the warmth of the blood dripping from your nose. One of the bandit's buddies didn't like you shoving him. You see the pony who hit you help the other to his feet, with this you charge and return the favor with a hoof of your's into his face and before the other can react a swift kick to the face sorts him out, both lay on the floor. You turn back to the bartender and ask for some vodka to which he hesitantly pours into a glass for you. As you sip the vodka you feel all eyes fall upon you again along with the familiar burn of the spirit. You finish two glasses and buy some ammo before slipping out the door and back on your way. The corruption slowly sits in as the booze hits, you feel yourself fighting to keep your wits about you. You reach the edge of the forest as dusk falls and set up a camp, with what materials you can scrounge and a lighter you found on the road you make a fire on the side of a tree facing opposite of the forest's entrance, you lay back against a tree and slowly drift into a dreamless sleep. As you awaken two things catch your attention, the first is how damned cold it is and the second is the dull pain in your head. You struggle to rise but manage to force yourself up. The cold morning air and the drifts of fog floating about in the dim light indicate that it is early morning, around 0600 hours. You stagger out towards the opposite edge of the forest after hastily and sloppily destroying your former campsite. As you weave in between the trees and through the swamps you see the edge of the forest coming into sight, your goal is in sight. Ground zero, formerly known as Ponyville.