[Tick.]

When Junge got news of his first assignment he made the mistake in assuming that it would be like the other tasks given to newbloods fresh from the Volk Youth League training. These tasks were always grunt work, ranging from cleaning the Volk Palace, to cleaning the community bathrooms, to cleaning the park, or cleaning Fort Volk, which guards Volk City from its hillside location.

No, what Junge got was news that he would be heading to the infamous Black Sun Prison; a large, Old World facility located at the edge of the city. Its massive black dome could be seen for miles, and it served as a marker for those on the sea since it sat at the edge of a fifty foot cliff with sharp rocks and rough waters at the bottom. The wall that surrounded the prison had been patched up, using anything from wood from old buildings, to metal slabs, and in some cases, vehicle parts. There was also razor wire, jagged spikes, and metal teeth fitted on to top to prevent anybody from climbing over the twenty foot wall.

With his rifle and pouches beating against his ribs, Junge ran to Black Sun from his shack out of fear of being late. After all, a task like this was not given to just any ordinary soldier of the New Ibexia Military and he did not want to ruin this with a poor first impression.

When he arrived at the gate of Black Sun, his gray uniform was damp with sweat, he was panting and his skinny legs were quivering. This was to be expected since ibexes were not runners. They could sprint just fine and use their heads to break just about anything they wanted, but running?

No.

They used guns for a reason.

No need to outrun anybody if a bullet to the leg or face could stop them.

“Relax, neues Blut. You're early,” said an old, fat ibex whose gray uniform barely fit around his bloated frame.

It actually disgusted Junge to see a fat ibex, but held his tongue. Partially because he respected his elders, partially because Fatso outranked him if his “R-3” patch gave any indication, and partially because any mouthing off would send him cleaning the community bathroom. He'd rather get shot than do that.

“R-1 Junge reporting as ordered, sir,” said Junge, forcing himself to stand straight and suck in air so his shriveled lungs and cracked throat will get something to nourish them.

“Yeah, yeah, very nice. Glad you're here, nice bullshit stuff,” said Fatso. “Do you smoke?”

Junge shook his head. “No, sir.”

“Damn it. Nobody smokes anymore. Ah well, follow me.”

Fatso led Junge to the gate, which was made of recycled rebar and steel slabs, and while the young ibex stayed put, Fatso went to an armored booth.

“Kid's early, let us in,” said Fatso.

The guard on the other side nodded and hit a buzzer. Moments later, there was a grinding and someone shouting for unseen workers (probably prisoners) to go faster. Gradually the gate lifted up, and when it was high enough Fatso motioned Junge to follow him. The two slipped underneath the danging steel bars and silently walked towards the main structure. Pockets of shrapnel, bullet holes and general wear have ruined the once black -now gray- wall, and in front of the main door was a statue of an ibex standing on top of a rock, hoof curled to hold a flag long gone.

“Keep up,” ordered Fatso.

Junge hurried his pace, and Fatso once again stood in front of an armored booth.

“You're early,” said the guard on the other side.

“Blame the kid,” said Fatso.

“Nah. I'll thank him. Anything to make you miserable.”

“Well, fuck you, too.”

The guard chuckled and pushes a button, causing an old bell to buzz and for the metal door in front of Junge to slide out of view. When it hit its mark, a bang echoed down an aged concrete halls and the two ibexes start their march, passing empty cells and bored guards.

After going through a maze of empty cells, derelict halls, and old doors, Fatso stops in front of a steel door marked “3-26” and peers inside. He lets out a satisfied huff and looks back at Junge.

“Now listen here, Junge, this is a very important task. We need to keep a special eye on this one. As per orders by Chancellor Volk himself,” said Fatso.

Junge's jaw dropped slightly and Fatso nodded.

“Yeah, he's scheduled to be executed two days from now,” said Fatso. "Standard method, not so standard reason."

“What's he being executed for?” asked Junge.

“The Higher-Ups didn't say. Just watch him closely until your replacement comes. Not that anybody will come for him, but he is not exactly right in the head. He is a bit crazy.”

Junge nodded, suppressing a gulp, and Fatso pushed open the door and the two walked into a small jail room with a guard leaning against the wall, half asleep. When he saw the two enter, he stood up to crack his back.

“You're free to go,” said Fatso.

“Finally,” grumbled the guard as he shuffled out of the room, and while Fatso closed the door, Junge approached prisoner.

He was more than surprised to see that caged in front of him, laying on a dirty cot and rubbing his pocket watch in stiff motions was a sweaty, grime covered brown earth pony with his long, dark mane partially covering his dead eyes. Scars covered his brown body, from head to rump, all ranging from bullet wounds, to stabbings, burns, shrapnel, and so on, including a chunk of his ear missing. There were even patches of his coat missing and three gashes covering his watch cutie mark.

“Him and his damn watch,” said Fatso. “Your job is pretty simple, Junge. Just watch him until your replacement comes in tomorrow, and make sure he doesn't try anything funny. The execution is going to be private, with Chancellor Volk, the Circle, and the firing squad, which you're going to be part of. As am I.”

Junge's eyes snapped to his superior. "What? But, sir, I've never-"

"Relax," said Fatso, "executions are a breeze. He'll be tied, shot, buried, and then you can go home and have soup or something."

The pony's hoof froze and he looked at the two ibexes out of the corner of his eye, and they stared back. Junge's mouth goes dry and his knees felt weak, but the pony eventually looked back at his watch. Indifferent.

“What did he do?” asked Junge.

Fatso shrugged. “Don't know. Chancellor Volk wants him executed for treason. Odd since he was one of the Heroes of New Ibexia.

“Is... Is that Clock?”

