Vitia's Tale, Part 2: Wasteland 101

Author’s Notes:

This is part two of the side story that chronicles the life of Vitia before the main story in Medicine & Mail. It is not required reading for the main story, but is meant to provide additional background information for her.

Rating: Teen

Contains: Blood; Gore (decapitation, disembowelment, dismemberment); Strong language; Light sexual content; Violence.

Genres: Action, Dark

Vitia’s Tale, Part Two

Wasteland 101

“Ain’t nothin’ worse than relyin’ on strangers f’r help.

Most simply can’t, won’t risk it, or just don’t want to.”

The dusty outcropping of the cliffside served me little to keep the ragged desert heat away, but it was still shaded, and after walking the cracked roadway for hours in the severe sun, it almost felt cool.

More importantly than that, though, it was off the road.

Being off the road meant I could spot travelers first, and meant I could hide from the few small bands of raiders that might come through. I hadn’t seen any, but I wasn’t willing to risk it.

I kept a half-closed eye on the road that stretched far across the rolling desert, disappearing into cliffs in both directions, breathing shallow breaths, hoping to conserve the little internal moisture I had left. I knew people traveled to Desert’s Edge, so surely, soon, one of those bands would come by.

And if by the goddesses’ grace they would part with some water, I might survive another day.

Sooner, rather than later, I hoped.

The dry throat, lethargy, and numbness that started in my hooves and tail were the first signs that I was in trouble. I had managed to stave off the encroaching symptoms by chewing on a meaty cactus pods, emulating the survival tactics of some traveler’s story, but it left my jaw tired and I didn’t feel any less thirsty.

I eyed the mulch of the pod from the small spot of shade and was tempted to take the tattered piece once more, if only to convince my mind that it was bringing much-needed nourishment to me, but a small trail of sandbugs crawled around it. I wasn’t quite so bad off I was willing to crunch on them for a drop of moisture.

I sighed, scooting a few inches over to stay in the dwindling shade as the late afternoon sun made its way across the sky. A pinch in my side reminded me of that pocket’s contents: three empty inhalers. They had been the last of my Dash supplies, back in Desert’s Edge.

Based on the intense throbbing of my head when I first came to consciousness, I pieced together what little I could from the details I couldn’t remember: I was in town, fretting over Silver, again, and took a hit on one, then another. The memories became vague at that point then blanked completely. I had a Dash-out, and the next thing I knew, I was in the desert, without supplies.

Not my best plan.

Originally, as soon as I noticed I was without water, I had intended on returning to town. If there had been any fighting, I’d return to my duties as Brightmane’s assistant, and follow through the promise I made to Silver, the one that kept me in town despite the constant want to chase after the silky mare. But if not, then at least I could get supplies and head out. After all, there were only two gates that led from the town, and if I had only been out that night and most of the next morning, I doubt I could have made it that far.

But I didn’t know where I was. I’d never left the junction, and everything looked the same around me. Did I head north? Or did I exit to the west? Both directions twisted and turned through canyons around the town, and I was in a flat area, apparently many miles either way.

It’s always a pisser, these last few miles, one merchant had told me, many years ago, there’s just nothing, nothing, nothing! Heat and dirt and rocks and brahmin shit, but nothing. Then, suddenly, you round a bend and there’s Desert’s Edge. Always a sore sight.

After realizing that I was hopelessly lost, the next idea had been to just continue through the noon heat. Eventually I’d run into civilization. Any direction I went, every road led to a settlement. Or raiders. And if it did, I’d be dead before I could even scream. I couldn’t fight my way out of a wet paper sack, and they would have weapons.

No, I decided, it’d be safer to play more conservatively. Keep to myself, stay off the road, and keep an eye out for travelers that might lend a hoof.

Would they?

My mind was suddenly filled with bits of words from travelers and merchants and caravanners, and they all echoed the same sentiments at some point: Never trust strangers.

I crawled out from my hiding spot. The evening had begun to settle and wisps of wind were helping to break the stifling heat.

I’d not get anywhere if I didn’t move.

On top of the hill, I could see for miles all around. In the great distance, along the horizon, mountains splayed out in all directions. Between my perch and them, in the waning evening light, I could barely make out ravines, arid open areas, and a number of other small, rocky hills like the one I was standing on.

But no towns. No lights. There was a faint glow along the horizon, which I had assumed must be home to pony life. I’d have to go in that direction, whichever it was.

As I made my descent, I heard the distinctive sound of conversation. It was close, but I couldn’t make out the words. I craned my large ears and strained, making out three voices, at least, and a jingle, like a bell.

I chewed on a dusty cactus pad I had picked hours prior. Any moisture it contained had long since been pressed from it, and all that was left was a bitter flavored mulch, but the simple act of chewing on it kept my mind from the increasingly-distressing thirst that had kept building and now bordered on overwhelming. Oh please be friendly, I whimpered.

I crouched behind a rock and a bush near the overhang of the road in its small arroyo just below. A small light shone from the direction of the voice, and teetered this way and that, casting long shadows against the dark rocky surface.

The group beyond the light slowly began to come into view. First was a two-headed beast, with a harness wrapped around it. A bell dinged with each of its ponderous steps. It wasn’t the size of Greenhooves, I figured, but it was certainly larger than any pony I knew. And it was hard to make out in the weak light, but the creature had a distinctively…dull look on both of its faces.

Oh, brahmin. I let out the breath I didn’t realize I had been holding. I had heard of them, but never seen one, and never did any story include them in their descriptions when it involved raiders.

I was beginning to feel hopeful.

The brahmin was pulling a small wagon with a flickering lamp on it. The lights inside it buzzed and moved, twitching on and off. Sitting just to the side of the lamp was a pony, and two others walked behind the wagon. Behind the two was a wide-set earth pony with two massive rifles in the largest battle saddle I had seen.

