Fallout Equestria: Las Pegasusby memorex11235ChaptersChapter TwoChapter ThreeChapter FourChapter FiveChapter SixChapter OneChapter TwoThe calm snoring of a worn out traveler was cut short as two strong earth ponies burst through the door of the old ranch shed. Steele woke up abruptly only to be punched in the face and restrained. His head spinning and vision fading, he only managed to catch the distinguishable armor of his attackers; it resembled that of the old royal guards, and Steele knew he was in deep shit. A few more moments of being dragged along the ground, and his captors dropped his body at the feet of his favorite decanus. “Steele. I thought a clever snake like you would know better than to hide right under the sun’s rays.” Spoke the unnervingly calm voice. “What.... what are you going to do to me?” Steele asked. This was no time to act macho. Genuine fear replaced bravado, and to Vulpes’s amusement Steele groveled like every other weakling in the Mojave. “Execute Justice.” Vulpes answered. “You broke a man’s legs without him wronging you in any way. You deserve to suffer like he did. An eye for an eye. His legs for yours.” Vulpes explained, waving his hoof around as if to explain a trivial matter. “No! You can’t! You forced me to do that!” Steele yelled, but it was all in vain. He was restrained again, and his legs were held in place the same way the Powder Ganger’s legs were. Steele looked up to meet Vulpes’s smile as a Legion veteran swung a large bloody hammer onto Steele’s right knee. “No!” Steele screamed. The sound of bone shattering was mind-numbing, and pain washed over Steele, seeping into every crack as it drowned him in burning agony. He writhed in the throbbing pain, enduring wave after wave of rhythmic torture. Steele screamed and violently recoiled into reality. His alarm had been going off for a few minutes now, and he magically silenced it to prevent it from giving away his position. “Just a bad dream.” He realized, taking a deep breath and wiping the cold sweat off his face. The Mojave finds ways to get under your skin. It haunts you, grinds away at your body, and batters your mind until you wear away like the sand that stretches as far as the eye can see. You could act as tough as you wanted to, but the guilt death entails never escapes the mind, not even for ponies as cold as Steele. Steele took a few moments to calm down. It felt like there was someone in his head, beating the inside of his forehead with a hammer, demanding freedom from the dark confines of his mind. He finished his second to last water bottle, and angrily shook the empty apple whiskey bottle, damning it for not containing the liquid cure to his headache and guilt. He put on his hat, checked his gear, and left his stupid alarm clock to rust. Steele was hungry, really hungry, and food took priority as he pondered as to where he might satisfy his ravaging hunger. He couldn't go back to Nipton, that place was off limits at the moment, so the only place left was wherever this endless desert led him to. He picked a direction and began to walk, hunger motivating him to press onward. His path brought him to nothing more than steep hills and rocks. He was about to pick another direction, but the rocky cliff to his right seemed like it had an opening, and his curiosity and empty stomach led him to find that there was an old weather damaged wood door. Anything could lay behind it, either death or profitable goods would be found. Such a decision was usually made on a full stomach, but with it growling in protest Steele convinced himself he had no other choice other than raid whatever was behind that door. He swung it open and stepped into a dark cave; a few gem powered lanterns provided the only illumination in the form of dim, green flame. I'm going to regret this. Steele thought before descending further into what seemed like an endlessly winding cave. A few moments of travel and he started to feel sick. Either the emptiness of his stomach was getting to him, or something was not right with this cave. As Steele’s hooves clicked against the rocky floor, sending echoes throughout the cave, he noticed that the only life here came from green glowing mushrooms; no doubt the result of radioactivity. Once the idea of this cave being nothing more than a radioactive stone casket for some unlucky traveler clicked, Steele began to turn back, but stopped in his tracks when a barely audible hissing noise caught his attention. Steam? Here? There aren't any pipes around here, how could there be steam? He pondered. Unfortunately, the realization hit him harder than the over-sized mutated rat that had dug its teeth into his armor. He screamed as its hardened teeth bit into one of his armor’s plates, crushing the forearm underneath. Steele drew Mustang and Sally in time to tear a hole in his attacker’s head, but the screaming and gunshots had attracted a lot more rats, calling them to the source of their potential meal. “May the goddesses forgive me for what I’ve done!” He yelled, being forced deeper into the cave. Strangely enough, he felt that if he was going to die then he might as well ask for forgiveness, because wherever he was going wasn't going to be pretty. Steele ran through the cave, firing into the swarm of rats behind him and leaping over radioactive barrels. “That explains the Celestia damned rats.” He thought out loud. With each time he looked back a new surge of adrenaline coursed through his body. The swarm was so thick that the thin hallways could not support them all, and many were jumping and tripping over one another to get at the tasty new meal running away from them. “Luna fuck me with her horn!” Steele screamed, counting his blessings as he magically swung the heavy metal door, and once behind it, slammed his whole weight into it. The rat swarm behind him squealed in protest, and a few rats managed to squeeze their heads through the door. Steele shot them, and to his relief, his magic and body weight were enough to close the door despite the protest of its rusty hinges. Steele slide against the door, revolvers drawn, and took a moment to have the adrenaline wear off. This was more excitement than he asked for, and now it seems like he was trapped and left to die. He was never a religious pony, the Goddesses and their glory were only colt tales to him, but despite the bastardizations of their perfection from the NLR and Solar Legion, Steele had to admit that he was a bit more than just lucky, and thanked the Goddesses for his safety. All those stories couldn't be made up, could they? He hoped. The nights by his mother and the fireplace had to mean something. She had often told him that Equestria used to be lush and beautiful, that death and destruction were non-existent. Often he would find comfort in his mother’s soothing voice as she sung stories of beautiful princesses capable of love and tolerance. Steele drifted back into reality and stood up, shaking the bullshit out of his head. The radiation was getting to him, and the Mojave was far from a children’s tale of wonders and peace. Steele examined his soon to be grave, and found an old desk. A few very old, intact notes and a busted stabletech terminal sat on top of it. He read began to read the first note, noticing that the lightly written words appeared to be the work of a unicorn mare. Research Log # 32: It’s Dr.Livingworth again. I’m still mad at the other followers of the apocalypse for forcing Bill and I to study this radiation filled shithole. Nothings changed in the last few weeks. The rats keep getting bigger and more aggressive. Today Bill had to take out four of them as they attacked our lab; they've never had the nerve to do that before, but it seems that the lack of food and added radiation are making them more desperate. Honestly I don't know how I would have ever survived had Bill not been here to save me. I mean Luna dam does he look good when he uses that gun of his. He’s the only reason I still haven't left this place; I would never want to make myself look bad in front of him. He was saved by the followers, and is really devoted to help them. I just can't abandon this project, he’d just hate me if I did. Oh I wish I knew how he feels about me, if he’d ever forgive me if I gave up this stupid task. I hope he never reads these, but a part of me still wants him to, just to see how he would react. Oh well, back to eating canned food and studying the radioactive rat corpses Bill patiently salvages for me. Bill’s Diary: I’m getting tired of sitting here. I appreciate what the followers did for me, but sometimes I think they aren’t the best example of “knowledge keepers”. I probably would have left had it not been for the doctor. She’s so kind and pretty, I don't know how I would have ever lasted had it not been for her medical expertise. She’s so modest too; when she was patching up my leg after a rat bite, she blushed and turned away when I told her how great of a doctor she was; her cute little glasses nearly fell off. I don’t know how much longer we have to stay here, but I promise to keep her safe. I guess she’s just worth living for. Dear Celestia I hope she doesn't read these. If she found out I made that joke, she’d kill me. The rats have been getting more vicious. I’m afraid my trusty old Ratslayer might not be enough. Either way, I’ll stay here as long as the doctor needs to, I’d never let her down. Steele stopped reading; he hated to get into the dead’s affairs. There were enough things to trouble his conscience, but he couldn't help but read the last note. After all, it might contain info on how to get the hell out of here. To his dismay the last note was stained with darkened circles; either blood or tears. Steele tried to reconsider, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him. Unlike Bill’s heavy magic-writing, the words were light and smooth, Dr. Livingworth’s work. Dr.Livingworth’s Note: To whoever reads this, I left behind the diaries of my co worker Bill and I. We have run out of food, and the rats have become completely feral. We are currently trapped by a hungry swarm outside the lab and are out of ideas. Bill wants to run out there and sacrifice himself so that I can run, but I just can't let him. Oddly enough, I was right about him liking me. I regret not telling him how I felt from the beginning. Maybe then we wouldn’t have to die. When Bill will fall asleep, I'll sneak out and use the few explosives we have on the rats. Bill is strong; he can take care of the few rats left behind. To whoever reads this, please give this to the Followers of the Apocalypse. And if you are reading this Bill, then please don’t be mad. I just wanted you to live and move on. I’m just a stupid, weak little mare who the Mojave will forget, but you are strong stallion who can make a difference. I love you Bill. Please don’t hate me. Steele stopped reading; he had read enough. Oddly enough he now felt like he needed to do something. He had invaded on the privacy of the dead, and in doing so needed to make it up to them by fulfilling their request. He carefully rolled up the notes and placed them in his saddlebag. No hints on how to get out, but maybe there was something left behind that could be used to help him. Steele looked around the room and noticed a small makeshift lab first. He salvaged the few healing potions and was grateful for the 5 new packs of radaway he now owned. Upon further inspection he found a few crates filled with food cans, but to the dismay of his upset stomach, they were all empty. Steele moved on the corner of the lab to find a makeshift bunk bed. There was a unicorn corpse on the bottom bunk, and judging by the gun it held, Steele knew this was Bill. Poor bastard must have found the notes and decided that he didn't want to live without the doctor. Looting corpses was a must for survival, and this case was no different, but knowing the history behind a lifeless body really made taking from it an uncomfortable process. Steele slowly levitated the beautiful rifle out from under the corpse and stepped back to examine it. He let out a low whistle once he got a better look. Normally he would sell any gun he came across since he didn't want the extra weight, and his gun’s ammo was expensive, but this was something else. The semi-automatic rifle had a black composite body, making it extremely light. It was also equipped with a 6x night scope, a silencer, and an extended magazine. This was truly a nice find, and the common 5.56 ammo for it would really go easy on Steele’s wallet. Upon further inspection it had a while rat skull painted on the side, and there was a set of tally marks above the name “Ratslayer”. Steele counted sixty nine total tallies, and shouldered the gun. This was his rifle now, and luckily the ammo crate by the bed gave him enough ammo to make his new toy useful. Steele's attention drifted to a vomit-green duffle bag under the bed, and upon further inspection he found what he had been looking for; three shiny metallic apples stared back at him from the dark interior of the bag. Steele levitated the grenades and asked the Goddesses for support before pulling the metal leaves and throwing the grenades behind the door. The cave shook as the grenades exploded, filling it with ear-shattering screeching. Steele reopened the heavy steel door, and the nasty stench of fried mutated rat organs strewn about hit his muzzle hard. He nearly dropped Ratslayer, but pushed forward. The explosions were enough to take care of most of the rats, and Steele had no trouble picking off the few that blocked his escape. Once outside Steele gasped for the fresh warm air, willing it to replace the horrid taste of roasted rat. Steele downed three radaways, and actually embraced the bitter taste. His moment of freedom and survival was short lived however, when his stomach reminded him of its presence. Steele downed his remaining water and traveled forward. To his relief he caught a campfire smoke trail not too far from the cave he just escaped. He used one of the hills to get a look at the potential food source; a Legion raid camp. Great.He thought sarcastically, smirking behind the scope of his rifle. There were four Legionaries total. Three prime, and one recruit; they appeared to be part of the Nipton raid considering there were two tied up Powder Gangers in the middle of the camp. No doubt they would be sold into slavery soon, but that didn't trouble Steele right now. A camp meant food, and this was an easy camp to take. It was the perfect plan, but as always something had to go to shit. To Steele’s dismay a familiar beige maned, white unicorn was taking aim at the Legionaries from another hill. He might have had a superior aiming advantage thanks to his pipbuck, but unfortunately it didn't make up for his terrible hiding skills. The Legionaries immediately started to attack him, spreading out and closing in on him quickly. The courier put up a good fight, killing the recruit and wounding a prime Legionary immediately, but there were too many of them for his slow firing gun to handle. Luckily, Steele was hungry, and therefore in the mood to help him. He positioned Ratslayer and began to silently take out the Legionaries. He only needed to fire three bullets. Once clear, he reloaded the magazine and shouldered his gun, regretting not waiting long enough to let the Legionaries kill his annoying problem. The courier was smiling and waving him over. Dam kid. Steele smirked. “Hey, thanks for the save again. Since you killed most of them and saved me, you deserve most of the loot.” He said. His genuine friendliness was a nice sight to see, but kindness was rare in these parts, and it only raised Steele’s suspicion. “What are you doing here?” Steele questioned bluntly as he eyed this courier of his. This was no time for being nice. He was hungry, and for all he knew, so was this courier. “Hey relax man. I don't know what your problem is, but I’m thanking you for saving me twice; you don’t have to be an asshole about it.” The courier answered, his easygoing nature was starting to rub off on Steele, and he reconsidered his hostilities. “Sorry. Near death and hunger tend to make a man impatient.” He explained. “Alright, that’s a start." The courier began, eyeing Steele with one of his eyebrows raised; for some odd reason he was curious about his mysterious hero. "I don't have any food, but there’s a supply tent here. We could split the goods soon as I let these guys go." He added, motioning at the tied up Gangers who eyed them nervously. "I talked to some poor guy in the nearby town. Poor bastard had his damn legs broken by these Legion assholes, and told me about these two. I mean I just don't know how the Legion could possibly use the Goddess's name like that. It’s sick.” He ranted, proceeding to untie the two Gangers, who thanked them and ran off. He returned his attention to Steele. “So, I answered your question, now I think you should answer mine. What’s your name?” This courier seemed like a nice guy, a bit too chatty