Road Gangs: Ray Part II

The only thing worse than the pain was the stench that filled Faust's nostrils as he hung neck-deep in an artificial pool of human waste and old vehicular fluids recycled beyond further use. He was sure that the lash marks he had received upon imprisonment would likely become infected, and he dreaded the thought of sickness as he rotted away in whatever hole they would throw him in.

He watched as maggots squirmed about in the waste below his chin, inducing his gag reflex but without actually vomiting yet. He forced himself to look upward and ahead of him, blocking out realization of what he was partially submerged in. Though, the smell and the swarms of flies crawling on him made it incredibly difficult.

He had an audience staring at him like an animal. They bore resemblance to medieval barbarians dressed in improvised battle armor and skin-tight rubber and leather, enough to conceal and protect privacy and faces, but not so much as to prevent the rest of their skin from breathing in the desert heat.

Weapons were almost unidentifiable thanks to handfuls of odd modifications done to them. He could spot the obvious "shapes" of some various Kalashnikov assault rifles and what he thought were SPAS-15 auto-shotguns, but that was all he could assume. They also had plenty of knives and swords, possibly forged from scavenged metal found in the wasteland.

A man ahead sat in a shredded armchair atop a hill made from piles of metal drums, as if it were his mighty throne. He wore a heavily-modified bondage suit with armor improvised from broken car parts and a goaltender mask with welding goggles covering over the eye holes. Behind him were two "guardsmen" fanning him off with rakes draped with thin seat covers.

A much taller and stockier man stood nearby to his left, with muscles so mighty as if to tear through his leather clothing. He too wore a goaltender mask, except his was a much later kind with a cage over his face instead of completely concealing it.

The man in the "throne" made a slight gesture. Faust found himself yanked out from the filth by a construction crane, but stopping just a few feet above the pool.

"I am Overdog." The man said in a nightmarishly deep and raspy voice. "Leader of the Zone Ravagers. You will not speak unless told to. You will not insult me. You will obey my every command, or you will be put to death in the most painful way imaginable. Do you understand?"

Faust made a weary sound as he attempted a nod that seemed to remain in the confinement of his mind.

"I take your grunt as an agreement. Very good. Now, what is your name?"

Faust did not answer and only stared blankly.

"Your name! I asked you what your name was."

He still did not answer, and instead watched at the corner of his left eye as a barbarian picked up a flamethrower, igniting the muzzle. He shot a very small fireball past his arm, just enough for pain to register and force him to speak. "Faust! Richard Faust!"

"Good. We are making progress. Now tell me, where are you from? What gang are you a part of?"

He took a deep breath, preparing to recite information in the way he had been taught for situations exactly like this. "Lieutenant-Major Richard Faust, 500th Phantom Raid-... Royal Equestrian Defence Force! Serial Five-One-Zero-Eight-..."

"Stop! Repeat that first part again!"

"Lieutenant-Major Richard Faust! Royal Equestrian Defence F-..."

The man bolted from his throne. "Don't fuck with me! Repeat what you first said!"

Faust cursed at himself for speaking so foolishly. He knew what his previous affiliation with the Raiders would bring upon himself, but now he had no choice but to give these barbarians the information. "500th Phantom Raiders Division."

Overdog slowly stepped down from his mountain of drums and made his way closer to Faust in an eerily slow pace. "At last. We have a Phantom Raider in our captivity. I've waited so many long and agonizing years to finally have one of you in my clutches!"

"I'm no longer affiliated with that unit!" Faust dismissed the thought of punishment for speaking out of the agreement.

"Lies! One can not simply sever affiliation with a faction so mighty as the Raiders of legend!"

"I swear on my head! I no longer work for them! The Raiders have been defeated about three years ago by a powerful race indigenous to these lands called Equestrians! I am now a part of their military faction, the Royal Equestrian Defence Force!"

"The Raiders of legend are told to be so powerful as to be nearly impossible to defeat, because nothing has ever matched their devastating firepower! Unfortunately, not even my mighty band of Zone Ravagers."

"The Equestrians have been thriving off of our land for over thousands of years after the apocalypse had nearly wiped the human race off the globe. Their power in numbers render us insignificant, even the late Raiders or your precious Ravagers combined!"

"Surely you don't mean the talking animals that we've captured by your side!"

"I do. As far as I can tell, they are the new sole inhabitants of our world. They're picking up where we left off... where we failed. Successors to our existence. And they're doing a finer job than we ever could."

"Me and my band of Ravagers have been roaming these lands for over thirty-five years, and you're telling me that the whole time our planet has been run by an equine species spawned from the apocalypse, yet not once have we come across these beings in our travels?"

