1. Hellhounds Hath No Fury

“There’s a mare goin’ ’round takin’ names.
An’ she decides who to free and who to blame.
Everypony won’t be treated all the same.
There’ll be a reckonin’ bearin’ down.
When the mare comes around.”

Actually, before I rang… or called upon Ditzy Doo, I needed to make another stop (not counting the one I made between two train cars to throw up and get rid of other excess fluids, hey, I drank a lot and what goes in must come out… one way or another). Delicious Candi had shown me the bounty shack earlier in the day, during the tour she’d given me of New Appleloosa. And now, with the cool air of night (or very early morning as it were) and a steadying cigarette, I had come up with an idea (admittedly not a very good one, but if you’re looking for Star Swirl the Bearded, best find a pony that hadn’t been shot in the face).

Almost… what was it? Something like ten days ago now? When I’d lain out on the hillside, next to the nameless Stallion’s fire (heh, nameless, there was a joke, talk about the bourbon calling the rye amber) he’d mentioned caravans (which always sounded like some kind of yummy snack to me) that had disappeared in the area, been attacked, torn to pieces, something to that effect. And, in the little metal building just a short way ahead of me, was a bounty offered to the pony that ended the threat and it was more than a large enough reward to cover my debts with Apple Bitch, and pay back Ditzy… and pick up a couple bucks, maybe a mare (and who knows, I’d always found griffins… intriguing) and get hammered for a week straight. It wasn’t until after I’d formed the thought in regards to ‘getting hammered’ that I saw the double meaning in it. I giggled appreciatively at my unheard wit and cursed myself for what those giggles did to my aching head. Damn you whiskey. Damn you! Oh, who am I kidding? I can’t stay mad at you. I love you whiskey, no matter what you do to me.

Ahem… yes… well… let’s just… carry on, shall we?

So, my plan, in a nutshell, was to knock on the door to the shack, get any information I needed on where the attacks were happening, let the bounty office know I’d accepted the contract, borrow some gear from Ditzy and head out into the wastes (after dawn and a few hours of blessed sleep) to hunt down some caps. Come to think of it… why in the hell did ponies use caps for money anyway? Aw, who cares? I needed money to get this magical boom collar off my neck and I needed to kill something bad (which would probably make me feel better too and it feels like there’s a double meaning in the statement) in order to get the money to give to that beer swilling, word butchering dildo head. Because, if I didn’t, my head would explode (which was probably much worse than getting shot, though I lacked any desire to put the notion to a test). Luck, yeah, mine fucking sucks.

I rapped gently on the door to the metal shack with a wing. I was using my wings every chance I got, trying to exercise them and speed along their recovery as much as possible. I wanted to fly again, wanted it badly. I could still almost remember it, like a smell from foalhood that rests somewhere between true memory and a young child’s vivid imagination. And, I should waste less time thinking about these things. There was no answer so I knocked again… still nothing. In annoyance I switched to my right forehoof (I remained leery of using the left one since the whole ‘ouch, holy shit, what happened to me I’m covered in blood incident’). There was an unintelligible grunt from inside.

“What?” I asked, not quite clear on what the pony on the other side had said.

“Fuck! Off!” Came the less than delightful reply from inside the shack. Well that was certainly rude, and clearly not my preferred action that involved ‘fucks.’

“Fuck on!” I yelled at the door, my head bitch slapping me for my idiocy. One of these days I would learn not to yell when my head was threatening to split open like a rotten fruit… one of these days.

“Fuck you!” Was the equally eloquent response. Boy, this conversation was quickly devolving to a cluster of ‘fucks’ bridged by other, one syllable words. What the hell is a syllable anyway? Somepony had wasted a lot of time and effort on teaching me things that I now could make neither mane nor tails out of.

“If you buy me dinner… and after I’ve cleaned up, maybe.” I told the shack, hoping that the voice inside, a buck, would be interested enough to open the door and hear me out.

“Hold on.” The other pony’s voice reached me, decidedly less hostile than a few moments before. Yes! Success; and the mare without a name has what it takes to bring the stallions to the train yard.

“I thought females were supposed to keep males waiting, not the other way around.” I said jokingly (read petulantly) after half a minute went by without any updates from the inside. There was grumbling and it sounded like somepony smacked into something hard, then the door was thrown up, forcing me to hastily jump aside. Hey, my reflexes were still good. Despite the alcohol… or… maybe… because of it. That’s the line I would go with anyway, if anypony ever told me I drank too much.

“You.” The dark red earth pony buck with a dirty gold mane in the doorway said, his eyes most of the way closed, body teetering on the verge of falling over.

“Me?” I asked, not sure what he was on about.

“You’re the reason my head hurts so fuckin’ bad.” He said vindictively, trying to close the door. I managed to get a wing in and hold the door open but it was taxing the hell out of me. I really needed to get my strength up. Also, was he blaming me for something I didn’t remember? Awesome, just what I needed right now.

“Why? Did I hit you? Buck too rough for your liking?” I questioned innocently, curious as to what I had done to make this pony so annoyed that he would try to slam a door in my face.

“You get everypony to drinkin’ and dancin’ and singin’ and I ended up hittin’ the gin real bad. I hate gin.” He told me unequivocally. Unequivocally? Whoa now, where in Celestia’s sour sister’s sinful sex stories did that word come from. I don’t even think I could pronounce it right… let alone spell it.

“Yeah, so here’s the thing.” I told him guiltily before changing my tone to one that could only be called badass (with a side of steam power). “I don’t remember any of that stuff.” I pointed to the high tech S & M gear I was sporting on my neck. “All I know is that I now owe some bitch ass bitch a pile of caps for doing shit that’s a total blank to me. And I don’t have the time, patience or interest to stand here and chew my own mane while you talk about how pissed off you are.” He looked at my collar suspiciously and backed away a few steps. “So, what you’re going to do is give me any information I’ll need on the bounty to get rid of whatever’s fucking with the caravans (getting hungry) round here. Then, I’m going to go out and deal with it, finally you’ll pay me the reward, that way, my head doesn’t explode… and you don’t get gelded.” He stared at me for a few seconds, jaw hanging open. The buck stammered, shook his head, and seemed to regret it almost as much as I did those ‘hammer’ giggles.