I waited, crouched. They didn’t look like bad ponies. I had seen traders much like this. The battle-saddle pony was probably hired protection.

The small group made its way underneath me unaware, and I spotted several large jugs that sported the Desert’s Edge logo. I was familiar with those—they held water!

I spat the mulch-pod out and hopped down into the ravine a few feet behind the earth pony. At the sudden sound, he spun around and leveled one of his rifles inches from my face.

I squeaked and shrank back, nearly breaking into a gallop, tripping over myself. “Wait, wait!” I cried out.

“Oh what th’ hell is this?” The mare that asked the question came into my view, silhouetted against the lightbug lamp, hiding her features.

“I’m not a raider!” I yelled. “Please don’t shoot me!”

A high-pitched laugh-scream came from a smaller pony that came around the other side of the mare.

“What’s goin’ on back there?” The pony steering the wagon pulled the reins taught and hopped off. “Who’s a raider now?” he asked, coming into view, though like the other three, his features were hidden in shade. Only their outlines were visible to me from the light of the lamp.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Th’ fuck you want, filly?” The mare spat the words.

“Uh,” I squeaked. “Water.”

Everypony but the one with the battle saddle, his gun still pointed directly at my face, laughed. “Why don’t you ask for the moon, too?”

Nothing in the Wasteland is ever free, I remember a merchant telling me. Nopony does things for nothin’, not out there. I thought, what did I possibly have to trade? I left Desert’s Edge with no supplies, and had nothing of value.

“Well?” The elder stallion tapped his hoof on the rock. “Ain’t ya gonna tell us why y’ think y’ need some o’ our water and why we shouldn’t just shoot ya dead right here?”

The last words brought panic, and I stuttered broken words trying to form anything coherent that might work.

The mare walked around me slowly, and as she turned into the light, I could make out some of her features. Her coat was a dingy, earthen ochre, and her mane was tattered and in terrible condition. She nodded, and a wicked smile revealed dirty brown teeth. “She might be worth somethin’, pa.”

The older stallion nodded. “What do you say to that, huh? Want to sell yourself for a sip of water?”

“Reckon she’ll get us a nice sack o’ caps at The Pens,” the mare laughed, “Or hell, maybe even th’ fuckin’ ghouls would pay for a nice, fresh fleshie.”

“What? No, I—I have something.” I was searching for words. I didn’t want to be sold! But what did I have? Empty Dash inhalers? My medical overcoat? I didn’t want to part with that—not because of its value, but because of the sentimental value of years of its use, the only gift from Brightmane. My throat scratched and head pounded, screaming at me for being so thirsty.

“I’ll trade you my coat for some water.”

“Hmm,” the elderly stallion hummed.

The mare broke in, impatience in her voice, “Y’ aren’t seriously considerin’ takin’ that dingy coat for it, are ya?” Then, in a hushed voice I figured not intended for me, “She’s desperate, bet she would sell her own snatch fer a sip.”

The stallion waved her off. “Fine, your coat, saddle, and everything in ’em, and we’ll give ya some water.”

I hesitated for a moment. I wasn’t sure if I could wait much longer for any water, and part of me wondered if the merchants would be upset knowing that I held literally nothing else of value on me. Perhaps he expected something from the bag that sat empty on my back.

“Well, do ya need th’ water or what?”

“Fine.” A snippet of advice came to mind, and I repeated it. “Give me some water first, then I’ll give you the coat. And the saddle.”

The stallion laughed. “Post, get ’er a canteen.”

The mare snorted, then rummaged through the crates on the wagon. She tossed a small canteen at my hooves, kicking up dust where it landed. I wrapped it in my magic and eagerly pulled water from it. It was hot, and tasted uncomfortably of dirt and ash, but it tasted like life.

The canteen emptied, I breathed heavily. My mind still craved more, but as I looked up to the group, hoping to push for just a little more, the glint of the rifle still pointed at me stifled the request.

“And now,” the elder started, letting the demand hang heavily in the air.

I floated the empty canteen to the mare and started pulling the straps undone.

“Oh boy!” The high-pitched voice from the young stallion cracked a little as he spoke, “Looks like we get a show, too!”

Embarrassment took hold for a moment, and I turned to face away from the group, but the guardpony’s guns clinked as he shifted his weight. I flinched, and floated the free saddle away. The overcoat came off with a few loosened straps. I hesitated, trying to form some way to keep the coat that was my only connection to Brightmane, but the mare bit into it and pulled it from my magical hold.

I shivered in my sudden nakedness, but the light wind that brisked through the canyon brought the first feelings of genuine coolness since waking up in the Marejave that morning.

“Now then,” the elder stallion said, turning back to his wagon. “Thanks for yer business. Now get the hell out of here.”

“Wait,” I called, “Can I come with you? Just to the next town.”

The mare laughed. “What, like we should jus’ let you come along because y’ gave us yer coat? Be thankful we even gave y’ some water, considerin’ yer pack was empty!”

“But, it’s dangerous out here!”

The mare laughed again, and the earth pony shifted, causing both rifles to rattle. “Fer you, maybe.”

I was losing the argument, and it made no sense. Why were they being so cold? “I won’t be a hassle.”

“Don’t matter. Ya’d just be another mouth, and I don’t rightly care what happens out here t’ ya.” The elder waved dismissively and pushed the wagon forward.

“Better hope ah don’t see ya ’round again,” the mare warned.

The wagon and its group pushed on and disappeared around a bend a good distance ahead. I slumped my head. One day out of town, and I already lost the few things I had. Part of me reminded me that at least I managed some water out of it, but another voice told me how I was even worse off now.

I stepped forward and followed the group from a good distance. I didn’t expect that they would do anything to help should some nocturnal beast came out, but the idea of an armed group leading the way still seemed more comfortable than collapsing and waiting to be eaten where I was.

I woke slowly, rubbing my eyes and cursing the throbbing pain in my head.