"I've been with the Raiders even longer than that, and we haven't even heard of them until just a few years ago. It seems a great deal of the world is still undiscovered to them, therefore resulting in a lack of contact with us."

"How do you expect me to believe such a fantastic story?"

Faust knew the obvious answer was to interrogate the intelligent ponies in isolation for his proof, but he did not wish for them to undergo the possible torture that would be endured for information to be extracted should they resist, so he immediately came up with an alternative. "Why don't you just travel south of the oil wells you've captured? There you'll find the Equestrian borders. That should be proof enough."

At least this meant a possible confrontation with the patrols, thus leading to a conflict that would destroy his captors and allow him and his REDF team escape from their clutches. That is, if he and his team were actually taken with them. All he could do was hope and pray the scenario played out like he imagined.

"Ah, but whether what you say is genuine or not, you and your so-called Equestrians are not as mighty or clever as you think. My proof? Your captivity in my hands! No, we will not fall for whatever trap you have planned for us. We will interrogate your little equine friends, and if their stories do not match your fantastic tale... well, just pray all goes in your favor. You will find with time that we are not such a forgiving clan."

The plans immediately unraveled, but Faust still found amusement in the last sentenced and snorted in response. "I believe you."

"Take him to the cage and prepare the 'ash room' for one of the talking animals." He walked away from Faust and disappeared into one of the industrial structures nearby.

Faust was swung by the crane and released onto hot, dry earth with a painful crash that nearly broke his bones. He was picked up by two of the barbarians who proceeded to drag him across the desert sand, towards another section of the industrial structure.

The two barbarians threw Faust into the large cage constructed in the depths of some kind of factory floor, but just at the edge of a blown-out wall that gave them a spectacular view of the large settlement outside.

The cage appeared to be a mess of steel objects intertwined and welded together. Spiked protrusions aligned the interior, preventing prisoners from reaching through the gaps in the metal. Some of the spikes appeared rusted and caked with old blood, a sign of use long before holding Faust and his team.

The two barbarians slammed the cell door shut and locked it, then proceeded down a junction through old machinery, disappearing behind a corner. They were certainly not gone, however, as their footsteps sounded as if they stopped abruptly behind the obstruction.

There were only five of Faust's team left, huddling and leaning close together for support so they would not accidentally lean against the sharp walls. Luckily the sunlight was at an angle to where the building interior casted a cool shadow over them, but later in the evening would be quite an uncomfortable, if not painful, experience as they wait for the sun to finally go down.

The first REDF soldier was a Celestial Guardsman named Rockwell. He was a strong-looking unicorn that still held stern determination. It was obvious that he ran escape plans through his mind as his eyes darted aimlessly around the cell.

The second Celestial Guardsman was Mirage, a smaller earth pony with a stern look equal to Rockwell's behind special eyeglasses, but he only stared at the floor. He was the team's explosive expert and electrician, not strictly combat-oriented. He would not know the first thing about escaping confinement unless a hole was made for him.

Leaning behind Mirage was Borgward, a buff Lunar Guardsman with a terribly jagged manecut. He was also an earth pony, and a shivery one at that. He was probably the most frightened of the group, eyes darting around like Rockwell's, but in utter fear instead figuring out logical escape scenarios.

Opposite of him was another earth pony, a Lunar Guardsman called Dassault. He seemed the more accepting stallion of the five ponies, in complete surrender to what was happening to him. He was zen, and he felt fine. Life, death, or a world of pain, he was ready for what came for him.

The fifth and final survivor was a female Celestial unicorn named Silverspade. She was more difficult to read out of the five, but she was most likely closer to Rockwell's state of mind. Though, she was extremely patient, resulting in a relatively calm attitude similar to Dassault's. Perfect for her role as the team's dedicated sniper.

All of them backed away from Faust in abhorrence of his powerful stench and did what they could to keep the smell from dwelling before their senses.

"Good Celestia, Faust, what happened to you?" Silverspade choked.

He shrugged. "I got dumped."

"Helluva time for humor."

"It's the only thing keeping me sane right now. That and some sliver of hope that Ray or the REDF might be hatching a plan to lift us out of here." Faust scooted closer to them, despite their obvious aversion. "Listen, one of you guys are going to be interrogated by Overdog. I don't know if it's just one of you, all of you, or all done one at a time, but the point is he wants answers, and he's going to get them no matter how much you resist."

"What do you suggest we do?" Rockwell asked.

"Remember what you were taught at REDF Basic. Name, rank, serial. Optionally, branch of service. Only what he needs to know. Nothing more, alright? Resist, but try not to make it look like you're resisting."

Rockwell glanced at the other group in disbelief of the plausibility in Faust's plan.

"I know it's crazy, but I can't guarantee anything. I don't even know what the 'ash room' is. You just have to trust my judgment as a soldier."