“Yeah, Meris Clock the Exile. The official story will be that he died of his injuries, and his execution will be very hush-hush with any slips of the tongue leading to unfortunate accidents, if you know what I mean.” Fatso then patted Junge on his shoulder and left the room, saying: “He's all yours for the day. Have fun.”

Once the door slammed shut, a lock clicked and Junge felt his heart fall into his stomach. He rushed to the door and peered out the peephole to see his superior walking away, and as soon as he was out of sight, Junge sighed and looked at the pony. His eyes stay glued to his watch for a few more seconds before he shoved it under his pillow.

“Another executioner for me?” he says distantly.

Junge nodded slowly and sat in the chair the previous guard used, being sure to keep his eyes on the floor, and Meris rested his head on his pillow, turning his back to the nervous ibex. They were silent for a few minutes before Junge mustered up the courage to speak.

“Why are you in here?” he asked curiously.

Meris was silent and unmoving, but Junge could hear his labored breaths. Despite the silent treatment, he still kept his eyes on the prisoner, finding it hard to believe that the defeated pony was one of the Heroes of New Ibexia.

“Why do you want to know why I'm here?” asked Meris.

“I just want to know how someone like you got on Chancellor Volk's bad side. You did help him liberate us, didn't you?” said Junge.

Meris flipped on his cot to face Junge. “Yeah, I helped him. I helped everyone here, and this is the way I am repaid.”

“Why would he do this to you, though?”

“Personal reasons.” Meris sat up on his cot and grabbed his pocket watch.

Junge noticed that it was damaged with gold and silver plating that had an apple tree etched on it. Meris popped the watch open and its broken ticking echoed in room.

Meris bowed his head, and in a low voice he says: “I guess all this really was only a matter of time. I already lost everything but my life, and that is soon to go. I lost my friends, my family and the war we fought was in vain. My friends, your 'Heroes', their deaths will be meaniingless because people like you are so eager to kill yourselves.”

Junge looked down, and Meris sighed, closed his watch and curled on his bed. Silence fell in the room, again. After some moments, Junge looked at Meris, who was still lying on his cot, waiting to die.

“You do know Chancellor Volk will bring civilization back, right? He'll restore Ibexia and unite her, Bernese and all the ibex nations together under one banner, like before the Great War. Shouldn't that be a call for praise?” said Junge.

Meris sighed. “Sweet Berry wanted to rebuild the Macintosh Hills and Ms. Gold had the same goals at Volk.”

“We are different from Gold!”

“Oh really? Do tell, Herr Junge.”

“Gold only had her interest at heart. Volk has the interest of our nation, our people, at heart. Gold cared about her throne. Volk respects the Office of the Chancellor.”

Meris shifted his position. “Do you honestly believe that Volk cares about you? Or anything good in this world?”

“Yes!”

“Well, I got news for you, he doesn't. There is no good left fighting for, anyway.”

“Yes there is!” snaps Junge. “Volk and the Restoration Party are examples of good!”

Meris shook his head. “No. You are so desperate for hope that you traded one devil for another.”

“Why don't you trust them? Why don't you believe in good anymore?”

“Maybe its because your people put me here after my friends and I died for them."

Junge was silent, and Meris sniffed and flopped on the cot, belly up so he could stare at the cracks in the ceiling.

"I was naive like you, once," he said. "Well, maybe not as naive, but I wanted to believe that there was good. But the good I saw died. Good left. Good was shot, stabbed, beheaded, incinerated, bled out, burned, drowned, you name it. Good does not last long in this world. In time you'll see that.”

Junge swallowed. "I'm really sorry about what happened to your friends, but I see good every day. Its not dead, and I'm sure you will find happiness on the other side."

Meris groaned and covered his eyes. "Good's not dead, says the kid who hasn't seen shit."

"I've seen plenty!" said Junge defensively.

Meris looke at him, frowning skeptically. "And you still believe in good?"

Junge nods.

Meris scoffed and looked away. "Bullshit."

Junge frowned. "You don't have to be rude about this."

"You're going to put a bullet in me very soon. I think I'm allowed to be rude to you."

"At least I'm talking to you."

"...That's true."

Silence came between them, once again leaving the broken ticking to fill the void, and after a few minutes of this, and the awkwardness that is tethered to it, Junge sighed and glanced at Meris to see him once again studying his watch.

"So," began Junge slowly. "Do you want me to tell me why you are here?"

"This again?" said Meris.

"I'm curious, is all."

Meris hummed, but makes no signs of speaking further, and after some seconds pass, Junge took a deep breath and approached the cage.

“Look, you don't have much time left, and when you die, all we will hear is what Volk has to say, but I want to know your side of the story," said Junge. "I want to know why a Hero of New Ibexia is here. Why was Meris Clock put on a secret execution?... Why do you believe there is no good left?"

"If you repeat my story, then you'll be in big trouble," said Meris.

"I'll keep it to myself."

"No you won't. Stories are meant to be shared and you'll probably go blabbing all this to your parents or friends, and then they will all get in trouble."

"Let me worry about that. Just tell me why I have to kill you. What do you have to lose anyway?”

Meris looked at Junge, and he stared back at the pony.

“Okay,” says Meris, “you want to hear a story, have a seat.”

Junge pulled his seat forward and sat in front of the cage, and Meris leaned forward, eyes focused on the ibex in front of him.

“Before I tell you my story, there is something you must understand,” began Meris. “The Wasteland breeds heroes and villains, alike, but the problem is that the Wasteland is where heroes go to die. Heroes do not last long out there. That place changes us for the worst. It brings out the demons we never thought we had and it takes away everything we hold dear. Heroes are just a blink, but villains remain. Hell, I'm a villain, now, so if you want to keep the rosy thoughts of who I am intact, then now is a great time to stop this. But if you really want to hear my story, then pay close attention for I will not be able to repeat myself.”