Fallout Equestria: Tales of the Marejave

Author’s Notes:

This is part three and the conclusion 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: Gore (disfigurement); Mild Language; Mild Violence.

Genres: Drama, Slice of Life

Vitia’s Tale, Part Three

Crossing Paths

“When the whole Wasteland is broken like this,

And you see someponies turning a profit,

You have to ask: Who’s paying their price?”

The late afternoon sun blazed in the sky, and my hoofsteps were becoming increasingly torpid. The heat of the day weighed on me heavily.

I peered back around languidly, and a weary smile tugged on my lips. Fleshgrove was now gone from view, the decrepit and irradiated heap a speck that shimmered in the waves of the heat that rose from the sandy road in the distance.

For the first few hours since my departure, I clung to the low cliffs that occasionally rose near the roadside. Hydra had mended my bones and repaired my flesh but did nothing for the fear that grew in me. I had expected a pack of ghouls tracking me down from The Corral, eager to turn their boxy energy weapons on me if I didn’t obey and return.

When the sporadic wind had finally stopped, nausea had overtaken me and I ducked under a rock outcropping. As I looked back on my ragged walk from Fleshgrove, I realized I hadn’t considered how lucky I was to have grabbed a few packs of Radaway in my rush to escape. Instead, at the time, I had only thought of the overly citrus liquid as a way to quench the thirst that threatened to overtake my senses with that hot, dry pain.

Tin Touch would have needed these, I had thought. If I didn’t get them killed, I chided myself.

I shook my head and sucked the last drops from the pack before tossing it aside. I knew if I let myself think too hard about the scene I instigated in the street, I’d easily become overwhelmed and wear myself out. I could berate myself and bemoan my actions later.

A brief blast of air broke the thick heat, but left my sweaty coat matted with dirt, and was only a short reprieve. The unpleasant scent of what seemed to be rotting eggs lingered in its wake, and my nose wrinkled. The odor was foul and thick, and I didn’t smell it so much as taste it.

In the distance to the west, the rocky ground eventually gave way to small sand dunes and a ragged terrain. Its muggy yellow surface shone harshly in the fading light that reflected from it. Further up north, unnatural shapes began to take form along the horizon.

I pushed on, concentrating on putting one hoof in front of the other.

Before any shapes had become definable, the cloying stench of the small town nearly bowled me over from nausea. Its horrific, lingering smell rivaled that of Fleshgrove, and the thick sulfur left a vile taste on my tongue.

I passed through the gates just as the sun dipped below the low cliffs to the west, and picked my way over piles of refuse, past many smatterings of discarded junk and scraps. Ponies walked the well-worn pathways of the settlement, eyes glossy, greyed, and staring absently into the distance. Some others scratched and jittered, and glared at me with a twisting scowl.

Small shacks had been constructed against ruined buildings and built into other similar heap-scraps. Rotting wooden beams held the rickety shelters together, and thin, damaged tin sheets and siding laid atop them, held in place with bricks and ruined beams.

Further along the north side, beyond the packs of scrawling, emaciated ponies and hovels, two notable buildings caught my attention. One was a misshapen dragon, its saturated colors worn with time but exaggerated features unmistakably out of place, and the other looked to be a lengthy housing unit. Unlike most of the rest of the settlement, a few lights flickered in some of the rooms, through sealed and broken windows.

I stepped onto the cracked tarmac surface, and soon into the long building. The door with the lights beaming from behind it was primarily tin scraps and chunks of wood, but was partly open.

“Hello?” I asked, stepping in cautiously. As I rounded the doorway, I noted a buttercream-coated mare with a curly, desert-lily mane.

She teetered slightly against the disheveled counter, rubbed her eyes, and yawned. “What is it?” she asked through the yawn.

I opened my mouth to speak, but a hollow, dull pain emanated from my stomach, and a loud gurgle caused me to change my words, “Do you have anything I could eat?” I felt a slight blush creep up my features, but I held my gaze on the mare intently, eager for her response.