“Just a second.” He said, turning around and disappearing into the dark of the shack. I crossed my wings that he wasn’t getting a shotgun to chase me off and give my backside a peppering. I liked my backside. Bucks and mares alike appreciated it as a fine work of pony genetics (I thought so at least). There was no need to go putting scars on it when a moderate spanking was more than enough. I whistled as I waited and wondered what the tune was. Isn’t that weird? It was a song I must have known or heard and I still knew it, I just couldn’t remember it. Yup, definitely falls under the ‘weird’ category.

“Okay.” The buck said through a mouth full of paper. He extended his neck forward and, using my wings, I took the copy of the warrant he brought with him from inside the shack. It was pretty hard to see in the dark (not because I was drunk and couldn’t see straight) but he ran through the gist of it in a bored tone that let me know he’d done this before. Hell, he probably wasn’t used to bounty hunters that knew how to read. But, I could read, even if I tended to mouth the words as I read them and liked to draw dirty pictures in the margins.

“Most of the trouble is taking place to the west, between New Appleloosa and the Everfucked… Everfree Forest, around the Republic and the ruins of Ponyville.” He began. “Five small caravans have gone missin’ in the past two months, alon’ with four couriers, two patrols and nopony knows how many scavengers, bounty hunters and random folk besides. Some we find, torn or ripped apart, others just vanish, not a trace, never seen again, like they never existed at all.” The buck took a breath and rubbed at puffy eyes with a hoof. Clearly he, just like me, was not doing so well with the whole ‘too much drinking thing.’

“All the attacks take place near roads, no one is ever seen doin’ the deed and nopony ever survives the killin’ to bear witness. The perpetrators may be taken dead or alive, preferred dead on this one (big surprise) as a lesson as to what happens to those as disrupt trade.” He cleared his throat. “Bounty is 1,200 caps, payable upon proof of death or capture of the asshole or assholes that are doin’ this. The buy in fee is 100 caps payable upon acceptance of the job. Bounties may be tur-”

“What the hay is a buy in fee?” I asked him, confu… nope… befuddled. I may have smiled and quickly hidden it. He sighed and looked at me as though I were stupid. That wasn’t very nice. I wasn’t… not... stupid. Wait? Did that come out right? I don’t think that was the way I was supposed to think it.

“Buy in fees.” The buck said as if explaining something to a foal that’d been dropped on her head one too many times. “When a pony wants to accept a commission they must buy in to that contract, paying a fee to be licensed per se, or contracted out to the company until completion of the job.”

“Why?” I asked. His words weren’t making any sense to me, or maybe I was just drunk, but so far, pretty much everything else that I could remember made sense even if it irritated the living hay out of me.

“It keeps riffraff who can’t pay or would just as soon try and scam to make a quick cap, out of the running. It also helps pay for the contract, the makin’ of the bounty papers, wages for caravan employees and bounties on other thin’s as needed.” He told me. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to go through this routine and it sounded like he didn’t expect it to be the last time either. And, I could kind of see some sense in it, even if the idea annoyed me like crazy.

“Well, as you can see from the deadly jewelry I’ve donned, I don’t have 100 caps on me right now.” I said to the buck. “Can you take it out of my winnings?”

“Listen, I’ve heard every story in the wastes as to why a pony doesn’t want to pay the fee. It never works, and to be honest, I just don’t care anymore. The fee is needed beforehand to make sure the bounty is paid for and future bounties will continue to be paid for and honored by the caravans. You pay now or you go away so I can sleep off what that terrible gin did to my head.” He said nastily and reached forward to grab the paper with his teeth. I drew it back, holding the warrant above my head with my wings, suddenly tempted to taunt him over not being able to reach, complete with nyah-nyahs and sticking my tongue out… and deciding against it after remembering my earlier thoughts on shotguns.

“How about this? I don’t pay the fee now, seeing as how I can’t. However, I get the bounty, you pull 200 caps from my earnings, 100 as a belated fee and the other hundred, well, I won’t ask what happens to it.” I could see him working it over in his mind, greed in his drunken gray eyes. “If I don’t complete the bounty, you don’t lose anything. If I do complete the bounty… listen, you really don’t lose on this either way.” I added, hoping it would slide him over to my way of thinking.

“Two fifty.” He said, trying to barter, drive the amount up as high possible to see what he could get away with.

“Two twenty five.” I countered. He really had me over a hay bale on this one, but he also really wanted to get back to sleep so he didn’t have to suffer through his unfortunate gin binge any longer than was necessary. Thank the Goddesses I hadn’t consumed any gin, though if I had, maybe my puke would have smelled like pine cones instead of… whatever the hell it had ended up smelling like, something foul, that was all I could recall… and still vaguely taste.

“Two forty.” The buck offered. If this continued too much longer I’d be blind stinking sober, hung over and too sane to consider this whole bounty hunting gig.

“Done.” I said, holding out a wing, but still keeping the bounty paper where he couldn’t reach.

“And a hoofjob.” He added. I frowned. Really? As much as I was given to flights of sexual fantasy he was trying to force party time favors into a business deal that involved killing things? It was perverted… or brilliant. I’m not sure which, heck, maybe it was both.

“Buy me drinks when I get back and we’ll see what happens, but no promises.” I told him flatly.

“Done.” He replied, shaking my wing with a hoof. “Now please go the hell away so I can sleep.” He said it with a great sense of fatigue though more geniality then he’d displayed when I first showed up. Of course, he did then slam the door behind him, almost in my face. I just didn’t get other ponies.

I shook my head and folded the paper up under a wing, turning about to look for the distinctive triple railroad car shape of the Absolutely Everything. I could see its outline, near one of the town’s walls and trotted toward it sedately, making a mental game of avoiding puddles, since I was wet and muddy enough as it was.

Okay, I’d gotten in on the bounty, knew where I needed to go (if the direction west but not so far west that you enter the Everfree Forest could be considered a destination) and had that wonderfully annoying time frame of how long I had to do it before my head ass-ploded. Now I needed armor, weapons, some supplies… cigarettes… whiskey. Mmm… whiskey. Which meant I needed to see Ditzy Doo and convince her to assist me, if I could convince her.

The walk to her door was shorter than I expected or wanted, seeing as how I was still trying to come up with a proper way of asking to borrow several hundred credits worth of goods from the Pegasus Ghoul. I knocked with a hoof, giving my wings a few sad pumps to see how they were working. I’d like to say the answer was badly, or poorly. The truth of the matter was that they weren’t working much at all. I could control them, yes, which was good, but I couldn’t fly, couldn’t even get off the ground, no matter how much I liked to imagine that jumping up and down counted.