"Have you been imprisoned like this before?" Silverspade suddenly asked.

He paused for a moment, recalling events in his life. "Once, yeah, by a small gang in suburban ruins somewhere north. About thirty, thirty-five years ago from now. Typical wasteland radicals like these guys, but nowhere near their numbers. This was back in the day when Tolwin's father was leader of the Phantom Raiders.

I was part of a small patrol squad ordered to scope out the surrounding locations of our basecamp. One of three. We encountered the gang in some city plaza, looked like they had just recently dug in. Our group was just three light technicals with about five men each, so we were still outnumbered and ended up in a grizzly firefight. I and a couple of others were all that survived and we were taken to these pits that were dug out in the ground. Had some kind of metal mesh at the top that were held down by concrete blocks they would roll over them, which prevented us from flipping it open if we climbed to the top."

"How long were you down there?"

"Just a couple of days. Sometimes they would throw roadkill in there for us to eat, but I managed to wait it out. Also, it turns out we weren't the only ones in there. They had taken a couple of other prisoners before us and they pretty much told us what they knew about the gang. They weren't gang or faction members themselves, just some drifters they happened to intercept. I made the mistake of becoming friendly with them."

Silverspade tilted her head in curiosity. "Why was it a mistake?"

Faust looked into her eyes, then down at the floor without saying a word. His expression was obvious that he was holding back something tragic. Something so terrible that it haunted him to the point of turning such a dignified man to a crumbling mass of sorrow.

"You got close to one of them, didn't you?" It was much less a shot in the dark and more of a logical guess.

Faust took a deep breath before continuing. "Her name was Arielle. She was a scavenger native to the area long before the gang found her, apparently. She was so young and beautiful, with such an amazing smile and an admirable sense of humor. They say in the wastelands that love is a rarity, and love at first sight is a myth. But I'll tell you, just the first few hours together made history for us. By god, we were in there only a couple of days! But it felt so right. Like it was meant to be.

And then we got rescued by the rest of the faction. Long story short, it was quite a battle that ended in the gang getting obliterated and us regaining freedom. Unfortunately, Arielle was caught in crossfire when we were sprung." He took a moment to clear his throat and swallowed hard.

Silverspade put a hoof on his shoulder.

"I swore to myself to never fall in love with anyone ever again, no matter what. But that one moment changed my life forever, and it never leaves me. Not since the death of my parents have I felt so empty. Alone."

She smiled. "But you're not alone anymore. We're all here for you."

Faust became uneasy as soon as she cradled herself near his stomach. He did not know what to do but stare at her, taking glances at the uninterested group. He decided to stroke her mane in response, hoping it was an appropriate enough display of appreciation. "I suppose so."

The door to the cage screeched open and collided with the metal construction, making way for the two barbarians.

"You!" one of them shouted, pointing at Rockwell with their weapons. "Come with us. Now."

He hesitated, but crawled to his hooves, finding himself forcefully escorted out of the cage.

"Remember what I said!" Faust shouted to him, just as the door shut with a loud "CLANG!"

Rockwell scanned his surroundings as he was escorted through the depths of this ancient industrial structure, recording as much of the layout as he possibly could, while keeping count of the guards that stood watch around the corridors.

One particular doorway down one of the corridors caught his eye. It was spray-painted with the word "Garage", indicating a possible location for their vehicles. He was already forming a plan based on this, but he knew not to execute it yet.

They were now on another factory floor, walking towards a giant chamber installed at the center of the building. Next to it was Overdog and two of his "royal guards".

"Welcome to the ash room, little pony." He greeted.

"And what is this 'ash room'?"

"I've been told the proper name is an 'incendiary chamber', but others have disagreed with the validity. It was I who coined the simpler term to avoid future confusion. Basically it is a controlled furnace used for melting down industrial metals. This is what we've been using to forge most of our conventional weapons and ammunition."

It was obvious as to why he was taken here, but he decided to clarify anyway. "So you want me to get in there?"

"Yes. This chamber also serves as my interrogation room. You will tell me what I want to know, no pitiful excuses. Failure to do so will result in the rise of the chamber's temperature, to a point where you will either be deprived of oxygen or completely incinerated. Though, I suppose we could utilize it for our third use."

"And what would that be?"

He snorted. "Well, we've been without a decent meal for many months. In the meantime we've had to resort to trapping rodents found in the factory floor, and when they ran out, we had to resort to... well, lets just say it was a feast that caused lives of a few of my most faithful warriors. You will be quite a wonderful change of pace."

Rockwell retained his determined look, but his heart was sinking at the thought of such a dreadful death. He knew he had to act before entering the chamber, or his only chance of escape would be lost indefinitely.