Across from me, she arched her thin brows high above her hazel eyes. “Are you daft? I don’t even know you.”

Hope gave way to disappointment. “I’m sorry, I’m…nopony, I guess. I just haven’t eaten in so long,” I whimpered. “Look, is there anything I can trade for something?”

She grunted in disapproval, “You another half-shod, addle-brained transient, lured to Cancy for Dash? What, now you can’t find anything to eat in this pisshole?” She glared.

“What? No,” I tried to protest.

“Look,” she cut me off, dismissively. “I know I’m the medic here, and I know that makes many of you shit-sniffers think I’m apt to just provide everything I have, but I simply can’t go giving hoof-outs to everypony.”

“Medic?” My spirits lightened as I haphazardly flung my saddlebag open and floated my overcoat out. “Look, so am I. I can help.” I was grinning for the first time in days, and I felt genuinely giddy. I had my in, and this would work.

But the mare still looked apprehensive, and eyed me with disbelief. “You could have stolen that.”

“Oh by the goddesses,” I nearly screamed. What is wrong with everypony? Does nopony trust anypony out in this damned desert?

I snorted in frustration and shoved the coat into my bag, but before I could strap it closed, my anger had subsided and I was left with an inexplicably powerful sadness. Tears gathered at the edges of my eyes, and there was a catch in my throat.

“Nothing’s right,” I moaned, fighting back the welling emotions. “Everypony just wants to hurt somepony else for nothing.” My thoughts voiced themselves unwittingly. “What am I even doing out here?”

I dragged my hooves as I made my way toward the exit, when I was stopped by the mare’s voice a few steps from the door, “Hang on.”

What, did you figure out some way to con me into—I stopped myself. I didn’t want to think that of her, when I didn’t even know her. And it’s not as though the myriad of emotions I’d displayed in the last few moments did me any favors.

“Look, I know it’s rough out there. It’s not great here, either. You’re a medic, then?”

I nodded. “I thought to take over Brightmane’s practice in Desert’s Edge eventually,” I admitted. Desert’s Edge felt so far away.

“Well look,” she offered, making her way around the counter. “We got a trader coming by tomorrow, but I’ve been too busy to prepare my usual package for him.” She paused for a moment, and offered a shaky, eager grin. “Do you know anything about healing potions?”

I turned to her and tried to grin. Their ingredients weren’t common, but the process wasn’t complicated with the proper equipment. Brightmane made sure I kept our stocks full whenever the supplies were available.

“Well, I can’t say I have the best materials for it, but what do you say? I don’t have anything very tasty, but maybe we could scrounge something up before we get started. I’m Raspberry Tart.”

Tart, as she preferred, procured some cactus slices and a thick soup of cooked-down cactus pod from within a locked case. It was bitter, and the sharp taste stuck to my tongue for long after, but it settled the complaints from my stomach, and masked the manure smell. Most of it, at least.

The meal was lively, as she asked me questions about my experience and travels continually. I figured she still didn’t trust me, not that I could expect her to so suddenly, but answered each in turn to the best of my knowledge. She seemed satisfied and invited me to her lab after I had finished eating.

The lab was incomplete, with many useful parts missing. She had converted the room in the building that used to be a motel, and kept the entrances secure under several locks and chain. Heavy steel plates were bolted over the window, and parts of the room that had been damaged or collapsed were grated off with rebar and tin sheets. All of the furniture was converted into shelving or tables.

“This looks like a torture room,” I remarked when we entered.

“Because,” she explained, “Most of this stuff can be used to make Dash, and as you know, this shithole is the Dash capital of the Marejave.”

She didn’t have everything for the potions, but it would be enough. She brought out a small bundle of dried herbs and set several tin containers with powdered chemicals on a metal slab that we took for a workspace. All the key components were accounted for, but the effectiveness due to the low-quality materials and missing catalysts would be minimal at best.

“Well, if that’s everything,” I said, “We just need to start passing in some water and get going.”