Ditzy Doo answered on the seventh knock, opening the door just wide enough for me to see her looking out suspiciously. She saw who it was though and her eyes lit up, despite the fact that they were rolling about conspicuously, and never really focused on any one thing. The mare let the door open wide for me to come in and I entered, giving her a nod and a smile, very much aware that looking into her eyes was making me nauseas again. I also saw that she had a magical energy pistol clamped between her teeth. She may have been kooky but the old gal wasn’t stupid. And, she had a flower patterned shower cap on her head… ooooooh-kaaa-aaay. Maybe it was to keep her hair from falling out at night.

The ghoul dropped the pistol on the counter and turned to face me, giving a lopsided smile. I looked down (to avoid the whole eye thing) and noticed she was wearing fuzzy slippers on her hooves. They were green and looked like stylized radigator heads. The things you found out about ponies when you came calling in the middle of the night…

“Okay, I’m real sorry to bother you bu-” I began, feathers crossed that this would go as planned (but, let’s be fair, my plans hadn’t been going too well so far). She stopped me with a slippered hoof and leaned in close to my neck, squinting. What the hay was going on now? Ditzy’s face darkened and lost its smile. Before, I’d always imagined her as full of laughter (even with the whole no tongue situation), now she just looked pissed. The ghoul jabbed at my collar with a barely feathered wing and gave me what was clearly a questioning glare.

“Yeah, uh, about that (was I using the same words as I had with that apple bitch a while earlier?) I got into trouble with the dil… bitc… barkeep at the tavern.” The ghoul frowned at me. “She put this on me to ensure I had incense… no, wait, sensitive… or, uh, what was it, seneschal… incentive, there we are. The cu… mare wanted to make sure I had the proper incentive to pay her back.” I finished and the grim dark look on Ditzy’s muzzle remained. She held up a wing, broken feathers making it look like she’d flown into a building, and retreated behind the counter. I stood and waited, nervously rubbing my neck with a hoof, just below where the collar sat. Ditzy emerged from behind the counter with her chalk board.

‘BITCH!!!’ Was written on it, capital letters, exclamation points and all. Was she calling me a bitch?

“Well, I know I made some bad decisions… actually I don’t know because I don’t remember any of it, but supposedly I made some bad decisions, but I don’t really see how calling me a bitch is fair.” I said in concern, worried that I‘d worn out my welcome and the ghoul’s generosity. She shook her head at me and wrote some more.

‘Not you, silly. Apple Brandy is Apple Bitch.’ She wrote. Oh, okay. I’m getting it now. Slow to the uptake as usual. And Ditzy was right, that Brahmin faced dildo head was a bitch, a really bitchy bitch, not as bad as that ghoul on the hill, I guess, but still a raging bitch.

“You took the words out of mouth.” I told the other mare and she smiled at me. “Now, as much as I’d like to get this thing off immediately and put it on Apple Bitch,” I pointed to the collar with a forehoof. “I’m not confident, given my luck, with the whole removal thing, for fear my head will get removed with it.” Ditzy nodded, her shower cap slipping down over her eyes. “But, if you can, if you’re willing to, I’d like to borrow some gear, a rifle, armor, a new hat, supplies I might need.” The ghoul pushed her shower cap back and raised a somewhat intact eyebrow at me. She bent over her chalk board to write more.

‘Why?’ Huh, well that was short and to the point. She was probably worried that I would return to the saloon and demand at gun point to have the collar taken off. Which had crossed my mind, maybe with the gun accidentally going off in Brandy’s face.

“I took the bounty on whoever’s been messing up the caravans of late. I’m gonna head west and do some shithead hunting.” I answered with a shrug. “I’ll put a bullet in their brain or brains (hmmm, irony? Violence begetting violence? Or just coincidence?) if there’s more than one and use the money to pay Brandy the money I owe her. And, I figure that’ll be my good deed for the year, maybe get some ponies interested in hiring me on for other stuff as well, find a job, get some work, find a nice buck, settle down, pop out some foals, you know, the Equestrian dream.” I realized too late that I might not have phrased things in the best possible manner. My words could have been misconstrued as a blatant reminder of the old Equestria that now lay buried under ruin and ash… and the sadness that accompanied the sudden droop to Ditzy’s face only confirmed my suspicion. But, after a few seconds and me putting a wing around her withers, she perked up and began a hectic and ridiculously energetic rummaging through her goods.

In the end, Ditzy outfitted me in leather armor (made for a buck) that was old and battered but reinforced with metal plates woven into it for added protection. I also got the machete I’d been eyeing up earlier in the day and an old war issue service rifle that had probably seen consistent action (judging by how battered and worn it looked and the abundance of replacement parts on it) for two hundred years with 90 rounds of somewhat new looking, mesmerizingly shiny ammunition. Where she got it I had no idea but shiny things are pretty. The friendly ghoul also gave me a set of saddle bags made from moth eaten cloth and cracked leather, (I wasn’t going to ask what kind of leather) a pair of binoculars, a canteen full of water, food for two days, a small bar of soap (because I apparently didn’t smell too good) some basic medical supplies, a pack of cigarettes (thank the goddesses) a couple flares, a blanket and a hat. But, it wasn’t just any hat. It was a sunhat with a dark blue ribbon on it. Ditzy had given me my hat back. As it turned out, she’d been at the bar early on and retired back to her shop around the time I started making out with Candi (not sure which time) which was thankfully after I’d told her to hold onto my hat while Crane flew me around the room. I didn’t care that the hat matched neither my armor nor my weapons. It was mine and it was pretty and it made me happy, so on it went (after another big hug for the generous ghoul who’d kept it safe for me.

Ditzy wrote out on her chalk board that I could keep all the stuff and didn’t even have to pay her back for any of it so long as I gave the bad ponies that had destroyed the caravans a good (though quite long distance) kicking from her. She’d apparently lost not only money but several friends in the two months since the attacks began, and it was clear from her demeanor (and let’s face it, from her actions) that she valued the lost ponies more than the lost revenue. My attempts to offer to pay her back or return the items were met with staunch refusals and much shaking of funky green slippers and shower cap slipping. Regardless, when I got back I was going to find something I could do to help that poor, happy, 200 and something year old mare with her sad wings and big goofy smile. I just had to figure out what.