"What makes you think I'll cooperate?"

"You're a bold little one, I must say. Do the trained muzzles of my warriors' firearms not intimidate you in the slightest?"

He grinned. "Of course not."

In an instant, Rockwell bucked the barbarian to his left into nearby machinery, knocking him unconscious, while he then rammed his horn through the chest of the one to his right, stealing the unslung assault rifle in the process.

Overdog's guardsmen raised there weapons and opened fire, just as Rockwell leapt and rolled to cover behind another mass of machinery.

"After him!" Overdog shouted, prompting his guardsmen to chase after the escaping pony.

Rockwell emerged from an unexpected location behind the machines and opened fire, mostly to cover his escape through the mechanical maze than to actually hit anyone.

Overdog took no chances and fled from the factory floor, leaving his guardsmen to face the battle.

Rockwell found access to a catwalk that stretched across the factory floor and slowly crept along it, watching as the guardsmen below scrambled the machinery in search for him. One of them separated and traveled just underneath where he was. He took the opportunity to drop from the catwalk and land onto the guardsman, killing him from the shock of his unprotected head slamming against the concrete floor.

The other guardsman emerged from a row of machines in the distance and spotted them, opening fire, and thus cueing Rockwell to dive behind a steel pillar for cover.

The corridor from which he was escorted could be seen on the other side of a row of factory machines, close enough for him to sprint to if he timed his escape right.

He could hear the guardsman shouting curses as he reloaded his weapon, dropping the spent magazine to the floor. Perfect window of opportunity. Rockwell spun from cover and fired at the guardsman, who apparently took cover behind a similar steel pillar in anticipation of such an attack. He then galloped to the row of machines and exited through the main corridor.

Adrenaline rushed through his system as he forced himself behind a duct that concealed him from what sounded like the guardsman running towards the corridor. And surely it was as he leapt into view with his gun ready. Slowly he stepped down the sandy floor as he eventually passed Rockwell hidden behind the duct.

Rockwell used this moment to hit the back of his head with his weapon, then continue his escape down the corridor.

Coming across one particular accessway, one guard happened to walk straight into his view, with Rockwell leaping into the air and kicking him to the ground before he could register the threat. Once on the ground he spotted two new men down the accessway, preparing their weapons to fire.

Rockwell rolled to cover behind the opposite corner and shot his weapon at them, successfully killing the two. With access to the "garage" door now available to him, he quickly galloped down the accessway and bashed through the doorway.

He now found himself in a vast warehouse among rows and rows of post-apocalyptic wasteland machines, many of them with keys still in their ignitions thanks to their careless owners. He chose one particular sandrail FAV parked nearest him and leapt into the driver's seat. Now realizing that the large doors ahead were open, allowing others to witness his theft of the vehicle and his daring escape, he quickly started it up and and sped out of the warehouse, kicking up dirt like a sandstorm.

Gunfire flew from all different directions as he traveled through the outside perimeter of the gang's hideout, forcing him to keep his head low to avoid being hit. Unfortunately this obscured his view, thus resulting in occasional scrapes against various structures and running over small objects in his way.

He could spot the prisoners' cage in the second level of the industrial structure ahead overlooking the area. Faust and the others could be seen cheering on his escape. Or, at least, that is what it looked like to him.

"Don't worry!" Rockwell shouted, not sure if they could hear him. "I'll be back with help! Just hang in there!"

He circled around and found a clearer area that lead to the gateway out of the hideout. The gate itself was not a likely exit due to the many guards surrounding it, and the fact it was constructed of a school bus covered in large metal spikes.

Instead he found what appeared to be Overdog's empty throne atop a mountain of drums, just along the confining concrete barriers. He mashed the accelerator to the floor and headed straight for it, using it as a ramp to fly successfully over the wall and into the dunes outside.

Rockwell braced himself as he impacted the dirt, carefully correcting his wheels as not to collide with the rubble that blocked him from accessing the main road. It was suspicious to him how easy his escape was, and that the gunfire seemed to have stopped now that he was outside of the hideout. But it did not matter now. Just over the elevation of the dunes ahead and he was free, for the Equestrian borders were only two miles away. Nothing could prevent his advance now.

Until he ran his front wheels over something small and metallic hidden in the dirt.

The explosion shocked the hearts of the prisoners as they watched its dusty fireball blast the small FAV into oblivion, scattering its flaming pieces across what they now realized was a minefield surrounding the hideout.

Silverspade screamed Rockwell's name with denials of his demise, collapsing in a sobbing mess as the others watched helplessly through their confinement.

"We're never getting out of here." Borgward mumbled as he turned away from the terrible sight.

The rest followed him, gathering around the floor trying to digest what had happened. But alas, the shock still yet overcame them.