Tart rolled a cart with a large tin drum atop it toward the counter. The uneven wheels squealed loudly in protest as they rolled with a hitch over the dirt-strewn patchy carpet.

“We don’t have the luxury of working with filtered water, I’m afraid.” Tart unwrapped a rubber hose from the drum and twisted on a handle. A thin stream of muddied water ran through the tube and collected in a glass bottle that had uneven measurements scrawled onto its side.

“Hold on, that’s what we’re using?”

“I don’t know what it’s like in your old place,” she replied briskly, “But the pumping station here is constantly in disrepair, and I consider myself lucky to get this much, even if it’s got a bit of a grime to it.” She twisted the tap shut and reached for the bottle.

“No wait,” I interrupted. “Just, hold on a second.” I scratched my brow and sighed. “I can filter it, just give me a moment.”

I concentrated briefly, the spell I intended to call immediate and almost effortless. I felt the surge of magic as it coursed through my horn and coalesce at the tip. I brought the tip of my horn to the container, and the pink glow of my magic wrapped around it. Dirt, bits of matter, and oils separated from the water and after a short minute, the loam tint was gone from the water.

“What was that?” The earth pony asked, bewildered.

I shifted a bit and tapped at my cutie mark. “I’ve got a talent for it.”

Tart moved her eyes from my waterdrop mark to the water, then sniffed cautiously. She glanced at me momentarily, then took a sip of the water. “Oh,” she remarked. “Yes, that’s good. That will work.”

“I can’t do very much,” I said, floating chemicals to their intended instruments, “So this will take a while.”

We worked long into the night. Tart began to yawn and measurements got sloppier, and I insisted she get some rest. Even after she finally agreed and curled up in a small corner of the room, I continued filtering, boiling, mixing, and brewing.

I considered stopping when I realized I was seeing double, but vague worries began to creep in to my thoughts. Tin Touch’s vaporization replayed in my mind. Post’s leg shattered from another shot and blood sprayed out in thick streams. I shook my head and went back to work.

I knew I would get no rest that night, so I filtered, boiled, mixed, and brewed.

“Are you sure I can’t convince you?” Tart stood in the doorway, a half-chewed cactus pod hanging from her lips.

I shook my head. After a long night of potion mixing, we had completed a batch for her trade that morning, and I continued to mix up extra. She had insisted I take some for the road, just in case, and gave me provisions and some of her water for the road.

“You’ve done plenty. Thanks, Tart.”

It was still early in the morning, but the sun had crested the eastern horizon, and as I made my way out the northern gate, the light shone off the purple-and-green dragon-shaped building in the distance. What could possibly have convinced anypony to make something that hideous?

I found traveling easy that morning, and pressed on with a slight spring in my step. I even felt a bit giddy, but couldn’t decide if that was the lack of sleep or satisfying night of working.

The wind was blowing about more often than the day prior, but it kept the rapidly-increasing heat at bay for some time longer, and I welcomed the trade-off.

That is, until the occasional wisp of dust that accompanied it turned into an almost constant pelting. I sheltered my eyes with a hoof and peered further up the road, but the sight before me was frightening. The horizon was missing, and from the ground rolled a monstrous wave of roiling brown. It towered above the hills and cliffs around the landscape, and stretched nearly completely from the far east to the ridges in the west.

I increased my pace, looking for shelter, but as the dust storm approached and nothing stood out to me, I began to gallop frantically.

A wall of wind and painful flecks of rock hit me suddenly, stopping me dead in my canter. It passed a moment later, and when I squinted, a large recess in the cliff came into my blurred view.

I ducked into the cave, and took a quick glance around. It was large enough to move about in with little awkwardness, but in the limited light, I could only see a small distance into it.

Behind me, the storm hit with full force and the wind howled across the entrance. Little curling wisps of dust were unsettled by the wind as it hit the far edge of the cave, but inside, it was calm.

I stood at the entrance, watching the waves of the cloud of dust pass by. For brief moments it would thicken considerably, and I found myself unable to see the bushes and boulders just a few feet from the entrance, but it thinned as well, and then I could make out the road in the distance.