After I had been fully kitted out there were still a few hours remaining until dawn, which meant I could get some shut eye and hope that the horrendous headache that was building at my temples would go away before sunrise. Ditzy was more than willing to give me a bag of clothing (bright, garishly colored prison garb from a nearby correctional facility that had operated under the auspices of the Ministry of Morale during the war) for a pillow and a nice dry spot on her floor. She wasn’t even that mad when I threw up a few more times before passing out (because, with her direction and encouragement, I missed most of the expensive items on display). Though she did seem eager to get me out the door when she woke me as the sun crested the eastern horizon what felt like only minutes after I’d quite literally fallen asleep.

I was wrong about the headache by the way. It was even worse when Ditzy shook me awake, a tooth brush sticking out of her mouth and foam from the paste at the corners of her lips. I’ll admit I was a bit confused about what was going on as well, having deemed what little I could remember of the previous night to be nothing more than a particularly elaborate alcohol induced dream. Ditzy had to spend a short (long) time explaining things to me. Though, she did give me a hug (ignoring my smell as I ignored hers) before sending me out the door so that she could get a start on mopping my throw up off her floor. I totally would have cleaned it but I needed to get out and on the road (what was left of it) and I started gagging when I got near the stale vomit puddles.

It was still cold outside, perhaps even more so than it had been during the night, though the sun, visible in its ascent, (at least before it hit the perpetual cloud cover) was comforting and felt warm, inviting. I wanted to leap into the air and fly toward it, revel in the star’s glory. But my wings didn’t work… yet. I made my way to the closest gate and signaled a surprised, sleepy and somewhat drunk looking guard to open the heavy metal doors for me. I wondered if the mare that let me out had been at the tavern too. Knowing this town… probably, heck, I’d probably made out with her too.

I spent a few minutes standing outside, watching the sun rise, checking my armor, weapons and ammunition. Also, I checked my food. As I’ve said, I’m a big girl. I need my delicious calories. Everything seemed to be in order. I did take a few additional moments to enjoy the thought of what must have been going through the guard’s mind when she saw a Pegasus just out of a hospital bed after getting shot in the head… covered in mud and wearing armor… and a slave collar. I’m easily amused, but that’s probably a good thing. After two quick stomps of my right forehoof and one last desperate flutter of my wings (still useless for flying) I awkwardly lit a cigarette and skirted the edge of New Appleloosa, heading west toward adventure… and caps… and freedom.

Okay, in case you didn’t know this already… the wastes suck. They suck hard, harder than a… I wasn’t even going to make a joke (in really poor taste) about what the Equestrian Wasteland sucked harder than. It was dry and gray and dull and brown and dangerous though the only things I ran across that morning, on my way west, were a few bloatsprites. I wasted 5 or 10 (17) rounds shooting the little buggers. Why? Because it was funny to see them pop… and I’m easily amused… and even more easily bored. Eventually I realized that it wasn’t the smartest thing to both use up my precious ammo and announce my presence to anybody nearby for the modest entertainment value the dying sprites provided.

So, I was bored. Bored, bored, BORED! And when I get bored I get hungry. So by morning’s end (judging by the position of the sun behind the clouds), I’d eaten an entire day’s worth of rations. Clearly, Ditzy hadn’t packed enough for me. Being a war era ghoul must have bamboozled her brain enough that she didn’t realize just how much a healthy mare was supposed to eat. Don’t you laugh at me. If anypony asked, that would be my story and I was sticking to it, just as a can of carrots and green beans got stuck to my muzzle for a short time (15 embarrassing minutes) before I could get the damn thing off.

I stayed near the roads but didn’t walk on them, wandering a bit between a few yards distance and just close enough that I could still see and follow the crumbling remnant of war time transportation without it disappearing from view. I tried singing to keep myself busy but soon grew tired of my voice. I tried playing a game but it ended with me tossing rocks at other rocks and giving unenthusiastic ‘yays’ when my wing’s aim was true. For a few minutes I pretended I was an assassin from the Ministry of Awesome, on my way across the grasslands to put a bullet in the Caesar’s head and end the war. Would that have worked? Would the war have ended with the death of the Zebra’s leader? Or, would it have escalated the madness, made things worse? I had no idea but my guess was leaning toward the second probability.

The day was windy and dusty though at least it wasn’t hot. I hated the heat. Maybe, if ponies still lived in the far north (and I lived long enough) I’d go that way and build a homestead, nothing fancy, just clear out the ruins of a three star hotel and settle in the penthouse suite, spend my time drinking and sniping random critters from my ivory tower of awesomeness. What would I call the place? Eh, I was bad with names, according to Doc Mistletoe’s supposedly expert opinion. I would have to think about it, maybe ask some other ponies. And yup, bored again. I was so bored I almost cried, which might have been an improvement over the non crying boredom simply because it would shake things up a bit, be something new and different. This was going to be a long damn day.

It was late afternoon or early evening when I found the remnants of a caravan. And when I say remnants I mean blood spatters, scraps of skin and trashed goods strewn about the corpse of a Brahmin. The site wasn’t marked on my map (thankfully included with the bounty papers) as one of the five destroyed caravan locations… which meant either somepony screwed up the map or this was a sixth set of victims. Victims? I looked around. I guess it could have been two or three ponies before the attack, but, I couldn’t tell for sure. And, while many flies and a few vultures were attracted to the scene of carnage I found it hard not to throw up the food I’d eaten and ended up having to sit a ways away and smoke a few cigarettes to clear my head… and sinuses. I marked the location on my map (as close as I could approximate it) in case the bounty office wanted the information.

After those bracing cigarettes and the wise decision to not eat anymore, I returned to the wreckage. It was definitely three ponies, one blue, one green and one that wasn’t either color but didn’t have enough hide left for me to positively identify the color. Whatever attacked them had torn the three apart… and then… carried off… or ate most of the bodies. Oh boy, that was not a comforting thought. Bad brain. Bad! Let’s see. Evidence of a fire and cookware, looks like they got surprised while eating dinner. Some of the flesh was burnt, fried, as though something irradiated or heated it to the point of melting. So, magical energy weapons, but, there were multiple small caliber bullet wounds on two of the (less than) corpses as well. Okay, more than one attacker maybe? Lastly, a bladed weapon, similar in size to my machete, only sharper, had carved the ponies and the poor pack animal. The blade was hellishly sharp, whatever it was, as it appeared to have gone clean through bone… and muscle… and flesh… and hide… and, on the ponies, armor (crappy armor, but armor none the less).