and innocent for Steele’s taste, but his kindness was genuine. He actually risked his life for the two low life Powder Gangers without expecting a reward. Either he was some sort of saint, or that bullet must have done a number on his brain. Whatever. He was kind, and that earned Steele’s kindness as well. “Steele.” Was the reply. “Cool, that wasn't so hard now was it? My names Hermes, but I’m sure you could care less about that right now. Let’s eat first, then if you still want to, I could answer any questions you have. Deal?” He asked, offering his hoof and a warm smile. “I like you more already.” Steele answered, returning the gesture. This courier might have been smarter than he looked. The day soon became night and the two worn travelers took comfort in the warm glow of the campfire. With his stomach content, Steele decided to take Hermes up on his offer. “So mister Stable dweller, what stable did you escape?” He questioned. “Stable?" Hermes asked. "Oh right, the pipbuck and suit. Not mine actually. Doctor Mellowgrass gave them to me. I’m a courier, born and raised in the Mojave.” “Really? You're using that fancy pipbuck like you were born with it, and for a Mojave dweller you sure act like an oblivious stable dweller. I’ve never seen any Mojave survivor this oblivious of his surroundings and this bad at survival.” Steele answered. Hermes was visibly offended, but knowing Steele's harsh nature, he didn't let it get to him. “Not from this part of the Mojave." He answered bitterly. "I’ve never been this far west until I got my latest package, which wasn’t even mine to begin with. Some other courier died, and I got responsibility for his package. As for the survival part, well. Being a desert mail stallion doesn't mean you get to kill shit on a daily basis like you mister macho." He explained, pushing an accusing hoof at Steele's chest before laying down and staring up at the night sky. "Hell I only do well because I got this fancy computer strapped to my arm.” He finished. Steele noticed Hermes had a terrible poker face, and his easy going nature did a poor job of hiding his hurt feelings. “Whoa relax. Just thought you’d rather hear it from me before thinking you can play hero whenever you want. The Mojave isn't a place for nice guys, and your heroism is just going to get you killed.” “Well why can’t it be a place for good ponies?" Hermes exclaimed, turning to his side and facing Steele. "I mean if everyone wants to be a selfish asshole like you, then obviously nice guys won’t last long. You've gotta start somewhere. I might not be the survivor badass you are, but my profession at least taught me that kindness goes a long way.” Steele stared the courier down. He sure had a lot of guts insulting Steele so openly, and that caught his attention. “Ok kid, I see your point. Hell I used to play hero too." Steele yielded, his attention drifting to the past. "Didn't get me far though. A saint in hell won't last long. Feel free to keep trying to make the Mojave a better place, just don't go on dragging me into it.” Hermes might have been an ignorant fool, but so was Steele a few years back. Who knows? Maybe the stories of Equestria thriving on peace and kindness were true. Maybe Hermes could make a difference, or maybe Steele’s brain was still irradiated from that cave and it was making him irrationally kind. “You used to be kind? See, I was starting to lose hope in miracles, but that... that sure is something." Hermes chuckled. “Can it smart ass.” Steele laughed. It felt good to stretch those muscles again. “Holy shit! He’s laughing now! Luna strike me dead, he’s gone insane.” Hermes responded, laughing as well. “Alright that’s enough.” Steele said, breaking the light mood as fast as it had come. “And he’s back.” Hermes answered gloomily as he rolled his eyes and sighed. Steele was a tougher bastard to crack than he thought. “This package of yours. What is it, and why the hell did you decide Mr. House was a good client?” Steele asked, getting back to the idea of profit. “I have no idea. It’s just a trinket to me. I had no idea it belonged to Mr. House until I was digging my own grave. Some whack job named Lucky Star and his two goons took it from me; he seemed to give it more value than I would have ever thought it deserved. Hell, the pay check was good, and the package was light. At the time it didn't seem like a big deal, but apparently I was damn wrong.” "Trinket?" Steele pressed. "Yea, a little silver lightning bolt. Must have belonged to a necklace or something, I don't know. Lucky Star seemed to give it more credit then it deserved, least he was willing to kill me over it." Hermes explained, scratching the back of his head. “Welcome to the Mojave. Either way, what do you plan to do about it now?” Steele asked, taking a sip from his new bottle of apple whiskey. Hermes plopped down onto his back again and stared into the night sky, letting his mind drift for a bit. “Right now I plan to find that Lucky Star bastard, kill him, and take what's mine. What I’d do from there? I have no idea.” Hermes finally answered. “Not as soft as I thought kid. I can respect that. You keep that attitude and you just might survive this shit hole.” Steele complimented, taking a swig of his whiskey and gazing into the distance. “Say, what are you doing here? I mean, I don't have any family to go back to, but you might.” Hermes asked, never breaking eye contact with the sky. Steele sighed and leaned back to look at the sky as well. He often asked himself that question, but never came up with a definite answer. “Surviving. Just like everypony else.” He answered gravely. “And you never get bored of that? You never think, “Hey, I want something more; to do something no one will ever forget.” To be someone that makes Equestria better?” Hermes asked, swinging his hoof in the air as he explained. “I don't think I’m cut out for that kid. I’m no saint. There are far better ponies out there than me.” “Oh come on, you’re a badass. You can kill stuff without needing a computer like mine, and you seem pretty smart for someone who doesn't talk much.” “I appreciate the flattery, but I’m not convinced just yet.” Steele answered. This kid was spewing way too much mushy bullshit for Steele's taste, but being called something other than an asshole was nice. “Say, why don't you come with me? I could use your help, and you might want the company and support.” Hermes asked, leaning on one arm and staring at Steele through the fire. Steele laughed, making Hermes frown. “Look kid, I don't exactly call you safe to be around. Sure you could hold your ground, but you aren’t exactly survival hardened.” “Exactly!” Hermes exclaimed, sitting upright. I need someone to help keep me alive. Right about now you’re the only friend I have. I know I’m not the toughest out there, but take this as the first step in doing something kind. Everyone has to start somewhere, so why don't you start with helping me?” It scared Steele as to how much he wanted to take Hermes up on his offer. The kid was oblivious, too nice, and way too chatty. But there was something about him. Something that made Steele want to go back to the good old days of being a good samaritan and make the Mojave the children’s tale he so often heard about. He looked away from Hermes and stared off into the distance. "Well?" Hermes asked. He was silenced when Steele raised a hoof. I'm going to regret this. Steele thought. He sighed and lowered his hoof. “Kid, if you want me to follow you then there are going to have to be some rules.” Hermes’s grin couldn’t fit his face, and it sickened Steele. “Ok, number one is I’m the boss. My word is final. I’m not going to get myself killed because you thought that being a hero is the right thing to do. Two, resources are under my control. I don't want to see a single cap spent without me knowing it. Rule number three is I get to change and make up more rules as I go. I don't want to focus on leadership just because I have a smart ass following me around; deal?” Steele asked, extending his hoof. Having a companion was... nice. Yep, it's definitely the radiation. Hermes smiled and shook Steele’s hoof. “Deal.” He said. “Alright, then my first order is go to sleep. It’s late, and I don't want to wake up to Legion soldiers selling me into slavery because I overslept in their camp.” “Yes, sir!” Hermes answered excitedly, getting up to get to one of the faded green Legion tents. Steele grabbed a tent. He knew he was crazy, but right now he was glad he was. Trust wasn't earned so easily in the Mojave, and a friend was a valuable thing to have. His colt tales told him that friendship was magic; who knows? Maybe, just maybe they were onto something. Either way, another pair of eyes that had a targeting computer at their disposal might come in handy. Hermes wasn’t perfect, but then again neither was Steele. He might come in handy, but that was a problem for another day and Steele fell asleep. Chapter ThreeSteele woke to the quiet sound of wind and Hermes’s snoring. He left his tent and observed his surroundings. There weren't any Legion patrols yet, but they would be expecting a news report soon and would come running if they failed to get one. Steele glanced over to Hermes’s tent. He was still sound asleep and didn't show signs of waking soon. Last night’s promises hit Steele hard, and regret settled in. That radiation sure did a number on his brain. Steele sighed. He could just leave his new problem and responsibility behind. Leave and never return, but that wasn't who he was. He made a promise, and he intended to keep it. “Wake up. Legion’s going to get here soon and I rather not risk our lives for nothing.” Steele commanded, kicking Hermes and instantly waking him up. “Huh? What? Oh, sup boss. What do you need me to do?” Hermes asked, rubbing his eyes and leisurely stretching. Hermes’s laid back attitude really got to Steele, but he took a deep breath and kept his cool. “Can you cook? I’m the better shot and could keep watch, but I want to know our resources are being used properly.” “Uhh, yea I can cook. My childhood was either learning to cook, or die of starvation.” Hermes answered. He was stretching now, and seemed too carefree for Steele’s liking. “Good. You’re in charge of breakfast. I’ll keep watch, but you better keep your gun near you. Legion is smarter than they look when it comes to killing.” Steele commanded, magically tossing their saddlebags at Hermes’s feet. “You got it boss man.” Hermes answered. He began to whistle as he unpacked the bags and retrieved cooking supplies. Boss man? I like that. Steele thought as he positioned himself and Ratslayer on a nearby hill. It was definitely better than all the other things he got called. After a few minutes of sitting motionless, the smell of food caught the attention of Steele’s empty stomach and he asked Hermes on his progress. “Breakfast’s ready. Any sign of Legion?" “No. We’re in the clear for now, but we better eat fast.” Steele answered, sliding down from his hill and trotting over to the campfire. He took a seat across from Hermes. “Credit’s due where credit’s due, and I have to say this looks pretty good.” Steele complimented, rubbing his hoofs together as he glanced over the warm squirrel stew and gecko steak. “Wow an actual compliment. I feel like we are getting along already.” Hermes answered, magically raising his bowl and taking a sip. “Hey, I call things how I see them. If you earn my praise, I’ll let you know.” Steele dug in, and quietly savored the rich flavor. “I’ll keep that in mind. Now where do you think we should go after this?” Hermes asked, noting Steele's satisfaction. “I was going to ask you the same thing. You’re the one who was supposed to be searching for this Lucky Star guy. You should know where he was headed.” “Then that means we head to some town called Novac. Last I heard, he passed by it and someone there might know where he went. Do you know where that is?” “Yea. It’s a small town. Used to be a place where carriages can stop and rest before heading to Las Pegasus. Before the Great War it served as a busy refueling station for the Pegasus army vehicles, but now it’s just a sad little town that has nothing more than a few farms and a giant fabricated manticore called Marty.” Steele answered, finishing his soup and moving onto his steak. “Manticore statue? Why the hell would they have a manticore statue for an attraction, not to mention call it Marty? They do know there are stories of those things ripping ponies apart further east, right?” Hermes asked, his bowl paused in mid-air as he struggled to comprehend the reasoning behind the old world’s actions. “Tourists. Legend has it the town was a huge manticore spot in the past, and the thing was built as a tourist attraction. No need to worry now though, any manticores that might have been there before are long gone. All that’s left is a pathetic little town and its distrusting population. I think it still has a few farms, and a store or two; nothing special. Hopefully the residents would be willing to tell us what we need and be done with us.” “Hopefully. Say, you’ve ever been to Las Pegasus?” Hermes asked, catching Steele mid-bite. “No. Place is too big and grand for me, the entire place is thieving shit-hole anyway. The NLR controls half of it while the other half is controlled by Mister House. There’s a large fee to get into it, and once you do you have to watch your back for cut-throats and pickpockets. The locals stationed there are usually intoxicated and easy to manipulate.” “Sounds like a fun city. Either way, you don’t seem to like the NLR. Why not? They seem like a decent power, and do what they can to protect those under their control. It feels peaceful with them around.” Hermes asked, raising an eyebrow as Steele lowered his Steak “Peaceful? The NLR? Ha, kid for your sake I hope you're joking! Those bastards only care about their interests and their interests alone. They say they will protect those under their control, but they always bite off more than they can chew and end up with poorly coordinated pockets of power. The damn bastards fake a military like control, but their soldiers look forward to nothing more than getting drunk and carefree at the end of their shifts. They’re a bunch of useless bastards that use their vast resources to bully their way to the top, and realize that the top brings too many responsibilities for them to handle. At Least Legion won’t try and be something they’re not, the New Lunar Republic will lie to you, steal from you, and effortlessly toss you away when you lose value! ” Steele was standing now. He had gotten worked up, and upon seeing Hermes’s worry, settling back down and continued to work on his steak. “That’s quite a description.” Hermes started, breaking the awkward silence. “Call it a guess, but I think you have some personal issues with them as well.” “You can say that.” Steele answered gruffly, finishing his steak and refusing to give away more information. “You wanna tell me what it is?” Hermes pressed. Steele wasn’t the kind you wanted to push, but then again he didn't seem like the kind to accept having a companion. Steele sighed. Revealing his past was not something he was comfortable doing, but he passed a lot of his comfort zones as it was. “When I ran away from Legion I was on my own for a while. I ran a few bodyguard jobs here and there, but eventually I ended up working for the NLR. The military feel, honest pay, and a general feeling of authority and control felt good. It felt like my superiors knew what they were doing, and actually cared about us and the people we needed to protect. The fact that they overlooked my Legion background was more than enough to win my loyalty. Things were pretty sweet for a while, but nothing good ever lasts with those bastards." Steele snickered, sickened by the sheer thought of the good for nothing bullies. "One night the patrol I was assigned to was tasked with regaining control over a town Legion took from us. Everything seemed normal at the time. Go in, kill some Legion bastards terrorizing the town, and regain the town’s support. Easy right? But when we got to the town there were no Legion soldiers. Sure there was a Legion flag, but the only ones there were the sad-faced and abused citizens that had enough problems of their own to deal with. Our orders were simple: take all their supplies and kill anyone who refused to hand them over. When questioned, the answer was that the supplies already belonged to the NLR, and they were just taking them back." "What kind of supplies?" Hermes asked. He knew he was treading on fragile ground. Steele looked up and got edged closer to Hermes. "They were looting innocent civilians! Stallions and mares alike were all gunned down if they refused to give away what little they had. The worst part is no one questioned it, no one cared. Orders were orders, and everything they did had a “higher” purpose; to serve the moon and her supporters. I just stood there, unable to understand how such