The sun had risen above the clouds that surrounded the desert on all sides at all times, and already that morning the heat was punishing.

I shook the dust and sandbugs from my coat, and gazed around at my surroundings. I had followed the group from a good distance, far enough away that I hoped they couldn’t see, hear, or smell me, but still close enough that an occasional murmur of their conversation could be heard. They traveled for many hours more before finally setting up camp in a small alcove.

They roasted meat over the small campfire, and though my mind retched at the thought, the burning pain of hunger pushed me to believe I’d eat it. Probably. But I had decided not to push my luck and curled up to rest against a bush some few-hundred feet away.

In all directions, the same constant white-and-red cliffs broke the monotony of the rolling hills and small sand dunes. Even at the furthest distances, I could make out no sign of civilization. Just sandy hills and more hills, with some cliffs occasionally.

I stepped around the bush and looked to the alcove, but it was empty. The campfire had died out, and when I inspected it, it didn’t even smolder.

The group had left a significant time earlier than I had. Of course, I reminded myself. They weren’t going to help me, after all.

I stepped back onto the road and continued in the same direction as I had the day before. The merchants the night before moved at a leisurely pace, so I kept mine brisk, hoping to catch up to them soon.

The minutes passed, then hours. The road heated, and began reflecting that back on me. The sun beat down hard, and the distance shimmered. Without my overcoat to provide a layer to keep the light from me, I had begun to pant and sway from the intense heat that left me dizzy.

I passed around a small cliff, then crested a hill, and another. Sand kicked up in a gust and blew over me, sticking to the sweat and stinging my eyes. I coughed, and my throat burned. I felt as though I hadn’t actually drank anything the previous day, and the headache pounded on, heavier than any hangover.

As the sun reached its highest point of the day, directly overhead, I saw a shadow through the twisting heat some distance ahead. I was glad to have caught up. I pushed on ahead, a momentary burst of energy causing me to trot and skip until coming to the edge of their conversation.

I breathed in deeply, finding it surprisingly difficult to inhale. My eyes swam and my head felt like it was splitting. I faltered on a step and crashed to the ground.

Dehydration and hunger were settling into my every step, and the ragged heat only made it worse. I forced myself on, trying to keep focus on the merchants ahead of me, but my vision would black out and when I opened my eyes again, I saw that they had made it several hundred feet further on.

I quickened my pace, yelling at myself inwardly to not give up, to not give in to the overwhelming desire to just lay down for a quick nap. I knew, in my worsening condition, that the momentary break would see my only potential salvation move out of sight. Or I could just not wake up. The thought crossed my mind and I shook it off, putting one hoof in front of the other.

The sun had pushed to the edge of the cloud cover, and shone directly in my eyes. I had barely the energy to drag my hooves across the blistering, cracked road, but with every step, I told myself I only had to make one more.

Just one more.

You can rest later.

One more step, Vitia.

As the sun dipped below the clouds and rimmed them a bright red that stood out strong against the blazing orange sky, I found myself wandering into the merchants’ camp, absently.

“Whoa, hey!” Came a high-pitched cry.

I barely registered the shapes that moved around me. My vision had long-since stopped seeing the sharp edges and vivid colors of the world around me, and I only saw rough shades.

My legs shook, and my throat burned. Just one more step, I repeated, but that step never came. I collapsed.

The world around me went black, but I knew my eyes were still open. I heard murmurs around me.

“I say we sell ’er.”

“Won’t be worth anythin’ if she’s dead.”

I awoke to a sharp pain in my side. I coughed, trying to take in deep breaths but unable to. The wind had been knocked from me and my eyes were burning from the inability to draw the tears they sought in reflex to the pain.

I tried to stand on my hooves, but fell over. They were tied together, and I was myself tied to the back wheel of the wagon.

“Good t’ see ya finally joined us,” the mare smiled, her grimy teeth pocked and uneven.

“Seein’ as we took it upon ourselves to kindly afford you another bit of our precious water,” the elder stallion said, speaking over me, “And how yer quite out of anythin’ of value, we figure ya’d be fine an’ understandin’ that yer the only thin’ o’ value now.”

“Yeah,” the mare chimed in, dropping the empty Dash inhalers onto my side, “Since y’ went an’ used all the goods already, bitch,” she spat, “Looks like yer down to sellin’ yer own cunt t’ make up fer it.”

The motted-blue elder pony waved a hoof dismissively, “That’s enough, Post.” He looked at me again, and continued, ignoring the snide comments of the spotted mare sulking off, “But what she said ain’t far from th’ truth o’ it. Water’s mighty expensive, but at least a young’in like ya is worth a few sacks o’ caps.”

“Wait,” I pleaded, “Isn’t there something else I can do?” I didn’t want to be sold. I didn’t want to become a slave. I’d either get shipped off to the factories in the east, where I’d be worked to death, or made into a personal slave. None of the stories I had heard about either were ever uplifting, and none ended well.

He chuckled, “Doubt it. Your problem, not mine.”

The ropes tying my hooves were undone, and a small bucket of water was placed at them. After drinking the muddy mess, the wagon moved on.

The scenery for the next several hours never seemed to change, and continued in the same monotonous arid desert that I had been in the last two days. Two days, I thought, recounting once again the sad state of my position. A spike of hunger ran through me, and I lurched, spitting drops of bile.

Despite the slow pace of the brahmin that carted the wagon, it soon became too quick for my steps, and I fell over and was dragged for several feet before being forced back to my hooves.

At some point late that morning, the battle-saddle pony was tasked with throwing me in the wagon itself, to curses of “Slowin’ us down, the cunt,” by Post. I traveled much of the rest of the afternoon and late into the evening on the rough, splintery wooden wagon. The sun beat down on me until it settled below the horizon, and I panted, and sweated. Hunger lashed out at me constantly, and I was dizzy and queasy.