A dark shape in the distance caught my attention, and I squinted to watch it. It followed the road, roughly, but with each thick wave, the shape had managed to veer off. Gradually it grew closer, and soon I could make out that it was a pony, and I called out, hoping to maybe guide the poor traveler nearby for shelter.

I covered my mouth with my hooves after calling out, and considered that may not have been the brightest idea. What if it’s some crazy pony like Post? Or worse, a Raider? I had no weapons, no fighting skill, and despite the good mood of the morning, my body was worn and tired.

I couldn’t tell if the pony shape heard me or not, but I didn’t have long to worry. Another shape quickly crossed my vision and a loud crack echoed over the howling wind.

I floated another stick from a dead brush into the small fire in the cave. The storm passed soon after I had half-dragged, half-floated the collapsed pony back to shelter.

She was knocked unconscious and one side of her brow had been quick to swell. I had wrapped it lightly, and used what magic I could to try and prevent lasting damage, but the minutes turned to hours and the mare showed no sign of waking.

I had considered leaving several times, but shook my head. Somepony was hurt and I needed to do something. The few dried cactus pods given to me by Tart were quick to go, and I had slipped small sips of the weak healing potion into her mouth until the bottle was empty.

The sun had long-since passed over the cliffs above the small cave. I stared at the crackling flames, and tried to keep my mind from wandering. As the flames ate through the wooden fuel, I noticed I had begun to sway uncontrollably.

I dozed and immediately watched as a crude visage of me, bloodied and broken, lying in a pool of irradiated water, shoved a needle into her leg and slammed the plunger. The image warped and twisted, and the little white unicorn stood immediately.

A part of her flesh twisted and squirmed, running from flank to neck and settling near her shoulder. It erupted from within in a spray of red. Bone and tendon snapped and shot out. A vile rainbow sludge wrapped around them and faded into pale pink skin and a thin white coat quickly grew over it.

I scampered slightly as I woke, the ghastly image still front in my mind. My breathing was shallow and rapid, and I could hear the pounding of my heartbeat in my head.

The fire had sputtered out significantly, but small flames still licked along a few charred branches and a thin smoke floated up and out of the cave. The pile of wood scraps was gone, so I stood to go collect more.

The mare slept just as she had been some time ago. The wrap around her head was loose as the swelling had dissipated significantly, and her breathing had steadied.

Night had fallen onto the desert many hours prior, but the moon shone brightly and I could make my way down the ragged hillside easily.

I floated a bundle of dry sticks into the cave and prodded the fire slightly. Sparks flew into the air and wisps of flame kicked about, eager to consume the fresh fuel.

Light filled the cave as the flames grew ever higher and brighter. The sticks snapped and popped as the fire slowly ate through them.

Crack, I saw Post crash to the wet stone ground of Fleshgrove. She raged and screamed, clutching furiously at her missing limb. Beside her, a roiling mess of organs and blood sloughed over the rocks and dirt. Grime mixed with bile and Zip’s entrails glistened with a sickening green glow.

Pop, crack, snap, bullets clattered off and shattered into stone buildings. Trot stood massive in the street, his rifles blazing. Corral ghouls had limbs torn from their bodies and holes blasted through them, leaving oozing flesh and rotted organs in their places.

I watched, terrified, as the scene before me grew ever more gruesome. “This is your fault,” a voice croaked beside me.

Half of Zip’s body slithered toward me, pulled along by his one remaining hoof, dragging visible ribs and spine behind him. His eyes were vacant and pupils missing. Red seeped from them and rainbow sludge dripped from his mouth as he uttered incomprehensibly.

I scampered back frantically, and slammed my hoof into a pile of pink ashes. They were warm against my coat, which quickly turned to a stinging pain and a cloying stench.

I woke with a startle.

The fire had all but gone out, a few smoldering scraps all that was left. The sun had barely begun to crest the ridge in the east.

Across the remains of the fire lay the mysterious pony, still asleep, unmoved from the day before.