a "powerful, honored, respectable army could so heartlessly raid the very citizens they swore to protect." Steele explained, spiting venom as he described the NLR with utter hatred. "I stood up to the others as they asked a poor farmer to hand over his crop. They called me a lousy Legion mongrel and the patrol leader, a large earth stallion, punched me hard enough to send me into the arms of the farmer I was trying to protect. Not even those I had called friends stood up for me. I was mad, and Legion instinct kicked in. I was stupid enough to strike back. Broke his nose, but the bastard took out his knife. Missed my eye and caught my chin; hell I screamed, but pain wasn't going to stop me this time either. I drew my guns and put them against his stupid fat head. Only then did he know I meant business. NLR training had improved my marksmanship, and I was one of the best shots in our squad. If I took out my guns, especially after my melee training, then I meant business, we all knew that. To top it off my so called friends aimed at my head as my former “superior” and I glared at each other." "Was he scared?" Hermes asked. "Those NLR guys can get pretty big, and I've never seen one of em give up a fight before." Steele laughed, unnerving Hermes slightly. "Yeah if they know they've got the adventage they'll hunt you down, but soon as their precious little lives are in danger their duty and heroism gets tucked in between their legs, just like their tail as they run away." "So he was scared, right?" "Don't know, he had the numbers, if he wanted to, he knew that if shit hit the fan I wouldn't be walking out of there alive; problem was, he knew I didn't care. Eventually he dropped his knife and called me an ungrateful piece of shit. I had done enough favors for the NLR to earn my freedom, and they all left. They swore that if they ever saw me again, then they’d kill me. From then on I had this scar to remind me to not risk my neck for others, and to never trust the NLR. They do things for themselves and themselves alone. I didn’t need to be any different.” Steele finished. He touched his scar and sighed. “I’m sorry to hear that.” Hermes said. He was at a loss for words. He had never heard of this side of the NLR before, and in this light they seemed just as bad as Legion. “I can’t say they’re all bad though. There are some pretty tough and level headed soldiers out there. They do a pretty good job of keeping their word, but if command has their heads in their asses, it doesn't matter. Either way it’s best to leave them alone all together. They are well trained, and usually well equipped. Messing with them isn’t the smartest idea.” “I can agree with that much.” Hermes replied. The duo packed their gear and under Steele’s direction began to travel toward Novac. *** “So this is Novac?” Hermes asked, obviously disappointed by the small and boring town. The manticore statue had begun to wear away, and its colors were long since faded. The town seemed quiet and judging; its citizens eyed the two new travelers with suspicion. A small tent made up a food store, while another served as the medical tent. A small hotel nearby the manticore shop completed the town. Depression and sadness came to mind. “It’s a quiet town. Try and keep your head down, and we won’t have any problems with the citizens." Steele explained. He stopped and faced Hermes. "How good are you with bargaining? Can I trust you won’t get ripped off?” “Hey. I’m a courier, managing the price and value of things is something I had a lot of practice doing.” Hermes bragged, taking offence at the lack of Steele’s trust. “Alright. Get us as much ammo as you reasonably can, enough medical supplies to last us both a week, and food for three days. Most importantly do it without spending 300 caps. You have our Legion salvage, that’s good gear so use it well.” Steele instructed. He reinforced his instructions with a cold stare. This was the first time he was letting someone manage his money, and the courier didn't exactly look like a cutthroat merchant. “Yea, yea. I got it boss man. Just remember the guy’s name is Lucky Star.” Hermes answered, rolling his eyes and setting off toward the manticore shop. Steele was certain Hermes only heard “buy some souvenirs from the shop” and regretted his decision already, but if he was going to travel with this guy, then he better learn to trust him. He looked around and found that most of the residents were eyeing him. Under the cover of his hat he began to look for answers at the medical tent. There he met the local town’s doctor; Straus, a perky earth pony that seemed to be a few tools short of a set. She was in her tent, taking notes as her two bodyguards hesitantly let Steele in to see her. “Excuse me.” Steele began. “Oh Hey! A new face in town. Say you wouldn't have any sterile medical supplies would ya?” She interrupted. Steele shook off the immediate shock, and continued more hesitantly. This pony looked like she might be the one needing medical attention, not giving it. “I can’t say I do. Anyway I’m looking for a pony in a fancy suit by the name of Lucky Star. He passed by here not too long ago, and I was wondering if you know where he went.” Straus's mood immediate dropped and she ignored Steele to return to her notes. “Look I’m really busy and if you don’t have any medical supplies you are willing to sell, then please leave.” Straus answered, scribbling something down and mumbling to herself. She was beginning to unnerve Steele. He didn’t like being courteous only to get cast aside by some ragtag doctor. He approached her desk, magically moved away her notes, and plopped his hoofs on her desk aggressively. “Maybe I wasn’t clear the first time. I’m looking for a unicorn stallion named Lucky Star. Have you seen him?” Steele demanded, a rising authority in his voice. He noticed the guards were beginning to get antsy and marked their position in case he needed to strike back. “Look I have no idea who the hell you are looking for, and even if I did I certainly wouldn’t tell a random crazy stranger like you. Now if you don’t need my services, then I’d like to ask you to leave.” Strause answered nervously. There was a strain in her voice, and Steele knew he had frightened her. He considered pressing her further, but decided against it. Her guards might cause trouble, and if he was hurt, then getting on the doctors good side was a better idea. Steele let out a low growl that resembled a thanks, and to the relief of the guards, stormed out without saying another word. It was no use. This town hated strangers, and his appearance and encounter with the doctor only made things worse. He was about to give up and find Hermes, but was stopped when he heard the crazy ramblings of a homeless earth pony. “Ha ha, new guy’s looking for the fancy man. Old No-bark knows where he went. Yes he does, ha ha.” He rambled, laughing and snickering to himself. “You know where Lucky Star went?” Steele asked, scaring No-bark. Apparently the crazy pony thought no one could hear him and Steele just read his mind. “How did you know? You some kind of mind reader or something? Ol No-bark is on to you mind reader, yes he his.” He demanded, leaning uncomfortably close to Steele. “Look. Can you please tell me where he went?” Steele asked. This guy reeked, and the sooner Steele could leave, the sooner he could find some place to hurl. “No-bark doesn’t negotiate with crazies and strangers.” “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Steele said. “Oh no. No-bark ain’t no joker. Ponies call me No-bark cause my barks got some bite to em. I’m no joker.” Steele sighed. This stupid quest was already beginning to give him a headache. He looked over No-bark who just stood there, watching him silently, judging him. This guy was absolutely crazy, but he was the only one willing to give up any information. “Okay. What do you want me to do to prove myself?” “Well at night Ol’ No-bark sees glowing green ghosts running around the at the old Ministry of Awesome building. Sometimes they catch a pony or two, and other times they eat our brahmin. I say it’s old zebras that don’t know they’re dead and want to steal our rockets so they can fly to the moon and paint their king’s face on it.” He explained rapidly, a wicked smile on his lips that bled insanity. Steele backed up cautiously. “Okay. So let me get this straight. You want me to go and kill these,uh, zebra ghosts, and then you’ll tell me where Lucky Star went?” “Ol’ No-bark would sure appreciate it.” Steele face-hoofed and reconsidered his intelligence. “Fine. I’ll go take care of these “ghosts” and when I get back you better be ready to tell me where Lucky Star went.” Steele answered. He turned to leave, unable to believe he was going to go risk his life and supplies on some task that may not even reward him. If this was what being a good pony was, it sure sucked. He thought, nodding his head in disapproval. Hermes came back with two full saddlebags, and levitated Steele’s bag to him. “What’s up boss man? You look angry.” He asked. “Getting information has just been going swimmingly, and now we have to go kill some zebra ghosts or else some crazy hobo won’t tell us where Lucky Star went.” “Zebra ghosts?! Do those really exist?” Steele gave Hermes a questioning look, but shrugged it off. Seems like I'm going to be dealing with two idiots today. He concluded. “Fuck if I know. I doubt it, but the Mojave likes to throw surprises at you every so often." He answered sarcastically. "Anyway, we need to head out to the old Ministry of Awesome building up west. That’s where No-bark says the ghosts are coming from.” “All...alright.” Hermes said. There was a noticeable hesitance in his voice. “Don't be stupid." Steele snickered. Ghosts aren't real, but the dangers in an abandoned ministry building are, so stay on guard and for the love of Celestia don’t do anything stupid.” Hermes might have looked smart, but sometimes he acted like a complete idiot. “What do you know of all these Ministry buildings?” Hermes questioned, hoping to change the subject. “Not much. All I know is that the Ministry of Awesome was working with the Ministry of Wartime technology to develop weapons that could be effectively used in altitudes higher than that of any pegasus’s reach. Maybe even something that could be used in space. Either way, if that place has any pre-war security from the Ministry of Awesome, then we are going to be in a heap of trouble. So keep you head down, your eyes wide, and your ears clear for my instructions.” “Good old Steele. No matter what, he is never supportive, over-confident, and always criticizing.” Hermes mumbled, looking down as he walked. “Good old Steele kept you and himself alive. I think good old Steele deserves some respect.” Steele replied, sharing a light laugh with Hermes. Contrary to Steele’s previous beliefs, Hermes wasn’t absolutely terrible. Once the tip of the square building came into view the duo stopped simultaneously and drew their weapons. “Get low. Do you hear that?” Steel asked. “Four hostiles. Two down the road, one to the left, and the last one is moving around on the right.” Hermes responded. His seriousness both surprised and impressed Steele. “Get out of the road and follow me.” Steele commanded, trotting up to a hill overlooking the center road. Once on top the duo surveyed their surroundings. Their path was a winding road that curved sharply right and led to the main entrance of the testing facility. On either side of the road were steep hills, creating a valley like passage. Below them moved around four pony-like figures. “Fuck.” Steele cursed, looking through the sight of Ratslayer. “What? I can see the ponies, but it’s too dark to see who they belong to.” “Ghouls. Looks like we are going to have to be fighting a bunch of fucking zombies.” “Zombies?!” Hermes exclaimed. He had never had to deal with anything like that before, and the idea of the dead still trying to kill him was terrifying. “Yea. Don’t worry though. They’re fast and have good hearing, but are stupid and weak. Aim for the head and you’ll be fine." He instructed, re-aiming Ratslayer and observing the ghoul's position. "I’ll take out the two standing side by side. Can you take out the one further left? Once I’m done I’ll help you take out the roamer down right.” “Yea... yea I can do that.” Hermes reassured himself. He brought up his varmint rifle, and there was a faint glow in his eyes as his pipbuck’s targeting computer picked up critical points on the ghouls. Steele sighed and lowered his rifle. “Hermes, take a deep breath. I know first ghoul encounters are a pretty off putting but I need you to focus with me. Can you do that for me?” Steele asked, scanning Hermes for a confirmation. “Hell, getting reassuring words from you means it must be my lucky day. Yea, I can focus... thanks.” Hermes responded, smiling as he restarted his targeting computer. “I better not have a ghoul eat me from behind cause you ran away.” Steele added, using his magic to slowly squeeze the trigger. A pegasus ghoul was idly standing in the middle of the road. A shot rang out and bounced off the sidewalk next to her, causing her to turn and open her decaying mouth and wings in an attempt to scream. Her deflated lungs squeezed out a raspy shriek that was cut short as a bullet tore its way through her skull. Another boom, and her fellow ghoul’s body fell next to hers, lifeless once more to embrace the sweet finality of death. “Wasted a fucking bullet.” Steele cursed. Wasting no time, the courier easily popped the heads of the remaining ghouls with the help of his pipbuck; he rose and looked around. “I’m not detecting any more nearby, but it looks like there might be a few more up ahead.” “We got a few armored ones and possibly a glowing one up ahead. Stay on high ground. We can use our magic to get us down since taking them head on is too risky.” Steele answered, looking through his night sights. “Glowing ones?” Hermes asked, reloading his rifle. “Ghouls that are so irradiated they glow. The radiation heals them, and makes them harder to kill. It also lets them emit a blinding radioactive pulse, so if you see one of them begin to glow; cover your eyes.” “Will do.” Hermes answered nervously. The duo got to work and using the higher elevation and ranged weapons, they made quick work of the few wandering ghouls and were soon standing outside the ominous facility. “Some of these things are already dead and wearing cloaks.” Hermes observed. “Yea. I noticed that too, and it seems they are packing good gear too.” Steele said, levitating a worn out plasma rifle to Hermes. “I don’t use these fancy things, but you might. It’s faster than your gun, and more effective too.” Hermes accepted the gift hesitantly. “I only had a bit of practice, but thanks. These things go for quite a bit." He informed, looking over the rifle. "You sure you don’t want me to sell it later?” Hermes asked, eyeing his new prized possession. “I rather have effective backup than a few more bits weighing me down. Besides, I got all I need right here.” Steele said, drawing his prized pistols. “It’s going to be crowded in there, so check your ammo and scavenge quickly. That thing might be effective, but it’s worn and might jam.” “I’ll keep an eye on it.” Hermes confirmed. “But right about now I rather get this over with.” “You and me both.” Steele added, magically opening the door and swinging his pistols left to right. “Clear.” Hermes followed suit and gulped loudly as the door behind them creaked to a close. “What the hell is that?!” Hermes jumped. “Sh!” Steele silenced him. “Just a nightkin.” “That's some kind of monstrosity!” Hermes whispered loudly. “No, it’s a mutated earth pony that is junked up on stealth bucks.” “I know what the hell a super mutant is! But this... thing is bigger and blue.” “Like I said, nightkin. Elite super mutants junked up on stealth bucks. The poor bastards have all developed a dependence on them and are all insane now. Problem is, if they are around here we have much bigger problems than ghouls.” Steele explained, inspecting the barren room. It looked like a battle zone. A few ghouls lay strewn about, their corpses pulverized and deformed. Some were cloaked and armed with guns, but all were dead. Oddly enough next to some lay either a pile of glowing dust, or an oversized blue earth pony known as a nightkin. Steele didn’t know much about them other than the fact that they were extremely aggressive, dangerous, and worst of all invisible due to the stealth bucks. They stood twice as tall as any earth pony like a super mutant, but were more easily killed thanks to the side effects of prolonged stealth buck use. “Loot the dead ones for more ammo. I’ll keep-” “You there. Come to the upper level.” Interrupted an intercom voice. “What the?” Steele asked, returning Hermes’s confusion. A ghoul shrieked, and the duo immediately raised their weapons. “Should we trust them?” Hermes asked, quickly gathering microfusion cells from the dead ghouls. “We don’t have much