A bucket, half-full and shimmering in the camp’s fire light, was placed in front of me. The volume of the nourishing liquid within shocked me, and I thanked Luna and Celestia above for the sudden mercy of the group. I drank greedily. With the desire for water overwhelming any other sense, I barely noticed the salty taste.

The quiet brown stallion burst into his high-pitched laughter, and Post roared beside him, “Never saw somepony drink brahmin piss and like it so much!”

My eyes snapped wide and the rest of my senses came into focus. The smell of the liquid was fetid, and it shone a deep amber. Before my mind registered what happened, my body was already acting, rejecting the foul, rancid contents and vomiting up every drop of liquid in me.

“Hey, knock it off!” screamed the old stallion. From the corner of my eyes, I saw him bound from the small fire to the two.

“Oh come on, ya old fuck,” Post started, “We’s just gon’ sell ’er anyway.”

The elder stallion swung his hoof down against her head, drawing a thin line of blood from the scrape. “An’ we can’t sell ’er when she’s dead! So get ’er some water. And I mean water, ya fuckin’ moron daughter. And you,” he scowled, standing over the cowering stallion, “Y’ want t’ make a joke, make a mess of th’ goods an’ my wagon? Y’ get t’ clean it up! Now!”

The old stallion looked at me, a hard edge to his face. “Ah’m sorry about that. But, gotta provide for muh family, dumb as they are. All I got in this ’ere hell we live in. And yer worth a bundle o’ caps one way or another.” Post returned a few moments later and dropped a bucket with a clear liquid in it, then scowled.

“Soon as she’s done there, clean ’er up. Sh’s makin’ my nose burn from ’er stench.” He walked back to the fire and sat across from the ever-silent guardpony.

I couldn’t be entirely certain, because of the acidic taste in my mouth, but it definitely seemed to be water. It could have been full of dirt or ash, but right now it had water, and I drank until my stomach ached.

Post stomped at the ground inches from my muzzle. I snapped back and saw in her face a maniacal grin. Something vicious glinted in her eyes.

She took me by my mane, easily dragging me from the cavern outside, and flung me. I tumbled and rolled down the small hill, and landed flat on my face.

Standing up, I moaned and heaved, spitting dirt and dead plant. I was hit with a splash of cold water, and again a few moments later.

Post hopped down to me and swung her hoof across my face.

My vision flashed and felt heat from blood roll down my brow.

“Now don’t ya think o’ doin’ somethin’ stupid like tryin’ to run or anythin’, cunt.” She glared at me, then smiled a twisted grin. “Or, actually, do. Please, do. Give me a reason to break somethin’.”

I tensed and tried to pull my gaze from her crazed eyes, but wilted and felt my body shake. She spat at me, “Fuckin’ cunt.”

She pressed a rough rag to my coat and scrubbed violently. The scratchy edges of the cloth dug into my skin beneath my coat and burned with each pass, but I stifled the scream. I knew she just wanted me to react, and shuddered to think what she would do if I had.

“Fuckin’ old bastard,” she muttered, stomping her hoof, glaring toward the cave, lit brightly by the fire against the deep blue of the late evening sky. Turning to me, she growled, “Fuck him.”

She reared up, using both of her forelegs to shove me to the ground. She stood over me and flung the rag aside. She stomped at the ground beside my chest, then, staring at me with those wild red eyes, she smirked. “Oh, what was that? Were you tryin’ t’ run? Ya shouldn’t ’ave done that.”

She stepped back then raised her hoof slowly, watching me shiver and shake. “Shouldn’t be worth any less if yer jus’ a little wounded, right?”

A gunshot shook the air around us, and dust from the impact some feet from my head paused us both. The guardpony and the elder stallion stood at the edge. “Enough, Post! Fuckin’ moron, I swear.”

I jolted awake from my half-sleep, finding myself once again tied to the wagon, but after a small bag of dried, stale oats and a flask of water, I felt like I held just enough energy to keep pace that morning. We came down from the last major hill leading into the greyish settlement in the distance, and something resembling salvation or hope sparked in me.

Post continued her excited conversation, talking in great length and to disturbing detail the kind of horrors I’d face when I was turned over to The Corral.

She described, with dreadful enthusiasm, the feeling of my guts that’d rot out from within me, the kind of sick feelings I’d have to deal with in learning to cope with the feel of mushy ghoul flesh…she delighted in the idea of it, becoming flushed and excited as she saw me squirm or flinch from her chatter.

Fleshgrove was where the group had intended on leaving me, trading me for what they anticipated would be enough caps to buy supplies for a month or more. I’d be handed over the The Corral, the largest whore house in the Marejave that specialized in being for and of ghouls. Non-ghouls like me would still be forced to pleasure the rotting ponies.

And it was a festering sinkhole of a town. Long before seeing any of the inhabitants, their stench carried on the wind. As we came into town, the stench had become so strong, and so foul, that I begged for any moment of reprieve.

Most of the rotten ponies here stopped as the group pushed on. Their eyes were wet, saggy, often discolored, grey or a nasty shade of olive. Very few had anything remaining of their coats, and their sickly pale flesh wrinkled over thin frames. As they shuffled about, their movements created sickly wet sounds. Hooves made a splish each time they were pressed to the cracked asphalt surface.

The only building with lights on was a cracked two-story concrete building, either because only it had a working power source, or because, as a show of pomp and class, the place had to keep them on at all times. The lights along the top were red and yellow, the backlit sign flickered, and one section was off completely. In green, swirly lettering dotted with white spotty lights was written The Corral.

The wagon stopped just outside the large, gnarled wooden doors leading into the building. The elder pony, Tin Touch I had learned he went by, clambered off the wagon. The guards watched unflinchingly as he and the guardpony led me in by rope.

The interior of The Corral was just as dolled up as the sign. Tattered tapestries hung from between pillars that were set half into the wall with a faded, flaking white coat of paint and fake gilding along the top. Thick red rugs were laid with golden embroidery, leading to several rooms with signs overhead. Originals” was written on one and Fleshies” above another.