The goods from the caravan had been scattered, what wasn’t missing was torn asunder and irrespons… irregular… invocation… irrevocably damaged. No salvage to be found here. Damn it. The ground was heavily disturbed, torn up. Cases and shells were everywhere as were almost artful splashes of blood. The caravaneer and his guards had certainly put up a fight before they fell. I started walking in larger concentric circles (see, I’m not as stupid as I think I am), looking for additional evidence, a fallen enemy, gem cartridges, hoof prints, distinctive cigarette butts, anything. There was of course, nothing. Whoever had ambushed this caravan, they were professionals, to clean up after themselves and not leave any traces behind. They were good… and they didn’t want anypony to know who they were. Which meant… the culprits were… cyborg ninja zebra assassins from the future! I jumped and turned around, ready to charge, but there was nothing, just a tiny lizard sitting on a rock, looking at me curiously. The thing ran away before I could interrogate it… or eat it. I don’t think the creature could talk but it would have been worth a try.

Hmmm… no hoof prints. I looked up toward the sky, squinting, scanning the clouds. Nope, no Pegasi watching from above. Still, it could easily answer the question of who attacked the caravan. Nopony expects a Pegasus… or a griffin. Just like with butterflies… damn butterflies. Well, I couldn’t think of anything else that I could do at the moment… except (after going to the little mare’s room, which was just a big dead tree that had fallen long ago) lure the bad guys out into the open.

The attackers had been targeting caravans moving on the road, and had fallen upon this one while the ponies were eating dinner. All the attacks were in this area, west of Appleloosa but east of the Everfree. And, the site of this wreck would draw scavengers, salvagers, raiders, ponies honest and not so honest trying their damnedest just to stay alive. The place might be a trap, to bring in more victims, or there was the whole killer returning to the scene of the crime thing. I didn’t have anything else to go on, what I did have was a limited amount of time before I ker-sploded. So, it was time to see if I could draw these (obviously dangerous) killers into a trap.

I circled the site again, finding the best vantage point that could also provide me with cover and concealment and an egress route should I be forced to make a tactical withdrawal. Look at me with all the military jargon, General Mare With No Name reporting for duty. Line up your bucks and mares, light the stogies and pour the whiskey. Heh heh heh. I totally didn’t salute myself (more than once). I set up my rifle, ammo, machete and one of the flares, with a rock for me to lean against while I aimed. Below, almost in the shadow of the carnage, I’d built a small fire and pulled my blanket over pieces of the fallen tree, rocks, my saddlebags and what was left of my other goods. The remaining flares were placed strategically around the dummy pony (no, not me, the fake sleeping pony), mostly hidden under dirt and rock. I seemed to be a pretty good shot considering the short work I’d made of the bloatsprites earlier in the day, maybe I could shoot the flares and give the bad guys some fireworks. Oh, and, the food wasn’t down in my saddlebags, I’d eaten the last of it by nightfall. Don’t judge me, setting traps was hard work, time consuming and made a pony build up an appetite.

If everything went as planned (wings crossed) the bad guys would come back, drawn in by the fire. They would see the pony under the blanket, close in for the kill and then get their asses shot off by me when I opened up on them from a superior position. If necessary, I’d target the flares and bring some flaming vengeance down on these jerks. Now, it was time for the waiting game, which meant, as you can guess… bored.

I laid in wait, hooves on my service rifle, eye looking down the sights for what felt like days, though judging by the fire burning low; it was probably only an hour. I was uncomfortable and hungry again, and my belly itched something fierce from a bit of the withered weeds that I was on top of. I sighed, scratched my stomach and kicked idly at a few pebbles, making sure that none of them went down the slope to alert anybody that might be approaching the campsite. I was in luck (or really unlucky). There was no one there to alert.

Humming quietly kept my mind busy on a base level for a few extra minutes while I checked the sights on the rifle. I’d zeroed them during the bloatsprite shooting spree and was fairly certain I could land rounds on a target so long as it wasn’t too far away or moving too fast or erratically. I sighed again and adjusted my position, trying to get rid of some rocks that were digging into my hind legs. My hind hooves went up and down idly. I was eager to shoot something, receive some caps and my freedom, then get drunk (not that it had worked out well for me last night, but the next night, I swore to myself, I would take it easy and try not to black out and do really stupid things, mildly stupid ones were more than enough). For what must have been the tenth time since leaving Ditzy and the Absolutely Everything at dawn I wished my canteen had vodka in it instead of water. But, alas, such wonderful thoughts remained mere wishes and were not to be.

Okay, this was not good. The bad guys hadn’t shown up and I’d used all my food and water and a good margin of my remaining time. Looks like I might have to start hookin’ after all. I was just about to consider trotting home empty hooved when the pebbles I was rolling around started vibrating. What the hay? I stopped moving and watched them continue to bounce and shiver. That was weird, but possibly good. Something was coming and hopefully it was my bounty, all ready to be trussed up and deposited at New Appleloosa. The ground started shaking. This was… no longer good. Anything big enough to make the ground shake was definitely too big for the service rifle (chambered in .223) to bring down. At least I wasn’t down by the campfire. I peered over the lip of rock and looked down toward the set up. I still couldn’t see anything approaching. Was it some kind of invisible dragon? I swept the rifle from one side to the other, searching for a target… nothing. Seriously, what in the bloody hell was going… Oh boy I had a really bad feeling, a sinking suspicion if you will. I put my ear to the ground and heard a scraping sound, shoveling, tunneling, snarling, heavy breathing… right below me. Shit.

You know how you have an epiphany, a really great idea or notion, but you get it like five seconds too late? Yeah, that’s what I had. There were no tracks, no evidence and every ambush was perfect because the attackers were striking from under ground. I pointed the service rifle down, standing and moving back as I did so. No one suspects a Pegasus, yeah, well, no one suspects this either. I opened fire as the creature beneath me burst from the ground, sending soil and rock everywhere, lifting me flank over mane into the air. It’s some kind of big gray dog I remarked to myself as I flipped end over end, tumbling over the side of the hill, rolling toward the low burning fire of my now utterly useless trap.