of a choice right about now. Heads up!” Steele answered. Mustang and Sally roared, sending the attacking ghoul’s brains all over the wall. “We got a lot of them incoming!” Hermes panicked, his eyes lighting up with a bunch of little moving arrows. “Follow me!” Steele commanded. He sprinted down the hallway the ghoul came from and Hermes followed closely, shooting the ghouls following them. They navigated the twisting hallways with Steele taking lead and clearing the way with lead. A few dead ends, collapsed floors, locked doors, and curses later; and Steele knocked open a door leading to the room that contained the stairs ascending to the second level. “This way!” Steele yelled, taking off. “Comi- ahh, shit!” Hermes yelled, having tripped over one of the glowing piles of dust. He began to scramble for his rifle, having forgotten about his magic in his panic, but his advance was cut short as a hungry ghoul towered over him. Hermes stared straight into those dark, lifeless eyes; he fearfully watched the creature salivate with excitement over its prey. He was paralyzed with fear, and helpless to stop the decaying excuse for a pony open its mouth and dive for his face. A scream escaped his lungs as he only had enough time to bring up his hooves in defense before feeling a crimson liquid stain his white coat. The ghoul collapsed on him, lifeless once more, and Hermes scrambled backwards. “Get up. I got you covered.” Steele commanded, aiming down the doorway and firing at anything that came through. “Thanks.” Hermes mustered, still shell shocked. Steele followed, and the duo were stopped by a metal door and an intercom. “It’s open.” Informed the mysterious voice. Hermes glanced at Steele, who only shrugged and pointed forward in response. Hermes cleared the door and Steele followed closely. “Ew. Smoothskin...disgusting.” Greeted a unicorn dressed in a lab coat. He turned his muzzle away from the duo, seemingly disgusted by their mere presence. “Excuse me?” Answered Steele. “Hex, stop pestering our guests.” Commanded a soft and knowing voice.” Steele and Hermes directed their attention to the source of the voice and raised their weapons immediately. “Hex, stay back.” Hermes commanded. He put himself between Hex and the glowing ghoul who approached them. “Relax friend. We are the Bright brotherhood, there is no danger within these walls." The ghoul said, ignoring the weapons and knowingly looking over his guests. "I am Glowing Blight, and I asked Tech Hex here to summon you all.” He finished. "I think you forgot to inform your friends downstairs of your no danger policy." Steele smirked, keeping his weapons aimed at the ghoul. "While you're at it you might want to teach them how to talk too." A talking ghoul! Maybe I am going insane. Steele contemplated, eyeing the freak before him with caution. “What are you?” Hermes began before being pulled into a secluded corner out of earshot of Blight and Hex. “What the hell do you make of this?” Steele asked, hoping he wasn't on the verge of losing it. “Me? Hell this is the first time I’m killing ghouls, not to mention the first time one of them talks like a normal pony.” Hermes protested. He stole a glance at his hosts and caught them staring at the duo curiously. “I don’t trust these flesh eaters. I say we take care of our problem and leave. We’ll get what we need and Novac won’t have to deal with ghouls.” Steele suggested, nodding toward his guns. “Steele! These guys are asking for our help. It would do good to ask what they want first. Maybe they’ll leave.” Hermes answered, pushing Steele away in disgust before being pulled back. “Look. Do I need to remind you that one of those things just tried to eat you?" Steele asked. Hermes looked away, toward the floor. "I’m just saying we have one too many things to deal with as it is. I’ll leave the talking to you this time, but I sure as hell am tired of wasting ammo and endangering us for nothing.” Steele finished, taking a step back and eyeing Hermes as he mulled over what Steele had said. “It’s not always easy being a good pony.” Hermes said, walking away from Steele and confronting Blight once more. “Hello. My name is Hermes and this is Steele.” He started, motioning toward Steele who was now leaning against a wall and eyeing them from under his hat. “We came here because the town was having problems with ghouls. I’m sorry to say we have taken out your other followers, but we had no choice.” “I understand child. But worry not for those were not our brethren." Blight explained. He paused for a moment, and Hermes guessed it was a respectful gesture. "Poor children were lost and went mad; there was nothing we could do to help them, so we let them be." Steele snickered and Blight stopped to face him." I apologize, we understand they might have caused the neighboring town some trouble, but please understand that we simply couldn't leave without endangering ourselves." He pleaded, looking to Hermes for sympathy. "We have been using this facility to try and escape the harsh treatment of the Mojave and flee to the promised land, but a group of demons invaded us and chased us up here. We lost many of our flock, and the ones left behind have gone insane, but that is why we need your help. The demons have retreated to the basement, where our escape lies, and threaten to kill us if we ever come out.” “The sacred land?” Hermes asked, still mulling over the idea of a talking society of ghouls, not to mention one capable of scientific research. “The land in my visions." Blight stated obviously, almost as if Hermes was a fool for not knowing something so trivial. "The brotherhood and I have been working toward finding a way to get there. It is a land where my ghouls and I can escape the hatred and danger of the Mojave and live in peace. Of course without Hex’s help we would never have been able to make as much progress as we did.” Blight added. “Uh, huh. And Hex here is...?” “None of your business smooth skin.” Hex answered. “Hex, please help the others upstairs.” Blight commanded. Hex growled, but obediently went upstairs to do as he was told. “As I was saying. Hex here is a blessing bestowed onto us by the creator. He came to us one day, convinced he was a ghoul and wouldn’t believe us when we told him otherwise. Rather than sending him off, we accepted his help and he has been a vital key in our ascension to the sacred land.” "The creator, you mean the goddesses?" Hermes pressed. "Oh no your gods have forsaken us long ago, but the creator came to our aid and promised us safety and refuge in the sacred land." Blight explained. He seemed to take offence at being associated with the goddesses and Hermes didn't press further; he began to see the ghoul as the religious nut-job he was. “And the demons?” Steele asked. “Absolute monsters. They came in one day demanding stealth bucks, but when we told them that we had none to offer they went mad. They began to attack us, and forced us up here. My flock fought bravely, but even with our rifles we were no match. They made the basement their home, and now we cannot complete our journey after working so tirelessly and nearly finishing preparations.” Blight answered, his normally calm and knowing voice now seething with hatred. “So let me get this straight. We clear out your... “demons”, and you leave to complete your journey?” Steele asked, still skeptical as to how a band of ghouls would suddenly disappear. He concluded it was better to not know the details to this madness. “Simply put, we would appreciate it. I believe the creator has sent you two...ponies to make up for the sins your kind have brought onto ours.” “Ok then. We deal with the demons, and you leave.” Steele concluded. He opened the door and left without another word. “Wait for me!” Hermes shouted, rushing after him. “Thank you strangers!” Blight called after them. "You're really going to help these guys, huh Steele?" Hermes beamed. “I sure as hell ain’t going against any nightkin for those brainwashed religious zealots.” Steele replied gravely. Hermes stopped walking an stared at Steele, unable to understand his cold heartlessness. “But they said they’d leave." He claimed in protest. "They don’t look mean, and helping them out will solve everyone’s problems.” Hermes pleaded. “I can’t do this alone.” “Do you even know what a nightkin is?!” Steele screamed; he brought a hoof to his temple to restrain himself. He soon lowered it and glared at Hermes like he was mad. “No, but-" “No buts!" Steele interrupted, making Hermes wince and fold his ears. "I didn’t come here to die, and if you still want me to be in charge of you, then I’m not letting you get killed with our supplies. These crazy bastards can find another pair of lackeys to do their dirty work.” He turned to leave, unwilling to waste his time on the matter any longer. “Think of the salvage. A place from the Ministry of Awesome must have valuable salvage, and if the basement has all the equipment, then that’s where we must go.” Hermes bargained. “I rather live a poorer stallion than die a rich bastard for someone like me to come along and take it.” Steele answered solemnly. He had had enough of this bullshit. Risking their lives and ammo on this stupid journey was crazy, and going against nightkin was a deathwish. Maybe joining the courier was a mistake. He thought bitterly. “Look, you said you wanted to be a good pony. Then why start now!” Hermes yelled. He was angry now, and dealing with Steele’s shitty attitude was getting to him. “Being good means sacrificing. It doesn’t always work out in your favor, but that’s why you try again! Good things don’t come on their own, you earn them. That’s what we did before the war, and that’s what we need to do now. No one said this was going to be easy, but I’m no quitter Steele. If you are... then go ahead, leave; I thought you were better than that Steele. I thought someone who had seen what living through cruelty and misery would know that it is no way to live. If Equestria is to ever better itself, then it needs to start somewhere. If that means it must start with us then so be it. I’m going to do the right thing. I might die, but I’m going to die anyway, so I'd rather die knowing I did good and influenced others, than die the stallion you want to be.” Steele stopped and looked back. "I never said I wanted to be anything kid." Hermes shot him a disgusted glare and pushed his way past him; he slammed the door to the basement. Steele stood there for a moment, considering whether or not to feel guilty; he decided against it and moved on. He wasn’t going to be a hero. No, that wasn't who he was. He was going to survive like he always did. Once outside Steele took a deep breath. He knew the courier was most likely dead now. Whatever. The Mojave took many wannabe heroes every day. Steele looked up toward the sky and thought of Hermes’s words once more; he groaned. Maybe, just maybe the Mojave might not take one today. The courier closed the door behind him and levitated his rifle. He had no idea what he was up against, but his computer told him there were a few enemies moving about. The words “KEEP OUT” painted messily in a dried crimson liquid didn’t really help either. He began to slowly walk toward one of the dots, keeping his rifle trained in its general direction. Once close, he hid behind a corner and checked his gun. One enemy... one demon just around this corner. Peek out, target him, and shoot. Easy right? He asked himself. He took a deep breath and quickly stepped out, his eyes glowing from the targeting system. To his surprise the hall was empty, and he nervously scanned his surroundings. His pipbuck told him it had locked onto the head of some attacker, but his eyes told him nothing was there. He blinked a few times, but to no avail. What the hell was going on here?! The hallway was empty, but the dot was now moving toward Hermes at an alarming rate. Loud hoofsteps reverberated, and the vibrations ran all the way up Hermes’s spine. “I HAVE YOU NOW!” Screamed the invisible demon, raising his cement club over his head as he rose to tower over Hermes on his hind legs. In a panic Hermes fired under the instructions of his pipbuck. He had missed the first shot, but once the nightkin had gotten close enough to uncloak, the second plasma shot had hit him in the face, liquefying him and leaving him yet another glowing pile of ash. Hermes shook slightly as the giant tower of a pony screamed and turned to a pile of glowing dust, his club hitting the metal floor of the basement loudly and alerting the other nightkin of their new guest. Hermes didn’t have time to react as another nightkin, alerted by the noise, was now sprinting at him at full speed. Each step he took shook the walls, and the loud clanking of his hooves echoed through the twisting hallways. Hermes took a few shots, but the nightkin had shrugged them off and forced Hermes to run. Scared out of his mind, and out of ideas Hermes fled, blindly following the twisting hallways to wherever they lead. The targeting computer had missed its shots, and now needed to cool down. He was helpless, terrified, and had a blue hulking mass of destruction charging after him. Why the hay did the Ministry of Arcane Sciences think it was a good idea to try and make magically enhanced super soldiers?! He asked cursed. Unfortunately for him, his running attracted more nightkin, and he was now at a dead end. He turned around and aimed his gun in a last attempt to resist imminent death. His fear bled into his magic as his gun trembled in its beige aura. "For fucks sake!" Hermes screamed as he shut his eyes. He began to fire blindly, killing his first pursuer and scoring a lucky critical hit on another, but now he had three angry nightkin cornering him, and an empty gun. He opened his eyes to stare accusingly at his rifle, but knowing it was all over he closed his eyes hard and braced for the pain. “DIE!” A nightkin commanded as he ran toward the courier. The familiar bang from a chrome revolver sent his brain matter all over the walls. The courier opened his eyes as the massive corpse landed with a heavy thud; the other nightkin turned in time to see smoke rise from the barrel of one of two chrome .44 magnums surrounded in a light blue aura, behind them stood a lone unicorn wearing a cold stare. “RAAAH!” A nighkin protested, screaming madly as he charged Steele. The nightkin absorbed three shots, but had the fourth stopped his charge; the fifth shot had ended him. The last two nightkin charged, but were met with a wave of lead that dropped them both. Steele reloaded his revolvers and nonchalantly scavenged a few stealthbucks off the dead nightkin. “Someone had to knock you off your pedestal.” Steele explained without directly acknowledging Hermes. “Glad that someone was you boss man. I was in deep shit man, thanks.” “Not a-” “ANTLER TOLD ME YOU KILLED MY FLOCK!” Screamed a nightkin. He was cloaked, and now had charged into Steele, pinning him to the wall by the throat. Steele choked and kicked as his body struggled with the pain from a lack of oxygen and force from the impact, which had knocked the air out of his lungs, and disrupted his magic, causing his guns to clank uselessly against the floor. He tried using the wall behind him to kick his attacker, but the mountain of a pony didn’t budge. “I’LL KILL YOU!” The mutant screamed. Steele’s vision was fading, and the pain in his chest indicated a broken bone or two. So this is how I die? He asked himself, his hoofs stopping to his sides as his body became limp. Before it went all black he heard a faint: “No!” as Hermes changed his mag, raised his gun, and spammed his pipbuck’s targeting system with the command of locking onto the mutants head. He fired his gun and liquefied the nightkin; his huge bumper sword clanked against the metal floor as Steele's body plopped down onto the ground and began to cough blood. “Are you ok?” Hermes asked. He dropped his gun and ran to Steele’s side. He just watched helplessly as Steele coughed and struggled to respond. “Here, I got a few of these for the Legion armor.” Hermes said, levitating a hydra potion. Steele leaned away from the offer and waved a hoof in protest. “A hydra?" He chocked. "Are you...*cough* kidding me? Tha...