“Oh what have we here?” sing-songed an approaching ghoul pony. Her coat had rotted away but her mane was still mostly intact. The sequined purple dress she wore shone with bright dots as she descended the stairs. “Fleshies, come to partake?”

Tin Touch shook his head. “Trot,” he said. The guardpony yanked the rope. I was lurched forward and crashed onto my face at the ghoul’s slimy hooves.

“Ah’m figurin’ it’s hard to keep a…stock, o’ yer fleshies,” Tin Touch started, nodding to the door with that written above. “So ah’m lookin’ to offload this extra mouth for a nice chunk o’ yer caps.”

The ghoul cocked her head, and hummed. “Well, that is true,” she said absently. “So let’s take a look at her, then.” She inched closer, and the stench of her flesh made my eyes burn. “Unicorn, with a shiny white coat, certainly can be a selling point. Plus,” she considered, “She is…fairly young. Or at least looks that way. Very well, two-hundred caps.”

Tin Touch laughed. “Oh she be worth a whole lot more’n’ that, ah’m afraid. See, she’s a medic type. Got some magic for healin’ and th’ like. Should help keep yer fleshies around longer, wouldn’t y’say?”

“We have many medics here,” the ghoul said flatly. “And never a want for medicine when needed. That’s hardly something that’d raise her value.”

Tin Touch scratched his patchy grey beard.

The ghoul shrugged. “Plus, we’re undying.” She was curt. “I’m already being generous. Two-hundred, and you can walk out of this town in one piece.”

“And a crate o’ Radaway.”

The ghoul squinted her eyes, then glanced over at me, and shrugged. “Fine. Deal. Talk to Basil at the counter, and he’ll get you squared away. Anything else?”

Tin Touch spit, but shook his head and motioned to Trot. The rope dropped, and the two walked to gather their goods.

A slimy hoof brushed up from under my chin, and my eyes met the ghoul’s grey ones. “Now,” she smiled, Let’s get you prepped.”

“And here, you’ll be given Radaway. Most of the citizens in town are not themselves going to contaminate you by their presence,” Tenacia, the sequined Matron ghoul of The Corral, informed me, “But the dirt and the houses and most of the water will. Twice a day, you are required to stop by Oregano’s desk and procure some. Starting now.”

A lot of things were, surprisingly, being required by the establishment that would be considered healthy, despite the radioactive area it was settled in.

All of the Fleshies were given two meals, ample water, and some minor appropriation of medicine. They earned no wages, and were restricted to locations in The Corral and a few nearby buildings, but most were given a better, more consistent life here than most in the Wasteland.

“You,” Tenacia had explained to me, “Are our business. And we are a business that has survived. We tolerate zero acts of self-harm or violence against the other Fleshies, or any patron, or any other pony here. You will eat your meals, drink your water, and take your medications. Whether you know it or not, you’re lucky here.

“All you have to do is be good at what is expected of you, and you will be given a life far better than what you had, and what most have. You will be called on as necessary to meet the patrons who request you, and you will service them with every part of your body, even if they don’t know they want it. In exchange, you will get to live to a long life.”

The tour had been completed, and I was left in a room at the end of the hall under the sign Fleshies. I chewed on the dry oat bar that would serve as one of my two meals every day, and sighed.

Unlike the entry, with its almost grand appearance, this room was a pit. Several bunks were stacked against the walls, torn and tattered sheets and mattresses resting on them. Broken down and rotted tables were laying about haphazardly. There were no tapestries or paint to cover the cracked and decaying walls.

Two dozen eyes met mine as I surveyed the room.

I swallowed the last of the stale bar, and downed a Radaway. The bitter, artificial citrus flavor left an aftertaste worse than the drink itself.

Behind the wide eyes of all the other Fleshies were wearied and haggard faces. Some were missing tufts of their coat or mane, and many others were so dolled up in makeup and mane extensions that it was difficult to determine how much they were trying to cover.

I forced a smile and waved a weak attempt to break away the awkwardness in the air.

One of the mares started crying, several others around her taking to comforting her. Most turned away and went back to whatever they were doing to stave off time between their calls with the patrons.

Behind me, the door clicked open and an azure mare was pushed in, falling to the floor. A Radaway packet was tossed to her side, and the door was shut, locking.

She had covered her face in powders and fake jewels, but her tears had begun to ruin it, running down her muzzle, leaving streaks of greys and blacks.

I crouched down and began to offer help, when I noticed she was bleeding. She had fresh blood running from the backs of her legs and it was slowly dripping down from beneath her tail.

She sniffed, wiped her eyes, smearing makeup and powder across her hoof and in all manner over her face, then stood up. She started to limp away, but the pain was obvious, and she didn’t make it very far.

I noticed none of the other mares were even looking at her. I was shocked. In Desert’s Edge, whenever somepony or someone was hurt, he or she was always helped. Even when the fighting started and it was getting worse, volunteers from around stepped forward and did whatever they could. Yet here, nopony would even spare a glance.

“What is wrong with all of you?!” My voice scratched against my throat and I slammed both of my hooves down against the concrete floor.

The chattering stopped, the games paused, and all the eyes in the room save the azure pony’s, looked to me. Some of the mares were shocked, and many were cross.

“Fine!” I reached out with my magic, and pulled several of the sheets from the beds, and crumpled them together. “Lay on these,” I said, kneeling down to the hurt mare. I set the makeshift pillow at her nuzzle and she solemnly pulled herself forward to them.

“Now,” I spoke to her, gently, “You’re going to feel…uncomfortable, for just a moment, but I want you to stay calm. I’m going to help.”

I focused, thinking of the spell I needed, weaving together the magic at the tip of my horn. I encased the hurt mare in a light field of telekinesis—to ensure she wouldn’t thrash while I let my magic work its way over and through her—and let the healing spell take to work.