“Fuuuuuu-uuuuuck!” That was the only thing I could get out before coming to a stop against a jutting piece of rock near the campfire. Ouch. Ribs meet pain, pain, ribs. Yup, definitely ouch. The rifle clattered down next to me and I grabbed for it as the creature leapt from the hill and landed on all fours right beside me, maintaining its feet and cracking the dry ground on impact, sending shards of rock everywhere. It was huge, covered in coarse, matted fur with large yellowing teeth and massive claws on the ends of its legs. Great, now I knew how those ponies had been sliced apart. Shit. I brought up the rifle and opened fire on the beast, five rounds at almost point blank range and they seemed to do little more than dimple its hide, like a Minotaur twitching when it gets bitten by a fly. Only two of the rounds penetrated and it didn’t look like they accomplished very much. Again, I’m left with the word shit. I lifted the rifle higher, aiming at the dog’s head, hoping to bring it down by hitting it in the eyes. Only the creature brought down one of its claws and shore right through my service rifle, cutting it cleanly in half.

“Fuck.” I said rolling my eyes in anticipation of what was to follow. I wasn’t disappointed. The beast reversed his swing, catching me in the side with a backhand blow forceful enough to throw my way outclassed ass fifteen feet clear over the fire. “Bad idea.” I mused out loud as I hit ground, sliding across rocks, jagged edges scraping at my armor. I really should not have done this. But I was stupid and thought I could handle this situation, only this wasn’t what I was planning on getting myself into. Oh sure, no problem, just head out, shoot a couple raiders or a big radscorpion, get the caps, come back a hero. Well it sure as shit wasn’t working out so good right now.

The creature loped forward, right over the fire, and pounced. I had enough time to spin and buck. There was a resounding crack as I connected with my attacker but the force of his charge sent me sprawling muzzle forward into the dirt. I rolled to the side, taking a grazing slash that rent right through my reinforced armor and sent spasms of pain along my spine. Weapon gone, armor useless. I hate my life. I came back up to my hooves, groaning as the movement pulled at the tears along my back. The wolf… dog… thing was clutching one long, overdeveloped arm to its chest, clawed hand hanging limply. Hah! I’d broken one of its wrists. The thing snarled at me and dashed forward, lashing out with its good arm. I threw myself forward at the beast (who was probably expecting me to try and run) and slid under it, putting a few quick jabs with my forehooves into its stomach… which the bastard duly ignored.

“Why can’t anything go right for me?!” I roared as the dog kicked me in the withers and sent me to the ground, right next to one of the flares. The flares! I grabbed the pyrotechnic tool between my teeth just as I got caught with another kick that lifted me high into the air, but this jerk hadn’t fought Pegasi before. Even with my wings incapable of flight, the action of extending them delayed my fall enough that the next swipe only bit into my shoulder and into part of my slave collar, not through my neck to sever my head. Maybe the collar would go off and take this freak with me if worst came to worst. I lashed out with my backhooves as I landed, hitting the dog in the back and unbalancing it. The creature was top heavy and teetered forward, extending an arm (the one with a broken wrist) to catch its fall, realizing too late and howling loud enough to wake the dead of old Equestria when its damaged limb hit ground.

“That’s what you get asshole!” I shouted as it regained its feet, turning a slavering mouth full of sharp teeth toward me with a snarl. “Shit!” I galloped to the fire, taking the flare in a wing and slamming it into the dying flames as the dog pounded toward me, baying and mouth agape. The flare burst into life and light and I managed to send the device into an uppercut that hit the beast in the chest. The creature screamed and leapt backward, looking at the blackened hide and flesh where the flare had burnt it. I made a few quick motions with the flare, trying to keep the bastard at bay, only for the thing to circle me warily. What was it doing? “Come on puppy.” I told it, hoping the dog would make a mistake so I could shove the flare up its ass. “Come on. Somebody’s been a naughty dog.” I limped as we circled each other round the fire. My shoulder was aching, stiffening, seizing up. my back was awash with pain, making me take deep ragged breaths with each movement. Why wasn’t the fucker attacking me? I waved the flare and the beast dodged back, weaving on its feet. “Come on! You know you want some prime grade A Pegasus mare. I taste good.” I enticed my opponent, slapping my flanks with my free wing.

“Waiting for flare to die.” The freak growled as my weapon sputtered and dimmed. Oh fuck doodle shit stamp. “No more playing with food.” It continued with a grin, drool hanging down from the corners of its mouth. The flare went out and the dog bounded forward, smashing me to the ground, the dead flare hurtling off into the distance. The dog stood above me, holding me down (awkwardly with its injured arm) and raised its good arm to give me one last clawing that would end this. Well, at least I wouldn’t have to worry about paying apple bitch back. “Supper time.” The creature said, throat rumbling. Then just as the blow was about to fall the beast stopped. It sniffed the air, turning its head to the left and then to the right. What? What now? It continued to sniff as though trying to catch some new scent that it couldn’t place.

BOOM!

A horrendously familiar sound filled my ears and tore through the beast’s cheek. It staggered and a second shot hit it in the left eye, blowing out the socket. The dog went down to all fours, almost crushing me. Two more booms went off as it tried to rise and broke the creature’s jaw, shattering teeth and bone. The dog whimpered and gave one last look in the direction the shots were coming from before a fifth took it between snout and intact eye. The round hit at the perfect angle and blew out the back of the bastard’s skull, splattering me with brains, blood, bones and something that had to be cerebral fluid (ew, gross).

“Thank the goddesses.” I said in relief, just before the corpse collapsed onto me. “Fuck.” I said breathlessly as all the air was forced from my lungs. Losing consciousness, awesome, fainting, not again. Back in a flash, wake me when you need me for something…

Hiding in the clouds, being very quiet, sneaking up on him. He had no idea I was there, just above him on the higher bank. He was waiting for me to come through below, that’s when he’d make his move, but he wasn’t expecting this. I got in position, wings unfurled, ready for the wind to pull in the right direction… and… I jumped forward, curling my wings inward, diving toward him…

I woke feeling like a building had fallen on me but no; it was just my dead attacker, some kind of very large offshoot of the old Diamond Dogs of pre war Equestria if my guess was correct. Not that it helped when several hundred pounds of the thing were sitting on top of me. I hadn’t been out long, seeing as how one of my attacker’s hind hooves… no dogs didn’t have them… feet… paws was smoldering in the embers of the fire. And the thing smelled, goddesses, it smelled awful. I mean, I know I was in no position to judge considering the state I’d been in since my black out drinking barf fest mud bath, but holy crap did this thing stink. In part, I think, because it shat itself when it died. Great, because things didn’t suck enough already? I was just glad that somepony showed up when they did and sniped the damn dog’s head like a skull fucking from an enraged dragon. I also wished however that the stupid mutt hadn’t landed on top of me.