*cough* that’s too expensive.” Steele protested, leaning further away from the courier. “It’s obvious you have some broken bones, and we have two more. We can’t get to a doctor right now. Just drink it!” Hermes commanded, taking the magical seal off the bottle and shoving it in Steele’s face. “Do you know how rare that thing is?” “Do you know how rare replacement bones are?” Hermes pressed. Steele considering it, and grudgingly downed the potion. The pain began to melt away and he could feel movement in his chest. “Better?” Hermes asked, relieved to have the ordeal behind him. “Poorer.” Steele replied, earning an eye roll from Hermes. “Lets get down to business. I think it’s clear, but lets check for salvage. Grab the sword, and I think I saw a key in that ash pile.” He instructed. He rose and shook off the lingering pain. “Alright boss man.” Hermes replied. The duo salvaged some food, ammo, and a good number of stealth bucks before coming to a stop at the last unchecked door. “Locked.” Hermes said upon the door refusing to open under his magic. “Lets hope this key leads to something valuable.” Steele said. He unlocked the door and stepped back to watch the door hiss and creak as its old hydraulic pumps struggled to move the heavy metal. Upon opening Steele hit the floor hard as something tackled him with astonishing speed and power. Whatever it was, the mass towered over him and after using his body as a sled to slid to a stop, rested on top of him. Unfortunately for Steele's assailant, he was used to being knocked onto his back --in a strictly platonic way--, and used the ground to roll backwards and regain the upper ground over his opponent; he drew his guns as his vision focused on his attacker. The initial trauma gone, Steele was shocked to find himself on top of a female griffon. They were locked in eye contact, and Steele noticed a prominent scar running along one of her purple eyes as her sharpened pupils bore a hole into his. More importantly, Steele soon noticed a razor sharp claw at his throat, threatening to slice his veins at the slightest movement. The couple remained motionless, caught in their little staring contest, and soon Hermes had lowered his plasma rifle and interrupted their little game. “You sure have a way with ladies Steele. Hell you practically sweep them off their feet.” He laughed. “Can it.” Steele commanded, never breaking eye contact. “Since you’re not a nightkin, mind helping a lady onto her feet?” The griffon asked sarcastically. She had a rough, deep voice, and although her body held a number of battle related scars, she still kept a distinct feminine beauty to her. Steele got off her, and held out a hoof that was promptly ignored. She brushed herself off, and stared at the oddly paired duo as her eyes refocused to pose a less threatening demeanor. “You treat all your guests this way?” Steele asked, holstering his gun. “I do when a bunch of them try to kill me and force me into a room for days.” She answered venomously. “Fair enough." Steele replied, using the same poisonous tone. "Mind telling us what a griffon is doing this close to Las pegasus? Not to mention in a religious ghoul infested facility. Last I heard griffons and pegasi don’t see eye to eye.” Steele pressed. “You sure want an awful lot for free stranger.” She said. “It’s a small favor considering we just rescued you from a locked room, and cleared out the nightkin that held you hostage.” Steele answered. Hermes remained silent, choosing instead to watch the exchange of bravado; it was amazing. Steele had just met someone seemingly as tough and bitter as him, and the way the two of them were talking down to each other was a sight to see. For a moment Hermes wondered if Steele had met his match, but quickly decided against it. This was Steele he was talking about; no one could out tough him. “Fair enough. The name’s Scratch. I’m actually working for the ghouls as a bodyguard. They accept me, treat me well, and pay me handsomely. Everyone’s happy, least they were until those blue freaks came in. I fought a lot of them off and ran to the basement to protect the others that ran this way, but the nightkin killed them and forced me to... tactically retreat into this room. I set up a nice kill zone and some traps, and then you came along.” Scratch finished. "So you're a mercenary then, bit out of place if you're looking for work round these parts." Scratch opened her beak to speak, but caught herself. "Not by choice." She informed coolly. “You on the other hand must be Legion." She started, choosing to change the subject quickly. "Only a Legion unicorn would be stupid, brave, or strong enough to roll a griffon no their back; I know.” She extended one of her white wings to show its mangled lower feathers. “I’ve dealt with them personally.” She tucked her wing back. “So what, Celestia sent you here to finish me off after I told her I wasn’t going to do her dirty work anymore, huh?” She asked, turning her neck to glare accusingly at the duo with one eye. “I’m ex-Legion." Steele affirmed boldly. "I’ve hated those bastards for a very, very long time. You won’t find them being too friendly with me either, especially Celestia’s personal guards.” Steele answered. “You’re free to go. Your employers will be leaving now anyway, but any salvage left behind is ours.” He turned away from a curious Scratch and faced Hermes. “Stay down here. I’ll go get the religious nuts, and then we can get our shit and go; I’m tired of this place already.” “Yes, sir boss man.” Hermes answered, taking a seat exactly where he stood. “Boss man?” Scratch asked in a puzzled manner; her tone hinted her desire to laugh. Steele left without another word and went to inform Blight that their task was complete. “Oh wonderful. Thank you so much!” Blight exclaimed before running off with the others in tow. Steele followed shortly, but once he returned he was met with the unfortunate sight of Hermes giggling and conversing with Scratch. “You’re still here?” Steele asked coldly. “Relax boss man. Scratch teased. “Your pal here told me all about you.” “Define everything.” Steele growled, giving an intensely cold stare at Hermes. “Enough for someone like you to want to kill him.” Scratch chuckled. “But before you kill him he also gave me a pretty nice offer.” “Oh, he did, did he?” Steele asked, edging closer to a cowering Hermes. “Yea. Now that I don’t have any employers and will most likely not find anyone out there who would hire me, you two might hire me.” “Hire, you? By that you mean spend caps and food on someone who would be doing what we are already capable of?” Steele answered bitterly. “Look, I’ll be honest, you seem like someone who is more than capable of surviving on her own. Steele returned his attention to Hermes. "And like someone who knows to keep your business to yourself." He said accusingly. He returned his attention to the griffon eyeing him judgmentally. “But honestly we really can’t afford that luxury and extra responsibility.” “Steele, please." Hermes exclaimed, much like a child asking their parent to keep some mutt they found on the road. "I've talked to her and she’d be a huge asset to us. She knows about this part of the Mojave better than you do, and with someone as experienced as her in survival, she'd be able to take care of herself." He argued. Steele turned to leave, but Hermes blocked his path. "Like you she’s too proud to admit it, but she knows what it's like to travel alone and be hated by everyone." Steele looked up to meet Hermes's eyes and wondered what kind of nerve he had to bring up Steele's past like that. Hermes put a hoof on Steele's shoulder. "Common Steele, you of all ponies should know that traveling alone with a heavy past is no way to live. Think about it, she’d provide invaluable combat assistance and knowledge, and most importantly she’d help you take care of me, your biggest liability.” He reasoned. “Oh, you’re my biggest liability alright.” Steele smirked, shaking off Hermes's hoof and pressing forward. "He's starting to be my biggest liability too." Scratch commented, cracking her talons as she angrily stared at Hermes for blurting out all that information. “See you two are getting along already!” Hermes remarked, laughing at his own stupid joke. “Piece of shit.” Steele laughed, unable to withhold his laughter any longer. Scratch joined him shortly. “Taking advice from this bastard nearly killed me, but to hell with it. I can’t lie, if I'm going to be trudging through the Mojave with this bastard in tow." Steele began, kicking Hermes. "Then I'd rather have someone as capable as you to cover my back. However if you want to join us there are going to have to be a few rules." "Oh here we go." Hermes commented lightheartedly, earning him another kick from Steele. "One, what I say is final. Two, all resources are controlled by me. And three, I can make up the rules as I go since I have this smart ass following me around.” Steele said, once more kicking Hermes lightly, who was still giggling to himself. He returned his attention to Scratch. “Deal?” He asked, offering a hoof. “Huh, a softy leading me?” “Don’t mistake me for him. I’m no saint.” Steele growled, leaning into Scratch. “Take it easy there. You might just regret it.” Scratch answered, pointing one of her sharp claws at Steele. “Whoa, take it easy you two. Don’t kiss on me now.” Hermes remarked, breaking into another uncontrollable fit of laughter as he rolled on the floor, unable to contain himself. The two glared at him with stares as cold as ice, but eventually broke down and laughed as well. “You know what. It takes someone with a lot of nerve to deal with that bastard, and no softy I know of dealt with, and came out of Legion and the NLR alive. Yea, I think can use a tough bastard to back me up, especially if we are going to Las Pegasus to earn some caps." Scratch considered, rubbing her chin as she looked over Steele's imposing presence. "Deal.” She concluded, offering her claw. “You know we won’t be paying you, but rather sharing supplies right?” Steele asked, accepting the hoof to claw shake. “Free food, protection, and a right to any supplies I earn seems like a good job to me.” Scratch said. “By the way, can you still fly with-” Steele nodded at her mangled wing. “Better than most Pegasi, so if you have any trouble with those leave em to me.” She answered confidently. “Perfect.” Steele grinned. Their moment was cut short as the intercom came on and asked for their presence. “Not them again.” Steele sighed. The trio reluctantly found their way to a launch room where they were met with quite the sight. “Ah, our saviors." Blight welcomed, a large grin covering the majority of his green glowing, rotten skinned face. "Thank you again for your help, but if you want us to truly finish our journey, we must ask for your assistance once more.” “Oh you’ve got to-” “Let him finish.” Hermes interrupted. “What you need?” “Talk to Hex. He will tell you the part what's missing.” Blight answered, opening a hatch and walking out onto the platform that contained the rest of the ghouls and three large rockets; the whole site was irradiated enough to fry an egg. “The launch is almost complete smoothskin. Those rockets will get us to the sacred land, but we require a special compound known as atomic fuel to contain the gem used to power the thrusters. Without it, it will overheat and explode.” Hex explained, dumping yet another pointless mission on the trio. “So where do we find this fuel? I mean, apparently it is pre-war tech so you don’t expect us to just walk out of here and find it do you?” Steele asked. These zombies and their confused enthusiast were taking up way too much of his precious time. “I’m afraid that I actually have no idea. As you said, they are pre-war tech. All I know is that some employees had rocket models with the fluid in them, but when we checked the building there were none to be found. Maybe the headquarters Ministry building might still have a few lying around.” “You want us to go all the way to-” “Wait! A model rocket? You mean something like this?” Hermes asked, levitating a model rocket similar to that of the giant ones the ghouls were waiting for; a mysterious glowing green liquid swirled around inside. “Yes! That’s it!” exclaimed Hex. “Where did you? Wait. You got that at the manticore shop didn’t you? I thought I told you[/i-]” “Quiet both of you!” Scratch yelled, silencing them both. “He got what we need. Let’s just get this over with, and the two of you can deal with your marital issues on the road.” Scratch grabbed the rocket and tossed it to Hex, who caught it with his magic. Steele was boiling at this point, but decided to keep his cool. “Whatever. Grab the few medical potions lying around and the rad suits on the table. We’re leaving.” Steele growled. He began to leave, but was stopped once more by Hermes. “He doesn’t know he’s not coming with them.” He whispered. “The poor bastard thinks he’s one of them, so what of it?” Steele asked. “Look. Can you let me stay behind and convince him otherwise? Please. I mean even you know it’s the right thing to do.” Hermes pleaded. “Whatever. If you come out last you’re carrying most of the salvage.” He answered, shoving his way past him; Hermes had caused enough trouble for today. If Steele let him do what he wanted, then they might just get this over with faster. “You’re not as bad as I thought smoothskin. Thank you for your help. All that we need now is for you to push the launch button on the observation deck.” Hex said, eyeing the rocket and it’s green glowing interior. Having stripped the room of its valuables, Hermes stayed behind to talk to Hex while Steele and Scratch left the room to strip the rest of the facility of anything profitable. Once clear of the door the intercom came on and Blight began another one of his religious speeches. “Rah! Scratch can you please go push that damn button? I’m tired of hearing this lunatic’s ramblings. I’ll gather as much salvage as I can, and Hermes and I will meet you outside.” “With pleasure.” Scratch responded, spreading her wings and taking off through the halls. Wow. To Steele’s surprise he was actually glad to have her on his side. At Least he could count on her to stay quiet and out of his way. Steele made quick work of raiding the building. He fit all he could into his saddlebags, but without the inventory management of a pipbuck he was forced to use his magic to carry the rest. Unfortunately Blight had enough time to finish his speech and thank the trio for their help before the whole building shook and rang with warning alarms. They're finally gone. Steele realized, sighing with relief. Thankful and eager to make a profit out of this stupid quest, he went outside and appreciated the warm midnight air. “Got everything?” Scratch asked. She had landed in front of Steele and eyed their haul. “I mean, it doesn’t look like much.” She added, disappointed that only a few laser rifles and stealth bucks made up the most valuable pieces of their reward. “Yea. It’s not too bad. Enough to give us all food, ammo, a place to sleep, and medical supplies to patch you up; some of those injuries look fresh.” He noticed, eyeing the wounds with concern. “I didn’t know you cared.” Scratch replied sarcastically, a mocking grin on her face as she took her share of the load. Steele gave her a stern look and answered: “I care about my squad and my squad alone. I made a promise to protect and be responsible for you two. If I cannot keep my word, then how can I expect you to honor yours when you say you will watch over me? I’m no monster. The Mojave has hardened me, but it still left a tiny stone of a heart.” Steele said. He took his share of the load, and left the majority of it for Hermes. “Hmph. I can respect that, but to be honest, I wasn’t expecting it. Ponies and griffons don’t exactly get along now, and since our relationship is strictly business, I didn’t expect my employer to provide healthcare in the apocalypse.” Scratch explained. She might not have shown it, but Steele had left quite an impression. She had enough experience braving the Mojave, and it felt like it couldn’t possibly surprise her anymore. Being attacked first, and neglected throughout the majority of her time at the Mojave she had begun to lose hope for making nice with ponies. To her surprise and confusion, she found kindness and acceptance from the least likely stallion in all the Mojave. Apparently the Mojave still had surprised to offer. “Business? Ha. You think that I’m stupid enough to bring along a griffon into Las Pegasus, associate myself with her, and claim to be willing to protect her if necessary for business?!" Steele laughed. Scratch frowned and began to reconsider her positive opinions. "I’m honestly not that stupid. Hermes had once called me something that I never thought I’d hear in the Mojave. That sly bastard managed to convince me that maybe the old world’s morals were onto something, and I guess I’m stupid enough to actually pursue the colt’s tales I so often dreamed of. I’d never put up with Hermes if he was a business partner, no, I’m afraid the sly bastard fooled me into a friendship, and that’s what I assumed our relation would be too. Otherwise I would never have agreed to have you travel with us.” Steele finished. He knew couldn’t lie to himself for too long. Hermes had made him a little bit softer, and Steele hated him for that, but this softness had earned him some caps and some protection. Not bad for a softy. He thought smugly. “Sheesh you two. I’m gone for two minutes and you two are at it again.” Hermes said, interrupting Scratch before she could respond, and enraging the both of them. “Uh, guys. I’m your friend remember? You don’t hurt friends.” He reminded, folding his ears and backing up slowly at the sight of Steele