“No, don’t!” She cried out as the first effects of my spell took hold.

“I’m sorry,” I comforted her, “But it’ll be over in just a moment.”

She squirmed under my hold, trying to kick and buck at me. My grasp on her remained solid, but she pushed hard against the limits of my magic. After a minute of not managing an inch of progress, she stopped resisting, and started sobbing.

I focused on the healing, and after a few minutes, the bleeding stopped. Her wounds, mostly minor but internal and easily taken to infection, had healed up considerably. I couldn’t match the full effect of a healing potion with my skill, but I hoped that it would heal and she’d be free of pain, and maybe stave off a crippling infection.

I relaxed my body, exhaling deeply, and dropped the hold on her.

“Idiot,” somepony from the crowd muttered. It was repeated by others several times, and “moron,” “foalish newcomer,” and then the chatter went back to normal.

For the second time in my brief few minutes in the room with the other Fleshies, I was surprised. I helped her, when all of these other mares just ignored her.

I did a good thing!

The healed pony stood, then turned and glared at me. I’d never seen such a pitiful, angry face. “I would have had days off, you bitch.” She swatted at me with her hoof and stormed off, cursing all the while.

My shock had been replaced by confusion, but before I could question it, the door opened, and Tenacia stepped in. “Newcomer,” she smiled, “Looks like you’ve already got company. Let’s go.”

What?

I hadn’t even been sold to The Corral for half an hour…

I was following Tenacia down the hall, unsure whether to make a move at an escape, where I could take my chances with the town of ghouls and the Marejave again, when she stopped and gently pushed open a door.

“Be good,” she said.

She was standing between me and the foyer. I eyed the open space between her and the wall, and thought to dash through it while I still could. Just get out, run away. I looked back at the room with the Fleshies, and sighed. If I left, then who knows what would happen to them. I felt my chance to run had slipped away. I sulked into the room, staring at the ragged wood flooring.

“Oi, cunt,” a familiar female voice broke my thoughts. “It’s bad manners t’ not look at yer patron, isn’t it, whore?”

I looked up at Post, who sat on the satin-covered bed, grinning wildly.

“I had t’ do a lot of sweet talkin’ and pleadin’ to get a chance in here with ya. I can see why that ghoul-bitch got the better o’ Pa on yer deal.”

My heart sank. I had just seen what sort of damage could be done here, and I figured they probably allowed for even worse—not enough to endanger our lives, I hoped, but the patron likely had a lot of leeway. And this was Post, the sadist that would have just as soon dragged me behind the wagon the whole way as she would piss on me.

But she was a mare, so she was limited in what—

“And you would not believe the kind o’ toys these fuckers have.” She pulled out a thick cylinder, rounded at the top. Jutting along its exaggerated length were rounded spikes. “Looks like I really can make ya bleed, and now that th’ bastard Tin ain’t ’round, I s’pose all limits’re off, wouldn’t y’say?”

I blanched at the sight of monstrous, vicious dildo that she held, and felt my heart sink.

Post hopped off the bed, the oversized sex toy hanging by its handle from her mouth. Her blood-red eyes sparkled in the lamplight. With each passing moment I cowered further into the corner, her sadistic appearance pushing me down in my cowardice.

She reared up and brought both hooves down on me, one splitting skin above my brow, and the other hitting with a meaty thud against my neck. I was knocked to the floor and disoriented, pain throbbing from my new wounds.

She bit down on my tail and dragged me across the floor, then hefted me onto the bed.

My head swam in disorientation and pain, but my senses were starting to come back to me.

Post stood at the edge of the bed, looking down at me, her maniacal smile half-hidden behind the monstrous toy she had picked up again. She swung her hoof down over my head again, and everything went white.

I felt my eyes blinking, and with sudden, fearful clarity, I remembered what Post had intended, and swung my head around the room to find her.

She was standing behind me, and was tapping my cutie mark impatiently with the oversized toy. “Oh good, I’d hate f’ ya to miss the best part,” she snickered, and slowly slid the toy inward.

I panicked. “No!” Screeching, I kicked out, and my hoof glanced off her shoulder.

“Oh you cunt,” she snarled, standing up, her frame towering over mine. “Don’t you know th’ patron always gets what she wants!?” She dropped the toy and turned, raising her hind legs.

I scurried off the bed as Post bucked. She missed me, but her kick shattered the rotting wood of the headboard, and knocked a small picture frame from the wall.

I leapt aside as she crashed down at me.

“Oh good,” she scowled, “Yer gonna make this a lot more fun.” She inched toward me, pushing me back toward the bed.

My flank bumped against its edge, and my heart skipped a beat. Cowering back from the sadist onto the bed, my hoof stepped on the rubber torture-toy. I quickly focused my magic and brought the dildo to bear over Post’s face with as much strength as I could muster.

She staggered to the side, and I dashed for the door.

Locked. My stomach twisted, and I felt light-headed.

Post crashed into me, smashing my face to the door. “You know what that purple bitch told me? She said there’re no limits in here!” She bit my neck and tore my head from the door, ripping a strip of flesh from me in the move.

I screamed in pain, and slumped down the door. My magic hold on the toy dropped. Warm blood flowed quickly down my shoulder and chest.

Post spit the bloody mouthful of my body, chuckling, “Ah, I’m not that fucked. But y’see, in here, I could be.”

My horn glowed, and I focused on bringing a spell to it that could mend my flesh, but my concentration was wrecked when Post’s hindlegs both came crashing into me. My breath was knocked from me, and a new surge of pain radiated from my upper leg.

“No magic, cunt!” Post yelled, bucking at me again.

Post’s brutish strength crashed into my gut, and with a crash and crack, I was sent through the shattered door into the hall.

I heaved for air, and coughed bile.

“Ma’am!” A voice called out from the side.