Attempts to dislodge the creature or wiggle my way out from under it met with oven mitt… mini gate… negated… unmitigated failure. Damn it. I huffed and coughed when I breathed in again, getting fur in my nose and mouth, leading to two epic sneezes. With nothing else to do, I looked up at the sky, seeing the faintest hint of stars behind the cloud curtain, and waited for my rescuer to appear. I waited for a long time.

I’d become uncomfortably aware of how badly I needed to go to the bathroom. I tried keeping my mind off the subject by trying to reconstruct the fate of the last caravan. They’d stopped for the night and built a fire. The dog had been underground, following the vibrations of their movements, waiting for them to stop. When they did, the creature tunneled upward, digging out of the ground and coming up right in the middle of the camp. He grabbed one pony first, firing an energy weapon (which I hadn’t seen, so maybe it had been lost at the top of the hill when I first opened fire on it) and ripping its prey apart. The other ponies opened fire, striking the hound and their comrade, but the bullets were ineffective. The attacker moved to the next victim, hitting them with the energy weapon and ripping them apart as the last caravaneer continued to fire. Then the dog turned its attention on the third pony, killed him (or her) and went to the confused and agitated Brahmin. That’s what I figured must have happened. It was a clever ambush though it had to rely on the natural toughness of the dog’s hide to prevent reciprocal (look out, this mare’s got some words indeed) injuries. And, the prick had found me the same way as it had been tracking and hunting the other groups. It waited underground, listening. That was how it knew where I was and didn’t walk into my trap.

The sound of hoofsteps reached me. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you! It was about damn time. Now I just needed this pony to help roll the big dead dog off of me. I waited patiently (as patiently as was possible for me), considering I had hundreds of pounds of dog on top of me and an insanely pressing urge to go back to the dead tree that earlier served as the little mare’s room.

BOOM!

Arrrgh! It was even louder up close. The shot struck one of the dead dog’s hind legs and triggered no response. What the…?

“Yes, it’s dead. Can you please get it off me?” I asked the darkness shrouded shooter who seemed to not trust to the fact that they’d blown half the dog’s head off as a good enough indication that it was well and truly dead.

“That better not be who I think it is.” The gruff reply drifted back to me across the night. No. It couldn’t be. But, those booms had sounded quite familiar.

“Sunglasses?” I asked as the shape of a pony ambled into view, hefting a sniper rifle.

“Crazy mare?” The questioning reply came. Yup it sure sounded like his voice and as my rescuer neared, the shadows resolved themselves into the unimpressive duster wearing buck that had shot the ghoul on the hill side what felt like ages ago. And hey, I wasn’t crazy… I wasn’t crazy enough to be called crazy at any rate, not by somepony that didn’t even know me. Oh, who was I kidding I didn’t even know me. The stallion approached and sat down next to me and the dead dog, slumping.

“What are you doing here?” He asked. His voice sounded worried. Awww… was he worried about me? That was sweet. “And why do have a lethal force prisoner control device on?” Hubuzah wha?

“Hubuzah wha? “ I asked. What the hell was he talking about?

“The explosive collar you’re wearing. Please tell me you didn’t buy it or put it on thinking it was jewelry.” He added, apparently on the verge of a facehoof. Of course I hadn’t. The collar totally didn’t match my hat (and yes, I know the hat didn’t match the tattered shreds of armor I was wearing).

“No, I just… well… it’s a long story.” I offered in apology. “And I’m kind of on borrowed time.” I told him. He glared at me (at least, I think he glared at me) from behind his sunglasses. “The bitch that put this on me will set it off if I don’t get her the money I owe her… and soon.” The buck sat there silently for a few seconds then gripped the left sleeve of his long coat between his teeth and pulled back on it, revealing some kind of high speed low drag super shiny technological witchcrafty thing. What the hell? It was attached to his foreleg and was he? Could it be? Was he a cyborg from the future? My own personal guardian against the ninja assassin zebras? He fiddled with the device for some time, gently moving a dial and pressing buttons with his right forehoof.

“It looks like it was never taken off factory settings from the war, though there’s some corruption to coding of the frequency and…” he jabbed a button and the collar made a pleasant beep, tiny lights winking once, from it’s position around my throat.

“What did you do?” I asked, ready for things to start exploding. I survived some kind of demonic radiation dog only to be blown up by the pony that saved me. Hello irony. Was that irony? Or was it just tragedy?

“I disarmed it.” He told me in utter deadpan.

“Than why is it still on me?” I asked. Shouldn’t the thing fall off when it gets turned off? Or, at least unclasp so that I can remove it?

“Malfunction maybe.” He said with a shrug and a grin that made me want to plant a hoof right in his teeth. “It does look like it’s damaged, probably from your little tussle here.” Tussle? He called my epic fight with the now dead beast a tussle? And don’t think I’d forgotten my promise of what I would do to him the next time we met. I hadn’t no sir, no sir indeed. He cleared his throat and spoke again. “Now that you are no longer in any immediate danger of sudden and violent detonation, would you mind telling me what in the fuck you’re doing out here, fighting a Hellhound?”

“Oh, you know, girl has nothing to do, gets bored, decides to wander the wastes and go hoof to claw with a giant evil dog.” I snarked back. He didn’t respond. “Can you get this thing off of me?”

“Sure.” He said happily. “After you explain.” Goddesses damn it. I sighed and tried to get comfortable under the… Hellhound’s bulk. This was just great.

So, over the course of about half an hour (that felt like a week) I told him about reaching the town of New Appleloosa, my time with Doc Mistletoe, Candi, Ditzy, the saloon, waking up in the alley, apple bitch, the collar, my plan and the brilliant ambush I set up that just didn’t work out the way I’d intended it to. He spent the entire time sitting next to me, looking off into the distance, frowning and smoking cigarettes (at least he offered me one while I spoke). I finished by describing my run in with the Hellhound as he called it. The buck’s response was not one that I expected.