I prodded the fire and slowly fed new fuel into it. You didn’t do anything wrong, I thought to myself. Don’t regret your actions.

Something Brightmane had hammered into my head years prior came to me. “Regret is th’ surest sign of a foal,” she had said. “Everypony does what they do at th’ time for good reasons. Maybe there are better choices but not ever’pony has th’ luxury of choice. Things are only as bad as you let them be.”

The mare shifted and moaned. I turned, watching her cautiously. She opened her eyes slowly then hissed and shut them.

“Still with us, I see.”

Bit Flip was first to leave the cave, and I watched from the entrance as she haphazardly made her way to the road then broke into a gallop southward.

I took a deep breath and turned the opposite direction. Junction 144 was fairly close, if my estimates and Tart’s directions were accurate, and my stomach grumbled.

Travelers were sparse along the way, but served enough to slow me down some several minutes as I hid off the road, waiting for them to pass. I chided myself for becoming so suddenly untrusting, but it was easy to rationalize when I considered that any one of them could be another Post.

I looked around to see the rushed construction of the junction town along the main road along either side of me. Unlike Desert’s Edge, Junction 144 seemed to have little coherency in its construction or design. One building made of stone and steel would rest against another barely held together by what I could only figure was pure luck.

The only consistent facet that came to me was the design of the junction itself; it was split by a wide road, and grew along its length instead of outward. I proceeded further in, and the highway split in a T-section.

The crowd had begun to thicken as I made my way into the center of the town, and the place started to come together. Traders moved with small carts over the wide roads, their goods rattling and jingling amidst the ruckus of the other townies. Heavily-armed griffins traveled abreast minotaurs clad in rough leather clothing, and peered through the crowd carefully. Ponies in muck-covered overalls rushed by with toolboxes rattling with tools.

In every direction, hundreds of ponies went about their daily activities, oblivious to the short white unicorn in their midst.

“You lost?”

I turned toward the sound of the thick voice, and looked up to see a scarred grey minotaur clad in layers of thin cloth that hung between small plates of steel. His hair was coiled into a strip of cloth, and several thin strings of it hung from piercings in his ears. A faded badge adorned his chest.

If you’re looking for information on anypony decent, check with the Wing Haven company, Tart had offered, back in Cancy. They seem to think it’s their job to keep tabs on us all.

“I’m looking for the nearest Wing Haven facility,” I replied.

The minotaur’s stern expression remained fixed as he looked me over. “Want to head to Old Fort Celestia then,” he said, motioning along the west road, “Go a ways. It’ll split north. Can’t miss it.” With that, he turned and strode through the crowd.

“Huh,” I hummed.

The sun had reached its peak when I walked up to the gated building. A pair of stoic stallions in a heavy white barding eyed me as I nervously made my way through and stepped into the reinforced structure.

Thick glass panes lined the wall above the entry, and lit the entire tiled building within. The ceiling in the lobby area was several stories up, and two open hallways crossed above. Numerous cacti and pots with resilient desert brush lined the walls and halls above. Worn and faded posters were hung on the white walls, most with portraits of ponies and a slogan. Reading is Magic read one with a lavender-coated pony. PROGRESS, stated another in bold orange and green shades.

One pony stood stoic at each of the doorways, garbed in the thick white barding that I assumed to be military. The hoofful of ponies that wandered through the lobby wore coats dyed with strong colors: some were colored a powerful purple rimmed with white, many were in a blazing orange set, and quite a few others in mulled about in longer lab coats of a lavender shade.

“Good afternoon,” a pleasant voice said. The chocolate mare had a gentle grin, and wore a white outfit cropped low, with yellow and pink designs along the collar. “If you’ll just sign in, I can direct you to your destination.”

She wrapped a thin clipboard and pen in an exuberant orange glow, and floated them to me. She glanced at the name and set them down again gently. “Pardon, I’m probably going to mess this up. Vi-tee-uh?”

“Vi-shee-uh,” I corrected.