In my swirling vision, I could barely discern the shapes of two ghoul ponies galloping up the hall. They stepped into the doorway.

“You were informed of the rules regarding proper behavior with a Fleshie, and our establishment,” one scolded her.

I rose to my feet, vision clearing and breath returning.

“You will have to compensate for the destruction of prop—”

“Oh fuck off, I don’t care about yer property,” she spat. “Yer ruinin’ the patron’s fun.”

Post pushed forward, but was met with a telekinetically held pistol, pointed directly at her head. “Consider this your only warning,” the unicorn ghoul glowered.

I turned toward the foyer and focused my magic once again, bringing a coagulation spell to mind. As I let it work on my bloodied bite wound, I saw Tenacia turn into the hall.

She stopped just ahead of me, causing me to stop, and glanced down the hall. “Let the psycho by,” she called out. As Post pushed by the guards, Tenacia looked down at me. “Doesn’t look like your patron is satisfied, dear.”

“Y’ got that right, whore matron,” Post hissed.

The spell had nearly finished, but my heart was racing and my mind flashed image after image of the torture Post would put me through now, knowing she had no limits with me.

Adrenaline pumped and panic took over my senses. I fled, crashing over Tenacia and rushing to the entrance. My body’s painkillers dulled the screaming pain of the weight on my broken leg, but my gallop hitched and jerked as I dashed through the hall.

I have no other choice!

I barreled into the door, hoping it would split wide, but fell back with a dull thud. I scrambled to my hooves and grabbed it with my telekinesis, wrenching at it to open. The heavy doors creaked open an inch, then another, in agonizingly slow fashion, until it was nearly fully open.

Something crashed into me from behind and we barreled into the slick street. I rolled away from Post and screamed at the pain of my broken leg as I put my weight on it, and fell to the ground.

Post scrambled to her hooves, and bucked at the ghoul guard that rushed to restrain her. She yelled at the other, “Yer whore matron gave me free reign on this slut! Fuck off!”

The ghoul guard paused for a moment too long, and Post struck him, scraping strips of flesh from his face where her hooves made contact.

I shakily made to my hooves, and keeping my weight off my broken leg, hobble-galloped as fast as I could. Each step sent a spike of pain through me like a blazing fire was lit under my skin. My vision flashed white and red on each step.

I twisted and turned around corners in thoughtless abandon. Post would be on me any moment, being uninjured and larger, healthier, so I hoped to lose her around a corner. And behind her would very likely be some of the Corral’s ghoul guards, looking to drag back Tenacia’s precious merchandise. Or the pieces of it, I grimaced.

I turned a corner, but my legs gave out from under me, and I crashed against a concrete wall, flopping down into a puddle of radioactive sludge.

Get up, get up! I screamed at myself.

I panted, looking desperately for any sign of being followed, but only heard the sounds of chatter and the stomach-churning noises of ghouls making their way around the city.

Get up, run! They’ll find you! Of course they would, and the longer I stayed in the town unprotected, the quicker the radiation that oozed from every building and many residents would send me to a horrid death. But with this leg…

I made to stand, but the pain from my leg caused my vision to flare white, and I bit deep into my tongue to avoid crying out. I buckled and I fell back to the sludge. I wouldn’t be able to take another step with that pain.

Taking a deep breath, I remembered Brightmane’s spell, and the feel of her magic pushing away all the pain of that Dash-hangover, if just for a while. My horn glowed, and the magic worked its way through my body.

The tearing pain dulled. Still present, still uncomfortable, but tolerable.

“Oi, Pa!” I heard, Post shouting in the distance. “Ya seen that fuckin’ medic whore run past?”

I stood, and turned—coming face to face with one of the Corral’s ghouls.

I immediately bolted the opposite way, crashing into another of the ghouls, just beyond the sidewalk, and fell, tumbling into the main street. In a panic, I jumped back and tumbled over some rubble. Further ahead, stopped at a shamble of a stall, was Tin Touch, Trot, the young stallion, and the wagon.

Post screeched an “A-ha!” and reared up.

Then I had an idea, formed from panic and desperation.

I forced shut my eyes and manifested the cantrip spell, twisting its formula for intensity instead of duration. A small orb appeared a few feet above the ground just in front of me. It sparked into a shimmering white light, floating, spinning in place. Then, a moment later, it exploded, and beams of light shot out in all directions.

For that brief moment, this one street in Fleshgrove lit up like it had been hit by a balefire bomb.

The light had temporarily blinded the ghouls behind me, and, whether by accident or not, a strange glowing beam shot from the front of the box, and struck a wheel of the wagon, disintegrating it instantly. The wagon toppled, and crates crashed to the floor. My medical overcoat spilled out along with my saddle. A small hypo, filled with a swirling rainbow liquid, poked out from a pocket of the coat.

I rushed toward my coat, past the merchants that rubbed their eyes and teetered, screaming curses at me. The effects of the spell would only last a few seconds at best, and soon their eyes would recover from the blinding flash, so I did the first thing that came to mind. I focused my magic on Trot, and wrapped him in a telekinetic field. He was heavy—extremely heavy with the massive battle saddle and its equally-oversized rifles—and I was struggling to lift him off the ground.

But it didn’t take much. The moment I had lifted his hooves from the ground, he seemed to come to a decision. His rifles fired.

Two shots zipped through the air, one hitting a building and bursting through the concrete wall and several more behind it, and the second hitting one of the Corral security ghouls in the neck. The force of the shot tore the creature’s head from its body, and it sprayed acrid mess before collapsing to the ground.

Trot’s saddle rifles fired again, two miniature explosions deafening the area. The distinctive piercing sound of the ghoul’s weapons echoed through the street in response.

My heart was racing, and the pain of my leg was starting to break through the numbing spell. I floated up my coat, my saddle, and a bundle of Radaway. I turned to the alley, and crashed into Tin Touch, breaking my magic hold on the items.