and Scratch looming over him. “Normally I’d call you an ignorant fool, but if you managed to keep yourself alive by calling him a friend, then you might be onto something.” Scratch said, turning to leave. “It’s late. Lets sell this stuff and call it a night. If we’re going to track down this Lucky Star guy then I’d rather we do it in broad daylight.” “Good idea.” Steele answered. He glared at Hermes. “As promised, you get the privilege of carrying this stuff for you two friends.” He smiled briefly as he dumped their salvage in front of Hermes. “Oh, goody.” He replied sarcastically, but Steele had already left to catch up to Scratch. “By the way. Before we sell any of this stuff you might want to pick out a gun.” Steele suggested. “Nah. I don’t really like the small toys you ponies play around with. Nothing there is big enough for me to use comfortably. Besides, I got these babies to protect me.” Scratch said, opening a claw to show it was sharp to perfection. “I prefer to take on my prey head on anyway; nothing scares a pony like a griffon with razor sharp claws in their face.” “Hey guys. Wait up!” Hermes yelled behind them. He was struggling to carry the heavy gear, and relied mostly on his magic to do the heavy lifting. Ignoring him Scratch continued. “The bumper sword might be pretty rad, though it would go for quite a bit. Not sure you want to let me have it.” “I gave a plasma rifle, to Hermes.” Steele retorted. Scratch laughed. “Good point.” “Besides, I rather miss a few caps than waste them on medical supplies later.” Steele explained. “Sounds fair. You know what Steele, you’re not as bad as I thought. If this is what sticking with you two is going to be like, then maybe this friendship thing isn’t a load of crap after all.” “I try to convince myself that every time I deal with that.” Steele replied, nodding toward Hermes who was lagging behind and muttering insults to himself. The trio made their back to Novac without any difficulty and decided that renting two motel rooms from the shocked town mayor would be a smart choice. They could sell their haul in the morning, and begin their quest first thing in the morning. “I think I’ll get the other room. Besides, you two probably want me to get out of your way for the night anyway.” Hermes remarked, slyly edging toward a vacant room; his joke earned him a powerful smack on the back of the head from Steele. “Hey! Relax boss man.” He said, rubbing the back of his head. "Just a joke." “Oh no. You two friends are going to give the lady her privacy and take the other room for yourselves.” Scratch argued, having entered an empty hotel room while the other two were distracted. “Oh no I’m in charge and I have to deal with the both of-” Steele began, but his sentence was once more cut short when Scratch slammed and locked the door behind her. "Night." She called through the door. “Women.” Hermes said, cowering from Steele who had raised his hoof threateningly. Steele couldn’t believe he had to share a room with this idiot, but whatever. As Hermes pointed out, friends required sacrifices. As much as he hated to admit it, the two were invaluable assets to his survival. Scratch’s knowledge of the wasteland and her wings were a huge benefit, and Hermes’s pipbuck and smooth talking made up for his annoying self. Friendship might not have been as magical as it was in his colt tales, but it was better than nothing. He just had to convince himself it was worth not strangling Hermes for his insufferable snoring. Chapter Four“Oh what’s the point?” Steele mumbled, tossing his pillow to the side and sitting upright. He ran a hoof through his ruffled mane, and directed his attention the loudly snoring courier across the room. The combination of Hermes’s snoring and Steele’s nagging conscience made sleep impossible. Steele wiped the sweat off his brow, and brought a single revolver with him as he left a loudly snoring Hermes and all their gear alone, a decision that normally he would never consider; and that was the problem. What is wrong with me He wondered? He’d gone from the lone badass wanderer of the Mojave, to the baby sitter of a domestic courier and a griffon that was a long way from home. Steele crept away from the hotel and came to sit by Marty, the manticore; the massive presence of the pre-war attraction was oddly comforting and Steele unwound. The silence and vast emptiness of the Mojave desert brought a welcome sense of tranquility to Steele’s chaotic thoughts. It was just him, the calming silence, and his past scars no longer concealed by his signature garb. “Not a bad night to think eh, Marty?” Steele asked the giant fading attraction. He chuckled for a bit. Maybe talking to a giant fake manticore wasn’t the best way to try and convince himself he wasn’t going crazy. He was getting soft, and the scars that his jet black coat tried to hide reminded him that was not a good thing. What was friendship in a place like the Mojave? A place where survival took priority, and things got done by either spilling blood or manipulating others to do it for you. What can friendship do for me? For anyone? He wondered. Why did he even begin to consider what Hermes told him? He knew it would get them nowhere, and yet he listened anyway. Was he really that naive? No, If he was then he would not have survived to bear the scars of his past. Still, there was something that made him reconsider. Something that Steel knew had made him do things he considered stupid. Hope. Although the Mojave can often make you confuse that word with desperation, this was different; this was hope. Steele wanted to believe Hermes. He hoped that what Hermes had told him was true. Hoped that friendship was the solution to his worries. Hoped that friends would take away the pain of his past. Steele played with the sand under his hooves. He was tired of running; of fearing everyday to a point where the next was met with desperate aggression in an attempt to survive it. He was tired of not dying, he wanted to live, to experience life the way his colt tales painted it. Maybe that’s why he listened, because of how badly he wanted it to be true. A quiet flap sent Steele into action. He levitated his revolver and scanned his moonlit surroundings for the intruder. It wasn’t uncommon for a pegasus bandit to roam the skies at night in these parts, and Steele scanned the skies. Another thump behind him, and he turned to greet his potential attacker with the barrel of his gun. “Can’t sleep either?” Scratch asked. She ignored the gun and looked straight ahead, toward the night sky. “No Hermes’s snoring is keeping me up.” Steele answered, grabbing a seat next to his newest companion. “That’s not the only thing, is it?” Scratch asked. There was something in her voice that suggested she knew more about what Steele was going through then she let onto. “Same thing that’s probably keeping you up too I suppose.” Steele answered. He didn’t know what Scratch had meant, nor how much she knew, so he decided to play this game a little longer and hope to not have to say more than he needed to. “If by that you mean this whole friendship thing… then yea. I just can’t get around to it you know?” Scratch sighed and clawed at the sand. Steele could tell she wasn’t one to like sharing her problems either. “I’ve been places Steele. I’ve been further east, but all I saw there were griffon mercenaries and a strong prejudice from the fascist Pegasus Army. That was years ago, but by the looks of things it would take nothing short of a miracle to change that.” “And it seems that nowadays the world is awfully short on those, huh?” Steele asked. Getting this kind of information from a toughie like scratch was rare, and he was glad Scratch felt safe enough share. After all, it was something even he didn’t think he’d be strong enough to do. Scratch nodded and continued with her story. “I fled west, thinking that maybe there was something else out there. A place where I wouldn’t have to claw for survival and equal treatment. I thought that after the world went to shit, who you were before and what your forefathers had done would not matter. I was wrong." Scratch sighed and began to trace circles in the sand. "All my life I had to deal with ponies mocking me, doing everything they can to make my life harder, and even trying to kill me for what I was. No matter what I’d do I’d either have to intimidate my way to fair treatment, or fight for my right to live." She explained bitterly, crushing her traces with her claw. "I gave up on you ponies a long time ago, but now I get compassion from one hell of a weird duo: a saint and his hardhearted mercenary companion." Scratch giggled. "It all just feels like some kind of bad joke." She said skeptically. "Hermes is the companion." Steele sternly corrected. The odd pair shared a quick laugh. "See I just don't get it." Scratch began; she poked a claw at Steele's chest. "The last time I met someone like you I had barely escaped alive.” Scratch leaned back onto her arms. “I don’t know if I can buy this friendship crap, but from what Hermes tells me, I don't think a stallion with your past can either. So what gives? Why the hell is someone with the scars from a life of hell with someone like Hermes? Are you in it for the caps, the adventure, to get to Las Pegasus? What gives, Steele? I wanna know.” That was one hell of a good question, and Steele took a moment to think of what to say, but coming up short on an answer he gave up and sighed. “Honestly… I don’t know either. I ask myself why I continue to do what I do everyday, but I always come up short when I get to the answer. I guess the reason I’m with the annoying bastard is because I want to believe him. You and I both know the Mojave sucks when you’re alone, and I’m tired of it. Everyday it’s just survive, but what about living!? What about having motivation other than making it to tomorrow? I don’t know if this friendship thing is going to solve all my problems, and it probably never is, but it sure as hell beats having to wallow through this shit-hole alone. I can’t lie it is really hard to take in, considering everything I’ve been through suggests otherwise, but what other choice do I have? I may have gotten softer, but It earned me some caps, an annoying bastard with a targeting computer strapped to his eyes, and a griffon that can back me up in a fight.” Steele turned to Scratch to find that she had been watching him the whole time. “I have a lot of regrets, following through with this stupid quest is one of them, but you two aren’t.” He finished. “Thanks, Steele.” Was her only reply,but Steele knew that it meant more than what she would let on. “What are friends for.” “Hey you guys, if you wanted time alone this badly you could have just shared a room you know.” Hermes interrupted. He was still rubbing his eyes and yawning when he walked up to his friends. “Hey what gives!?” He yelped when he was pulled down by the neck and head-locked by Scratch, who began to give him one hell of a noogie. “Ow, ouch, stop it!” He squirmed. “Are you going to knock it off?” Scratch asked. “Yea I will, just knock it off!” He pleaded. Scratch released him, and Steele punched his shoulder. "We're even now." He said. “Jeez! It’s only been half a day, and you two are already working in tangent against me.” Hermes complained, rubbing his sore head and shoulder. “Hey, I had to get my revenge in there somewhere.” Steele laughed; he was shortly joined by Scratch. “Very funny you two." Hermes complained, looking sour. What the hell are you guys doing out here anyway?” He asked. This was weird, too weird. The two toughest characters he knew where joking around and being playfully mean to him. Something was up. “Suffering from insomnia.” Steele explained. "He means his ears are still ringing from your snoring." Scratch added, eliciting a laugh from Steele. “Okay, I’m dreaming. You two are getting along way too well, and oddly enough are nicer to me than usual. I’m going back to bed, and pretending this never happened.” Hermes answered, leaving Scratch and Steele to laugh for a bit before settling down for the rest of the night. For once Steele felt alive. Having a funny moment with your friends for the first time does that to a guy, and he fell asleep content. He wasn’t going to have trouble sleeping this night. *** “Hey, boss man! Wake up!” penetrated Steele’s slumber. Hermes was getting dressed and completing his morning routine as he called for Steele’s attention. “You’re the one that gives orders, and Scratch and I are already up, so, where do you want us?” Hermes asked. He had slept well, and was determined to make Lucky Star pay for what he had done. “Uhh psh, yea take Scratch to doc Straus.” Steele answered groggily. He wiped the remaining slumber from his eyes and jumped out of bed. “Have Straus patch her up, but stay with her. I didn’t exactly make a great impression, and I want to make sure she still gets proper medical care.” “Alright boss.” Hermes answered, opening the hotel door to leave. “Oh and Hermes!” “Yea?” He asked, pausing the door with his magic. “Be aggressive this time. Tell her I’ll have a word with her if something happens.”Steele added, looking back at the old grimy mirror and beginning to brush his teeth. Good thing Hermes found some toothpaste at the shop; it was one hell of a luxury. Hermes rolled his eyes and nodded his head as he closed the door behind him. With his morning routine complete, Steele gathered his belongings and yesterday’s salvage, and set off toward the manticore shop. The steps into the giant fabrication were old and groaned under Steele’s weight, but once inside he was surprised to find a well maintained, orderly, little store. At the counter sat a yellow earth stallion with a green mane and white cowboy hat. “Welcome! Names Risky Gambit, I own the place.” He introduced himself. “Brought some goods to trade.” Steele answered, plopping down a large assortment of laser rifles and melee weapons. “Don’t suppose you want store credit, do ya?” Risky asked, looking over the pile he obviously couldn’t afford. “Not exactly what I had in mind, no.” Steele answered, looking around the small shop. There were two wooden cases lining the shop, and each displayed goods and souvenirs of all kinds. Judging by the large number of manticore plushies, fake rockets, and salvaged pre-war toys, Steele concluded this shop was still mainly used as a souvenir shop for tourists. “Got anything more exciting than this?” Steele asked, waving a hoof around the shop. “Sorry, the last guy that was in here bought most of the ammo I had left.” Risky answered. “But I can see what I have left!” He added when Steele had begun to pack up his gear. Risky disappeared behind an old door to the left of his counter, and came back with a heavy metal box. “It’s all I got left.” He said, opening the box to show Steele an assortment of ammo, only half of which was actually useful to him. Steele sighed. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll take all the ammo I need, any healing potions and caps you got left, and some information. Deal?” “I’m listening.” Risky answered, leaning over the counter. “I’m looking for a guy named Lucky Star. Passed by town with some guys not too long ago. You know where he went?” Steele asked. “Well, I don’t know what he did, but I’ll tell you what I told the last guy who asked me. I have no idea who you’re talking about.” Risky answered. “So, we still got a deal?” He added nervously. Steele sighed and brought his hoof down from his face. “Yea, whatever.” He answered to Risky’s delight. There was no point in carrying a bunch of useless gear anyway, and at least he could use the ammo and caps. “Thanks for stopping by!” Risky yelled after Steele, who had left in a disappointed hurry. Steele worked his way around town to meet Hermes standing outside the medical tent. “What’s going on?” He asked. “Nothing much. Scratch didn’t want to come here, but she has a few injuries that are being tended to by the doctor now.” Hermes chuckled a bit before continuing. “Straus didn’t want to work on a griffon till I mentioned your name. Heh, looked like you made one hell of an impression.” “I always do.” Steele chuckled. “Anyways I sold our salvage, wanna go and help me squeeze some information from No-Bark?” “You mean make sure you don’t do anything stupid?” “That too.” “Alright.” The duo found No-Bark mumbling to himself outside outside the mayor’s office. “Hey No-Bark! We solved your ghost problem.” Steele said, interruption the crazy stallion’s thoughts. “Oh, Ol No-Bark knows. He always knows. I really appreciate it, yes I do.” He answered, giving a big, nearly toothless grin to them both. “So I believe you need to tell me where Lucky Star went.” Steele added. It was obvious he was going to need to push No-Bark for answers. “Ol righty. No-Bark remembers...but No-Bark is too thirsty to explain.” “Too… thirsty?” Steele began, his agitation rising. “Yup.” “*Sigh* Hermes can you please get him some water from the food tent?” “No!” No-Bark interrupted. “No-Bark doesn’t want any of that filthy water. He used to be a doctor, he knows it’s bad for you. No-Bark wants clean water.” He protested, sending a few droplets of saliva onto Steele's face. Steele’s eye twitched and his anger was beginning to rise; Hermes put a hoof on his shoulder to calm him down. “Look boss man, this town has to have a water purifier right? I’ll just get some clean water, and we’ll be done with it.” Hermes offered. “We ain’t got no clean water! O’ else No-Bark wouldn’t be thirsty!” No-bark retorted, scowling at Hermes. Steele lost it. He drew a revolver and pushed No-bark to the back of the mayor’s building and pinned him by the throat. “Now listen here you piece of shit. We nearly died for your information, and now you are going to tell us what we want.” Steele whispered. “Understand!” He screamed, shoving the gun’s barrel deeper into No-Bark’s throat. “Steele maybe we should-” “This is no time for your kindness, Hermes!” Steele interrupted, glaring at No-Bark who had begun to tear up and shake; he was terrified. “You there, please stop!” Demanded a loud, yet submissive voice. Steele and Hermes turned their attention to what appeared to be the town mayor, a yellow maned, light orange Pegasus. Her freckled face was curved into a frown, and her red eyes threatened to bore a hole through them both. Despite her small, shaking stature, she seemed determined to stand up for No-Bark. Steele shot one final glare at No-Bark and reluctantly dropped him. “Watch him, Hermes.” He ordered, sliding his gun back into his armored garb and approaching the shaken mare. She was shorter than Steele, and seemed to fear him, but stayed her ground; Steele noted her bravery. “I don’t know who you are, nor-” “Relax ma’am." Steele interrupted, raising a hoof for silence. "We're only here to claim the information promised to us in return for solving your ghoul problem. We'll get it, and leave without another word." Steele explained, turning to return to his interrogation. He was halted by the mayor. “Well we appreciate what you have done, but I still can’t have you terrorizing our townsfolk, no matter what they have done." She relaxed and looked Steele over. "But, I can try and see if we can reward you some other way.” She suggested, smiling warmly. “Look ma’am-” “Sunny Aurora.” “Sunny Aurora, we just need this information.” Steele answered. “Then, will you please come inside and talk it over. Perhaps I can help more than the town crazy.” Sunny said, walking into her office and pausing at the door to wave Steele in. Steele looked to Hermes for support. “Go. I’ll watch him, besides maybe she knows about Lucky.” Hermes assured. “Alright. Make sure he doesn’t go anywhere.” Steele ordered. He gave No-Bark a cold stare, and left him shivering in fright. Steele followed the mayor to find that her office was dimly lit, and her desk was littered by papers and work. Further into the building stood an old water purification setup that made up the majority of the building; it seemed to be missing a water purification crystal, but all in all was in working shape. “Busy, huh?” Steele observed, looking over the giant contraption that was the water purifier. “Yea.” She sighed, dropping into her seat. “Small town that’s got big problems.” She glanced at her work, then moved it aside and pulled out some apple whiskey and two shot glasses. “Sometimes I need a little something to calm me down at the end of a busy day, and you look thirsty. Fancy a drink while we talk over our problem?” She asked, sliding a glass toward Steele. Steele returned her smile. “You know how to talk to a stallion, I’ll give you that.” He answered, taking his seat opposite of the major. The two clinked glasses and downed their drinks before continuing. “So what brings you to my town?” Sunny started. “Came here looking for a guy named Lucky Star. He stole something very dear to us, and passed by here not too long ago.” “I see, so what are you harassing No-Bark for? The old guy is absolutely crazy. You’ll never get anything good out of him.” Sunny explained, resting her head on her hooves. “We asked around town, and nobody but No-Bark seems to know where he went. He asked us to get rid of your ghoul problem in exchange for information. And we did, nearly losing our lives in the process, and now he isn’t giving us what he owes us. Bastard wants us to go and find a water purifier crystal so he can get a “clean” drink.” “Hmph." Sunny raised her head and traced the desk with her hoof. "Now see, I thank you for getting rid of those ghouls, really I do, but I want a water purifier crystal too.” She said, pouring them both another round. Steele took a sip of his drink and continued. “I understand, but those things don’t just drop out of the sky you know. Finding something like that in the Mojave is nearly impossible, and only the really big places like Las Pegasus get their hooves on those. I don’t really see how I can help you here, at least not without risking a lot to do so. So, if you don’t mind. I’ll just go get my information, and leave.” Steele finished. He downed his glass and got up to leave; he didn’t have the time nor patience to be this mayor’s lackey. “You can go, but you’ll never get anything out of him. No-Bark only trusts me, and he’ll most likely die before telling anyone else anything." Sunny called. Steele stopped and glanced back at her as she leaned back into her chair with a smug grin. "You need me, Steele. Like it or not, you’re getting this town a water purifier if you want that information.” She brought her attention to her drink, leaving Steele option-less and angry. For someone so small and frail looking, she sure is a cunning bitch. Steele thought. “I think you’re underestimating how persuasive I am.” Steele said. This ungrateful mayor was demanding one of the most rare and profitable items in all the Mojave; for a cheap price too! “Oh really? I’ve seen how “persuasive” you are.” Sunny answered, sitting upright. “You think you, your little saint over there, or your griffon freak are going to get something out of him? Ha. You want that information, I want a purifier crystal, simple as that.” Steele weighed his options. He could go outside and continue trying to persuade a crazy pony, or he could risk life and limb for a small profit. No, neither would do. He’d have to make going on another pointless quest worthwhile. Steele fixed his hat, and to the surprise of the mayor, returned to her desk with a devious smile. “You want a purifier crystal?” Steele leaned in and gripped the apple whiskey bottle. “You gotta make it worth my time. We can find Lucky by chance, but I want you to show me how many able prospectors this town has to offer. Better yet, show me a trading caravan that has one of those crystals. You need me more than I need you." Steele explained, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. "If you want my services, make it worthwhile.” He finished. Steele took his seat and downed his glass; he set it down, and savored the look of hatred on the major's face. It seemed that he was one of few who actually had a leg up on the mayor during her "agreements"." Sunny’s brows furrowed as she leaned into her crossed hooves. Who the hell did this guy think he was anyway? Every dead beat that wandered up in her small town was easily persuaded, or bought out cheap for their services, but this guy was something else. It didn’t look like she was going to get out cheap this time. She quietly poured herself another glass and took a sip. Once the tension in her head cleared up, she continued. “This isn’t Las Pegasus, we don’t have a ton of caps to throw around. You know that, so what are you aiming for here?” She raised an eyebrow. Steele took a moment to think his answer through. Sure this town didn’t have a lot of caps, but Steele could use a lot more than caps in the Mojave. “A thousand caps, a discount at every store and service, 2 permanent rooms in the hotel, and a few favors on behalf of the whole town to the trio that solved their ghoul problem, and gave them clean water.” Steele answered, waiting for the inevitable outburst. He was asking for a lot, but so was Sunny. Although not exactly a high-paying job, a permanent place to stay and a whole town at his disposal seemed like a pretty good deal for a wanderer like himself. “Are you crazy!?" Sunny exclaimed, rising sharply and sending her chair rolling backwards. "You want me to fork over a thousand caps, give you two whole rooms for your own personal use, and you want the whole town to owe you some dirty work?” Sunny yelled, banging the desk with her hoof. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" She demanded, pushing Steele's chest and rolling him and his chair backwards slightly. Steele remained silent as he calmly rolled himself back to the seething major's desk, and kept eye contact while he poured himself the last drops of the apple whiskey bottle; he smiled as he shook the last drops into his glass. “You want something like a purifier crystal, you have to pay for one. Look around you, Sunny. This town is dying, and the pressure of trying to save an imminent failure is tying a noose around your neck. The few residents here are getting sick of the lack of resources, and it won't be long till that noose of yours gets too tight. No one here would even consider, not to mention be capable of finding and bringing back a bounty like that. You want a crystal, I want a place to stay; simple as that.” Steele finished coolly. Sunny's wings unfurled in frustration as she bit her bottom lip. She weighed her options. A thousand caps was a small sum, and the shops didn’t have that many things to sell. Without a clean water source, the hotel rooms would remain tourist-less. This guy was just some mercenary, what could he possibly ask of a small town like this anyway? Sunny ran a hoof across her neck as she glanced over Steele again. She sighed heavily, and retrieved her chair; she tore her gaze away from Steele. Celestia how she hated his smug grin. “Deal.” She said, collapsing into her chair and waving Steele off. “Happy to be of service ma’am.” Steele answered, tipping his hat and turning to leave. “How’d it go?” Hermes greeted. Steele looked content, something that was still odd to him. “Hope you know where to find a water purifier crystal.” Steele answered gravely. “A what!?” Scratch yelled. She had returned from the medical tent bearing a few healing bandages in time to hear Steele. “A water purifier crystal! Do you know how much those things cost!?” “Easy there patches. I’ll explain everything in the food tent, I’m not an idiot.” Steele eased. “Could have fooled me.” Scratch mumbled, grudgingly deciding to withhold her anger. “Uh, Steele what do I do with him?” Hermes asked, pointing at No-Bark who had been quietly cowering away from Steele. Hermes managed to calm him down, but the sight of Steele had gotten him shaking again. “Leave him, we’ll get what we want once we finish this job.” *** “So where the hell do you plan on finding a water crystal mister “negotiator.” Scratch asked, swallowing a roasted squirrel whole. “Yea I mean the perks seem nice, but I hear those things are rare even toward Canterlot; and they had a bunch of stables and tech over there.” Hermes added, wiping some left over stew off his muzzle. The trio had grabbed a sizable breakfast while Steele managed to explain himself and what had happened. “I was actually going to ask Scratch that.” He answered. “Me!? You’re the one who made the deal. You figure it out" She said, pointing an empty wooden skewer at Steele. "Cause I have no idea.” “Well you do know this part of the Mojave better than I do. Know of any nearby stables? I’m guessing that they would probably remain unraided since Las Pegasus already had a working stable in it.” Scratch tossed the skewer, and leaned on her folder arms.“The only stable I know of is stable eleven, and I don’t know anything about it other than the fact the no pony goes there.” Scratch offered. “Well why not? Stables have some pretty salvageable stuff inside, provided you can survive the security or anyone one else trying to raid one.” Hermes asked. “Beats me, but there has to be a good reason to keep ponies out. Radiation maybe.” Scratch guessed. “Sounds perfect if you ask me.” Steele said. “What do you mean perfect?” Hermes asked, puzzled. Steele looked like he had another crazy idea in mind, and Hermes didn’t like it. “Well, no raiders means no danger right? If that’s the case then there might still be a purifier crystal down there, and nothing stopping us from taking it.” Steele explained, taking a sip of his water. “Unless you guys got any other ideas that is.” He added. “Your call boss man.” Hermes regrettingly submitted, returning his attention to his soup as it grew ever colder from neglect. “I’m not going anywhere till I know for sure what we’re up against. Rumors have it the Steele rangers might have a group here, and I don’t want to walk in there to be blown to pieces cause we were between them and some useless pre-war doohickey.” Scratch said. “Fair enough.” Steele answered, getting up and leaving. “Hey where are you going!” She called after Steele. “To call in a favor, and see what we’re up against!” Steele yelled back. Risky was just finishing cleaning the last laser rifle when the last face he wanted to see walked in. “You’re not back for a refund, are you?” He nervously asked Steele. “No, I’m here for that info you promised me. What can you tell be about stable eleven?” “Stable eleven? What the hell did you lose in that abandoned shit hole?” Risky questioned; he eyed Steele with utmost curiosity. “You seem too worked up about a shit hole.” Steele observed. “Alright, you got me." Risky said, holding his hooves up. "If you really want to know, then I’d advise you to stay the hell away from stable eleven. The few that make it back return pale as a ghost, and never talk about that place again. When asked, they just keep real quiet. Whatever it is down there, not even the crazy fiends and bandits dare raid that place. It’s got some real bad mojo or something.” Risky answered, eyeing Steele nervously; he didn’t like his smile. “So no bandits, and no fiends right.” “Yea…” Risky answered slowly. “Thanks, Risky.” Steele said. “Consider your debt paid.” Steele left without another word. “Poor bastard.” Risky mumbled, returning to cleaning his new rifles. “So?” Hermes asked upon Steele’s return. “The local shop owner says the place is empty. Not even raiders and fiends go there. Said something about bad mojo and ghosts or something. Either Way it looks like the only way we’re going to get a purifier crystal.” Steele answered, packing up his gear. “So you guys in or what?” Steele asked again. “I really don’t like messing with the dead Steele. If ponies keep away, maybe we should too.” Hermes objected. “I’m kinda with Hermes on this one Steele, but I don’t see any other way around it so I’m in.” Scratch said. She adjusted her new bumper sword and its holster, glad that Hermes had the time to help her make one while Steele slept. “Fine guys. I'm gonna do it, but I ain’t going to like it.” Hermes sighed, rising and securing his two rifles with the help of his pipbuck’s inventory manager. The trio, under Scratch’s guidance, traveled north and soon arrived at the rocky overhang that held the stable’s outer door. The door itself was made of wood, and severely weather damaged, but still held onto its rocky wall via its rusted metal hinges; a noticeable stale odor was emanating through the cracks. “Smells like death.” Hermes commented, covering his muzzle in disgust. “Yea I’m not sure that place has enough fresh air for us to breath. I mean if the place has been abandoned for a few decades, then the ventilation system probably shut down from neglect.” Scratch added, leaning away from the pungent smell as well. Steele rolled his eyes and pressed forward; he regretted the decision as soon as he found himself fighting his gag reflex. The bitter stench attacked Steele's bravado, but he kept firm and pressed onward. Sunlight poured into the once dark tunnel, and came to rest upon the massive steel door; it eerily cut off at the very entrance of the stable, whose door stood slightly ajar and provided enough space for a pony to squeeze through. “Odd.” Steele thought aloud. “Don’t stable doors have a backup power source to close and open in emergency situations?” Hermes asked, continuing Steele’s train of thought. He and Scratch followed Steele once the air freshened, and now the trio stood in front of the massive pre-war barrier; its faded and worn yellow numbers left hanging diagonally. “I don’t like the looks of this.” Steele commented, eyeing the darkness within the stable through the open space. “Oh so now you get some common sense.” Hermes smirked, earning him a glare from Steele. “Since neither of you have any balls, I’ll go in first and secure the terminal room. It’s really dark in there, and I don’t want any surprises or friendly fire, so wait for my