She nodded. “Alright then, Vitia. You’re looking for medical, I assume?” she asked, nodding to my overcoat. “Down the hall behind you, and to your right. Follow the Ministry’s colors and you’ll be there in no time.”

The vast, open design of the lobby and first hallway soon gave way to shorter, squattier paths. Gone were the potted plants and posters, and shortly, only my hoofsteps echoed on the tile.

A small placard beside a door, framed in yellow and pink, read simply “Canopy, Doctor, Research.”

Through the door, the room was immaculate. Polished steel shelves lined the walls, with glass-encased cabinets at each corner. Several ponies in long white coats with pink and yellow collars worked busily at different steel tables, some running tests on differently brightly colored liquids, and others writing into thick books.

I was interrupted from my awe-struck moment by a curt voice. “Can I help you?”

The lime mare staring me down wore her pristine white coat with grace, with every button clasped and not a wrinkle to be seen. Her brow was flat, and lips taut as she looked down at me, standing a full head taller than me.

I had no idea what I was going to say, or even why I was in that room. I sputtered and tripped over some words, “Uh, I was just told to come by here.”

The lime mare’s expression stayed unfaltering for several long moments, and I continued running my mouth, hoping to string together something that sounded reasonable. “Something about delivering some new samples I got here, and then on to the next station.”

My teeth rattled and I tried to quell the shaking in my legs. The mare’s expression remained stoic.

I felt a cold shiver run up my spine, and my mind filled with frantic voices, all trying to piece together something I could use. The anxiety built, and more lies came forth. “Look, it’s not my field,” I said, feeding from my own agitation. “They pulled me off my work to have me play at errand girl halfway across the desert.”

After a moment, the lime mare squinted and huffed. “I don’t know how many times I’ve put in requests for more samples. Slowest damned operation.”

She sauntered to a counter, remarking along the way about how it had probably been wiped from the map for all anypony knows. “Fine.” She waved her hoof absently at some empty counter space, “Just drop the swill there and be on your way.”

The ponies around the room all looked at me and then to each other before returning to their work. I took a slow, deep breath, and floated the last of Tart’s healing potions from my saddle onto the table.

“Is that it?” she sighed. “You need something else or can we get back to work, doing, you know, important studies?”

“Ah, right,” I nodded. “Uh, to be honest, I don’t know where I’m supposed to go next.” The gears in my head churned and an idea was forming. “Need to find some trader for the next delivery, but I don’t know where he is. Do you have a record of the locals around here?”

“Ugh, yes,” she moaned. “You’ll need to speak with that damnable scatterbrain. She’s in the Laughs section, so follow those ridiculous pink markers and hope you didn’t have to be at whatever pisshole they sent you to in a hurry. It might take some time.”

“Right, okay, thanks.” I turned and stepped out, trying to keep calm. The door shut behind me with resounding click. I breathed a heavy sigh. My heart fluttered and my hooves felt tingly, but I decided to press on.

I passed through the hallway lined with a thick pink stripe, and noticed that all of the rooms were closed off. The small window in the center of each was covered, and the plates at each were empty.

The room at the end of the stripe was wide and seemed to be of the same design as Canopy’s, but the interior itself was the complete opposite: a disaster. Stacks of paper rose in uneven towers nearly to the ceiling, with piles of binders and pads filling the space everywhere else. A walk had been mostly cleared that led to the center of the room, which branched out to the doors at each end.

The doors beyond led to rooms of a similar fashion. Shelves filled with books and loose papers filled the third room. I made my way through it, carefully, the dim, flickering light above barely enough to see with. A door at the end with a placard above read “RECORDS” in faded and chipped letters caught my attention.

Unlike the others, the door was locked in place by a terminal system attached to the door frame. The monitor glowed with a dull green, and the blocky text in the upper left corner read only “ENTER PASSWORD”.

The system seemed similar to one I had worked with back in the subsystems at Desert’s Edge. I looked behind me, contemplating my next move. If you’re quick, it should be fine.