“Issat you, Post? Zip?” he called out, swinging his hoof, still blind from the light of my spell.

I quickly sat up, and a pale turquoise light missed my face by inches. A fwooosh followed a split second later. The body of Tin Touch was vaporized instantly. Pink dust sprayed out around the area he had just occupied and more fell to a pile in sludge.

The sounds of the other flesh ponies behind me quieted down, Trot’s gunfire became a dull rumble, and everything around me seemed to slow.

I had seen ponies die before, even as close as that, but it was different. I was the one that turned this quiet street into a gunfight. I was the reason he was shot at. Killed.

I turned back to the scene of violence over the toppled wagon behind me. Trot fired his guns wildly, the bullets blazing out over the rotten mud ground and blowing the limbs off of a ghoul—not even wearing Corral clothing, just some unfortunate creature that hadn’t cleared from the street.

Several more ghouls were closing in, and numerous sickly greenish-blue shots frisked at the three scrambling flesh ponies. One struck the young stallion Zip, and vaporized an arm, his shoulder, and most of his neck. Blood and gore gushed from the missing half of his body, splashing across the ground. His body toppled and fell into the squirming pile of his own guts. Another connected with Post’s foreleg, ripping the hoof and half of her leg from her body. She screamed and reared, blood spewing from the mangled flesh. She spun and fell.

Run!

The world and all its sounds of gunshots and anguish, the fetid smells of death, decay, and the insides of ponies, and sickly greenish-yellow sunlight came to me.

There was no time to think—I had to get out of there. I started down the alleyway directly ahead of me, wrapping my telekinesis around everything I could grab from the wagon as I fled. I teetered and stumbled into a small alcove at the base of a half-collapsed building, splashing into a pool of faintly-glowing water. My magic’s numbing effect had worn off and I had long-since exceeded my limit. I struggled to stay conscious, and the magic fell from the items, dropping a pair of crates into the alley.

Behind me, the sounds of Trot’s gun and more of those strange Corral weapons were echoing off the walls, mixed in with cries of rage and agony.

Ducking into an open doorway, I wrapped my overcoat around my wounded shoulder, and loosely strapped the saddle around me—it would be less effort to flee with them on. I focused on a crate, yelling at myself that I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t fall, that I had to just make it one more minute, and do this last thing. My magic faltered and I strained to open the heavy crate. The top popped off and sacks of dried oats greeted me. My magic gave out and dropped the food into the wet street.

Trot’s gun, I noticed, hadn’t fired since I managed to strap my saddle back on, but there were shouts and I could hear anger.

I just used them to get away. They’re probably all dead.

I murdered all of them, just so I could get away.

I had to force the thoughts out of my mind—there would be plenty of time to think later, I told myself. For now, I had to get to my hooves, and get out of there. Stand. That’s it. Ignore the pain. Get the Radaway. Come on, that’a girl. Focus on moving. One step. That’s it. Another. Keep going.

I couldn’t focus on anything but those few words. My teeth grinded into my lip and ripped into the skin as I inwardly yelled at myself to ignore the pain.

At the end of the alley, I stopped, and cautiously peered around the side of the building. I scanned down both sides of the street, which was eerily empty. It was wide, and devoid of anything moving.

My body was ragged, torn, and I had surely surpassed its normal limits, but looking to the edge of town, seeing its unbelievable distance from me, I knew it wasn’t enough. There wasn’t enough left in me to make it across the street, never mind from the town completely

I leaned against the building, and slid the rainbow-colored hypo from a pocket.

Hydra.

A miracle drug, able to mend broken bones, even regrow limbs, Brightmane’s voice whispered in my head. But it’ll ruin yer life just as quick. Yer insides’ll warp and rot in ways even yer worst nightmares would pale in comparison to. It’ll heal ye, then yer body’ll never be right again.

Never, ever use it. Those were the only words she ever said to me about it. Never.

The sun passed behind a cloud and the city fell into shadow. The atmosphere glowed with a faded green that also lined the buildings and shimmered from the puddles of sludge all around.

I was going to die. Whether my body would collapse of exhaustion and I’d bleed out, or the contaminated city itself would leave me a pile of rotted guts and blood, I knew I wouldn’t last the night.

I will not die here! The little pony in my mind screamed.

I shoved the thick needle into my leg, screamed, and squeezed down.

The toxic drug flowed through my body, mending the damage at incredible rates. The swelling from bruises disappeared instantly. A burning sensation, uncomfortable and unnatural, lingered where each wound in my body was repaired.

The open flesh on my neck bubbled and began to move and squirm, swelling in a grotesque mass of blood and muscle. It settled and a new patch of skin and muscle filled the hole Post had bit out of me.

The muscles and tendons around my shoulder began to move, to twist. My vision swam from the pain, and I passed in and out of consciousness for those moments. The bones began piecing back together, and I could stand once more.

It would have to be good enough for now. I rounded the turn, and started to the north.

I moved past decrepit buildings, collapsed stalls and piles of rotten wood. I splashed through puddles of sludge that were ringed with a sickly green glow.

The Hydra had fixed my leg within only a few blocks, and my body moved like it had never happened. But it felt wrong. I didn’t feel fixed.

I ran, knocking aside and crushing pony skeletons to dust under my hooves. Dozens, then hundreds.

The road to salvation was littered with the remains of ponies as far as the eye could see, but I would not stop.

——

Party Status:

Alert!

One party member is suffering from high levels of radiation contamination. Recommend immediate Radaway usage and treatment at a clinic.

Vitia: Rapidly-increasing health. Extreme stress levels and highly elevated hormone levels indicate severe physical trauma. Moderate levels of Dash toxins. Warning: Taint contaminants detected.

Quest Perk: Wasteland 101 Survivor

The Wasteland kicks you down but you keep on getting back up. Your quick thinking has gotten you out of situations before. Your perception and endurance increase by 1 when you are at 20% or less health.