“Can’t believe… why would you… back in the wastes… what in the… wild… fuck?” He shook his head and muttered. “Not supposed to be… she was wrong… how can that be… but she was right before… the enlightenment seeker… the hoof… how did this… loco in the fucking coco… I need a drink.” His voice changed with each comment, going through an impressive range and various accents. Okay, I stand by my initial assessment. This was a crazy pony.

“Hello.” I said but he didn’t answer. “Equestria to Mister Sunglasses.” I tried, and sighed when that didn’t work either. “Earth to the Mysterious Stallion!” I shouted and he finally came free of his reverie and looked at me as though noticing I was there for the first time.

“What?” He asked impatiently.

“You were going all crazy.” I replied. His frown deepened. “What? Sorry, but I call it as I see it.” I told him truthfully. “Now, can you please get this stinking heavy thing off me so I can pee… and breath properly again?”

“No.” He said forcefully, voice deep as the rumble of a boulder rolling down a mountain.

“Why the heck not?” I asked, getting frustrated and angry at him all over again. “Last time you left me on the middle of a goddess forsaken hill side to die!” I fumed. “What now! Why now! What the fuck is your problem?” I roared at him. He looked back at me… sadly.

“If I hadn’t been scouting the area looking into taking on a bounty on some raiders running out of Ponyville, you’d be dead and the Hellhound would be alive and a little less hungry. I gave you a chance to get to safety, to live… and you squandered it by coming back out here to die. Maybe this time, you’ll learn and think on things a bit.” The buck said quietly, shaking his head. ‘But thinking about things hurts,’ I wanted to tell him. Instead I gulped when he pulled a large knife from inside of his coat and then thankfully allayed my fears that he was going to use it on me when he began sawing at one of the Hellhound’s arms, beginning his cut at the creature’s wrist. “Though I doubt you’ll listen or lean.” He added, spitting the knife out of his mouth and taking a momentary break from his work. “Now,” he said, genial and happy go lucky of a sudden. “I’m taking the claws, might come in handy, and I’m going to show them as proof to the New Appleloosa bounty office that I took a Hellhound.” He finished up on the first wrist and walked around to the other side, me still helpless beneath the vast hairy stinking bulk. “You should take back the creature’s hide. You’ll collect partial bounty on the hound and full bounty on solving the caravan problem.” He started working on the other arm.

“Just how in the hay am I supposed to take this thing’s hide?” I asked as rudely as possible, waiting for him to come into view again. He trotted back around and dropped the knife from his mouth, the blade sinking into the dirt right near my head. Oh, you have got to be kidding me. No. He couldn’t expect me to…

“With this.” The Mysterious Stallion answered, jutting his head to indicate the knife he’d dropped. “I’m leaving, going to collect on my half of the dog and accept the bounty on the raiders.”

“You’re leaving me again?” I wailed, refusing to contemplate the thought of skinning anything, let alone a giant evil hound from hell. How could my luck be this bad? How?

“Again.” He confirmed.

“Why you rotten lousy son of a bitch.” I spat.

“You wasted the opportunity, last time I gave it to you. Why should I feel bad, knowing you’ll only waste it again?” He asked me and I wasn’t honestly certain what he meant. My angered befuddlement must have been showing. “Tell you what, if you make it back alive… and if I see you in New Appleloosa I’ll buy you a drink, but saving your life shouldn’t be my responsibility, not again.” He said calmly. A little pony in my head waved away most of the words he’d said like they were angry buzzing bloatsprites. Oh, did he say drink?

“Make it ten.” I told him in no uncertain terms. I imagined he rolled his eyes under those stupid sunglasses of his.

“Done.” He said with a smile. “Now I really must be off. Things to do, caps to make, ponies to kill.” The buck turned to leave.

“Wait, aren’t you going to help me out from under this thing?” I asked.

“Nope.” He answered blithely. “You’ll manage it eventually I’m sure.” He kept walking, shrugging to get the sniper rifle slung over his back to sit easier. Oh great, just great. He was pulling this shit… again.

“Can you at least leave me with a weapon? My gun broke.” I called out to him desperately. The buck looked back at me.

“I left you the knife.” He replied and then gave a dispirited grunt when I whimpered and made sad eyes at him. “Fine.” He said in disgust, putting his muzzle to his coat and pulling out a revolver. “You only have six rounds, so don’t do anything stupid with it.” He told me as he set the gun down near the remnants of my service rifle. He turned his head in interest and gave a slightly appreciative look. “Oh, and be careful, there’s a flare right next to your ass.” There was? Oh, right, one of the ones I’d set for the trap. He turned back to the black shroud of night and resumed his infuriating departure.

“I knew that!” I shouted as he disappeared into the darkness. “I was going to use it on this jerk but you shot him first!” Laughter’s echoes were the only sounds given in reply. I looked up at the cloudy sky. This… hadn’t gone as bad as it could have. I started trying to roll the dead body back and forth to get it off of me… and finally lost control of my bladder. Damn it. And, when I was out from under the beast, if I wanted the extra reward money I was going to need to skin the thing. I sighed and continued my efforts. This was going to be a long damn night.

LEVEL 2 (congratulations… and finally, jeez, took you long enough)

New Perk Added: Intense Training – You survived being shot in the head and left for dead. You made it to New Appleloosa without dying, stayed alive through surgeries and are back on your hooves. Now you’ve survived a fight with a Hellhound. You must be one tough cookie… or just crazy and stupid for not taking it easy. You’ve gained +1 to your Endurance.

Coming Soon: Chapter 5. Bullets, Booze… Bucks

Author's Note

Well, here we are, halfway done with Volume I in less than a month, definitely a good thing. At this rate the story will be done in... oh, about three darn years. But, I digress. Please be sure to thank my editor, Demichev (and congratulate him on his excellent ASVAB score and finally getting through MEPS and having a ship out date) if you like the story... and if you don't like the story... I'd be more than happy to hear constructive criticism or exchange valid/sound arguments that quickly devolve into childish insults and temper tantrums (not really on the last part). Also, please read Rangers of Wintertrot by Tonto the Trotter, it's a lot of fun and Chapter 6 really hits it out of the park. And remember, smile!