I concentrated, and my horn came to life. I pressed the keys on the terminal with a light telekinetic push, and paused briefly before hitting return. Several notices appeared on the screen, sending term signals, waiting for kernel response, and then it was off. A moment later, the screen came to life once more, and the system indicated it had started booting to recovery mode.

The main navigation menu appeared, and I smiled. The terminal only had one notable function, so I entered the command and stood back as the bolts slide from the doorway and the heavy metal frame tilted inward.

Inside was a single terminal against a dust-covered shelf. Some pads were strewn about, and papers flittered away as the door swung open.

The terminal had no password, but contained lists of thousands of names in what appeared to be no rational order.

I tapped into the console a search query for Silver Sheen, and waited impatiently as the system churned through the thousands of entries in the database before finally returning a single result.

SILVER SHEEN

PARENTS: BLAZING BLUE (FATHER), SAGE (MOTHER)

SIBLINGS: TRAIL (OLDER BROTHER, DECEASED), SCOUT (OLDER BROTHER, DECEASED), SANDY (OLDER BROTHER, DECEASED)

FAMILY OWNS PROPERTY ON OUTSKIRTS OF BUFFALO RIDGE. CURRENT CONDITION UNKNOWN.

I stared at the screen. It was useless. I already knew everything it presented. I had wasted my time.

I slammed my hooves against the metal cage of the terminal and yelled in frustration.

“You should treat other ponies’ property with more care,” said a toying voice.

My throat clenched and heart jumped. I spun around. Behind two stallions in the white military barding stood a mare with the brightest yellow coat I’d ever seen. “I think we’ve caught ourselves a rat.” Her face lit up and her mouth widened in a wicked smile.

“Leave her for now,” the yellow mare said as the coal grey stallion shut the bars of the cage. “I think the rat can hold for tomorrow. And besides,” she cooed, leaning in close, “It’ll give me plenty of time to think of wonderful ways we can play tomorrow.”

She and the two guards turned and walked out from the room.

I shifted, but movement made me dizzy. I felt like I was screaming in pain, but my throat was dry and I couldn’t afford the energy to sit upright. My body shuddered in anguish with each beat of my heart, radiating from my horn.

I curled up, finding only mild reprieve as I cradled my horn. It was all wrong.

I blinked my eyes, and slowly woke from my dizzying bit of unconsciousness. I rolled onto my other side, and cringed from the effort.

The flaring pain had subsided from my horn, but I was left with a feeling of coldness, and emptiness. I reached for it carefully and pressed my hoof to the thick metal band that had been attached to me.

I shuddered. I closed my eyes, and saw memories of myself as the two stallions held me down. The yellow-coated mare entered from the edge of my vision, and mumbled something. She fitted a cold brace to my horn. “Don’t want you making a fuss,” I could remember her saying clearly.

The next moment, I began screaming unwittingly, and couldn’t stop. My whole body burned, and I screamed and pleaded for it to stop, but it didn’t. I watched in my mind a white unicorn consumed by anguish as something was driven through her horn, into her nerves and flesh beneath. And again, and again.

My eyes watered, and I sobbed quietly.

I heard a voice faintly in the distance, then again it echoed, slightly louder. “Hello?” the voice called out.

I rolled onto my stomach and strained to look around in the tight cage. I hadn’t noticed my surroundings until then, and realized I was surrounded by similar cages, most with ponies in them. The one nearest me was lying perfectly still, and a moment later I realized it was a corpse.

Fear raced through me, and I suddenly found myself on my hooves, pedaling away from the corpse with my back against the cold metal bars.

I turned and saw a shape a short distance from me. “Hey! You!” I called out.

The shape turned toward me, and in the dim light, I could make out a few familiar features. “Ah…shit,” I thought aloud. “What was your name again…?” I fought for the name, cursing myself for being so slow.

The pine-green mare looked about for a moment and turned away to leave, when her name came to me.

“Bit Flip?”

——

Party status:

Vitia: Good overall physical health. High stress levels. Magic suppressed.