call.” Steele commanded, drawing Mustang and Sally. Steele took a moment to come to peace with going into an abandoned, pitch-black, steel casket, and began to squeeze through the narrow opening. Least I won't have to endure this place alone. He thought. Once through, Steele stood in silence, listening. It was too dark to try and scope out the area, and it would take awhile for his eyes to adjust. Besides, anything mutated would make enough noise to give away its position. “You alright in there boss man?” Hermes shouted. “Or did the ghosts get ya?” Scratch laughed. “Quiet you two, and get me a light source. It’s dark as hell in here. “Like what?” Hermes asked. “All I got is my pipbuck, and they don’t just go around and sell lanterns around here.” Steele growled at his failure to foresee a problem like this, but the gesture made him intake more air than usual, and a new stench filled his lungs. Steele coughed hard as a sudden sense of dread washed over him. What the fuck was that smell, and where the hell did it come from? He cursed. “Steele?” Scratch asked, suspicious of Steele’s sudden coughing fit. “I-” Steele began, but was interrupted by a loud automated voice. “Imminent power failure detected. Stable door set to close for the immediate protection of stable tech residents. Please see the stable technician for further assistance, and thank you for choosing stable tech: the stable choice for survival.” It notified. Everyone covered their ears from the deafening screeching of stable eleven’s door as it began to close. Steele was on the floor, paralyzed by the stench and pain, and terrified of being locked away to die in complete darkness and agony. Once the pain subsided, he opened his eyes to meet only darkness. “Shit! Hermes! Scratch! Can you hear me!?” He screamed, his heart pounding so heavily that it threatened to burst out of his chest. He heard nothing but muffled screams in his still ringing ears and cursed again. “I can’t hear yo- fuck!” He cursed as strong lights came on and stung his vision with painful brightness, forcing him to stagger back and sit. What in Luna’s name was going on!? He asked himself, too distracted by the ringing in his ears, and dots in his eyes to notice the smell. His luck wasn’t all bad though, and the ringing in his ears settled down at the same time his eyes adjusted to the flickering and failing light. “Ah fuck me!” He screamed, jumping up and pressing himself against the stable door once he discovered he had just shared a floor with four rotting corpses, all of which were horribly mutilated and torn apart. Shit, Steele, get it together! He commanded himself. The adrenaline coursing through his panicked body kicked in, and Steele refocused to hear muffled screaming from behind the stable door. “Steele! Steele can you hear me!?” Hermes shouted, banging in frustration against the thick door. Steele couldn’t believe the fact that had found sanctuary in Hermes's voice. “Yea, I’m alright in here.” He replied. “Thank Celestia.” Hermes breathed. Scratch, who had hidden her fear for Steele’s safety, finally exhaled as well. “What's going on in there?” She shouted through the door. Steele looked around. Somehow the stable’s emergency door generator had started up, but it only generated enough power to keep a single cell of dim lights blinking. The entire control room was offline, and covered in dust and the old stains of some poor pony’s brains. He was trapped in a closed off room with nothing but four rotting corpses, a sealed and powerless stable door, and a hallway leading to the rest of a pitch black, abandoned stable. “I’m trapped.” Steele realized. Panic tugged at his concentration, but he shook it off and refocused on his friends. “If the power came on, can’t you just open the door?” Scratch pressed. “Its not on dammit! The stable’s emergency generator started up and only had enough juice to close the door.” “Shit.” Scratch cursed. “Do you think you can turn on the power and open the door?” Hermes suggested. “I doubt the generator is still functioning.” Steele answered, bucking the stable door in frustration. “It’s a stable. Its bound to have an armory right? If there aren’t any raiders in there, then see if you can find the explosives. Hopefully there should be enough to blow this thing off its rusty hinges. Do you think you can do that?” Scratch asked. Steele thought about it. The smell was so bad that he’d do just about anything to get out. It’s not like he had a choice anyway. “Yea. I’ll see what I can do, but guys…” “What’s wrong?” Hermes asked, sensing Steele's hesitation. “If you don’t hear from me in 2 days, then leave. Celestia knows what the fuck is in here, hell I can’t even see my hooves once I step out into the hallway. It doesn’t look good from here.” He finished. Dread settled into the pit of his stomach as he realized he might not be making it out of this one. Hermes and Scratch looked for the right thing to say, but Steele interrupted their thoughts. “I’m going now, the smell in here is going to make me puke.” He said, trying to convince himself to get the courage to leave his dimly lit safe haven. He turned toward the hallway and stepped over one of the rotting corpses, a stallion with the majority of his suit torn and decomposed; his lower half seemed to have been snacked on by a passing by mutant, and Steele kept his guns at the ready. “Be careful Steele!” He heard Hermes shout. Steele returned his attention to the seemingly never ending abyss of darkness ahead of him. Strangely enough his very core felt wrong. It wasn’t just the smell anymore, it was something else, pressing on his mind; something that his instinct told him to avoid. Steele shut his eyes, and dismissed the dread as sickness from the smell. If he was going to get out of here alive then he had better man up, and soon. He opened his eyes and used his horn to give off a dim source of light. Better than nothing. He guessed. He took a step into the darkness and felt all the hair on his foreleg stand at attention, almost as if the darkness cowered from the foreign presence before swarming to engulf it. Steele recoiled, bringing his leg back to his chest, and glared ahead. Come on, Steele, stop being such a pussy! He commanded himself. He walked further into the hallway, letting his whole body be swallowed whole by the unholy air. Steele sloshed his way through the thick darkness, and with each click his hooves made against the iron floor, a new pulse of emotion swept over him. There was something really fucked up about this place. Something that made him want to turn around and run. The place was dead and hollow, but shadows danced, things seemed to move, body-less life felt present. Ghosts? Steele asked himself, taking a moment to ponder the thought before shaking it off. Don’t let Hermes get to you, Steele! This is just some abandoned shit hole, and you’ve got to get out. Focus. His mouth dry, senses heightened, and heart erratic Steele pressed on through the abandoned stable with the sole intent of toning out the suffocating dread. His dim light source flickered as his nerve slowly bled out of his body. He stopped short when the corridor ended in a fork that lead to a caved in path, and a descending staircase. "And so begins the descent into madness." He commented out loud; simply to fill the relentless silence. The shadows had already consumed any evidence of sound as he began to travel further into the depths of his shadowy hell. The short descent ripped Steele out of an abandoned stable, and instead tossed him into a world of politics, where propaganda posters replaced the cold hard iron that made up the walls. Now what kind of election would a stable hold? Steele wondered, leaning close to examine a poster. Its colors, although faded, proudly displayed the eye catching text: The Enlightened. Don't stay in the darkness, do what's right; vote for the light! It urged, slathering its motto at the top of the poster; below it a pre-war royal crest was re-purposed for the task of brainwashing any reader into giving their vote. Steele smirked at the bitter irony of the task and his situation, but brought his attention to the rows of similar posters that suffocated the wall; they only ended where the light from his horn could no longer pierce the thick darkness. Must have been the most popular party to have so many posters. Steele observed. But who were they? He asked himself, lost in the advertisement that worked for ponies long since lost to the trials of time. A blood curling scream filled the air, chilling Steele to the bone as he recoiled into reality. Steele cocked his revolvers, and quickly sped through the short hallway. Guns first, he opened the hydraulic steel door at the bottom to find a large, pitch black room. Silence. No movement, no presence, no gunfire or growling; just nerve racking silence. What the fuck!? Steele stood still, his legs spread apart for balance, his guns ready, and his eyes scanning. His heavy breathing displayed his frayed nerves. Nothing screams like that unless it’s getting its skin peeled, and the lack of sound or light was beyond bizarre; it was downright insane. Nothing stirred, not even the gentle howling of moving air was heard through the spacious room; only the frantic thumping of a frightened heart reached Steele's ears. A few beads of sweat trickled down to his chin, and plopped down onto the cold hard ground. Unwilling to believe his mind had so cruelly deceived him, Steele swallowed and finally noticed the illuminated CAFETERIA sign above him. Explains the large room, but a cafeteria without tables seems odd. He observed, reluctantly beginning to relax. This place was just getting to him that’s all; no need to get worked up about nothing. “Spoke too soon.” He remarked through grit teeth as a small bulb flashed to illuminate the room and stunned his vision. Steele lowered his guns and jaw at the same time. Speechless, Steele remained glued to the floor and unable to move. Whatever turned on the bulb revealed the lack of tables was because they were all moved to the ends of the room and used as cover in what appeared to be a civil war. The room was littered with dry blood, bullet casings, and traps of all sorts; Steele himself was only a few inches short of a grenade trap hanging from the ceiling. Once he absorbed enough, he used his magic to disarm the trap and began to look around. There were pony skeletons and bone fragments everywhere. A few still leaned over the cover they so desperately hoped would protect them, some still had rusted guns clenched in their bony jaws while others lay in pieces, torn by explosives. Steele examined some of the makeshift cover to find a smaller skeleton crouching behind it, a large hole in the back of its skull. This is unreal. Steele thought. He looked around for signs of mutants or other ponies who might not belong to the stable, but found nothing. No intruders, no external threat, only dead stable ponies seemingly torn apart by their own madness. Bewildered by the sheer absurdity of a civil war within the very chamber that was build to protect its inhabitants from the lunacy of the outside world, Steele failed to count the number of unfortunate souls to have died here; their screams and suffering forever preserved and lost within the confines of a dark and forgotten tomb. He could almost hear the screams of agony that emanated from untrained fighters, screams that told the suffering and death of those who regretted the painful mistakes of their hot-boiled youth; mistakes that put pony kind in its underground prisons in the first place. Steele's skin crawled as if the hooves of the fallen were pulling it, demanding his attention so as to not be abandoned and forgotten in their eerie grave. He shook violently to get the sickening idea out of his head, and brought his attention to a rifle. Rusted, yet as ready for the spilling of blood as the day it was used, it lay at the hooves of a young stable dweller's corpse, waiting patiently to serve its young master again. Its owner however, lay defeated against his thin cover; his rotting skull hung limp over his chest as his body slumped against the table. Curious, Steele surveyed the area for traps, and when finding none, he returned to the out of place rifle. He really hated the idea of taking stuff from this place, but survival was survival, and he ignored his growing uneasiness. He licked his dry lips and slowly, delicately, began to bend over the table to retrieve the firearm; the nearer he drew, the more anxious the deadly weapon appeared, seemingly anticipating its use for death. Almost got it. Steele grunted as the rifle lay only inches from his grasp. A sudden crack whipped Steele's attention to the pitch black eye sockets of the gun's owner; he shared a spit second of "eye contact" as his entire body tingled with panic. “Fuck this! Fuck stables!" He shouted, scrambling to leave the room in a frightened hurry. There was more to this nightmare than burdened the eye, and whatever it was didn’t want him here. He was done with trying to loot the place, and just wanted to get the hell out. Steele drew his guns and re-lit his horn. He was scared now, and his steps grew louder and more urgent. He no longer traveled with caution, but instead looked for the fastest way to get out of this Celesia damned hell hole. He proceeded through the winding hallways, finding more traps and bodies, until he stumbled upon the Overmare’s room. “Oh thank the goddesses.” He breathed. He might find the water purifier gem here, and more importantly, a way out. Disarming a crude shotgun trap, Steele stepped into the room, illuminating it with the dim light of his horn. He found a working stable tech computer, and an old hoof-written note, he glanced at it nervously, his curiosity urging him to read it, to find out why this place reeks of death and despair, but common sense told him it would only make things worse. Maybe later. Steele decided, quickly rolling up the note and shoving it into his saddlebag. He sat down at the terminal and opened the notes. “New Security Key for the Mainframe.” He read before something behind him moved and stole his attention. Angry at the fact that this place had already made a paranoid fool out of him, Steele raised his magnums and flared his horn. With the extra power, he illuminated enough of the room to catch a pair of white hind legs retreating. “Hermes!” Steele yelled, taking off after the bastard. He was tired of being scared, and pure anger fueled him as he ran after the bastard he was about to tear into pieces. “Hermes get the fuck back here!” He added, turning a corner into a janitors closet. He had the bastard pinned now. He yanked the door open, nearly ripping it off its rusty hinges, his nostrils flared as if in preparation to release steam. Inside, Steele’s anger quickly melted into confusion and shock. His anger and confusion was aimed toward a small cowering filly. She was shaking violently and cowered from the intruder and the guns he was pointing at her face. “Shit.” Steele said. He holstered his guns and spoke softly. “Hey there little one, I’m not going to hurt you. Come on, it’s ok I’ll protect you.” The small filly peeked out from under her forelegs to look at Steele with a large, gold eye. “It’s ok now, I’m sorry for scaring you.” Steele reassured her. This is too Luna damn weird, but hell I’m not going to leave a kid in here. Steele decided. To Steele’s relief the small filly seemed to be warming up to him. She sat upright, and stared at a smiling Steele. “You’re not going to hurt me, right?” She squeaked. Celestia damn that’s adorable. Steele thought. He may or may not have had a weakness for children, but that was not up for discussion with the public. “Of course not.” Steele reassuring with a warm smile. “Then why were you yelling?” She asked, frowning at her mysterious new guest. “I, uh thought you were a friend who was playing games with me.” Steele dodged, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably. Hermes in here, with me? Boy that was stupid. He scolded himself. “Games? But mister it’s scary down here. Why would you want to play games?” The filly asked. “Uh, not those kind of games. Look, forget about it.” Steele answered, willing to change the subject. “Well if your friend thinks you’re playing games with him in here, then should we go look for him?” “Just forget about it kid, he’s fine.” Steele said. “More importantly, what is a filly like you doing here all by herself?” He wondered. “I live here.” She answered nonchalantly, looking at Steele like one does at an unwanted guest. Live here? Ok that means there’s gotta be some other ponies in here. “So then where are your parents and the other ponies?” Steele asked, hoping to get some answers around here. “They’re dead.” She answered coolly, catching Steele off guard with the lack of emotion in her answer. “Everyone?” Steele asked again, just to be sure. He eyed the out of place filly, questioning his own sanity. “Yup.” She said again in the same boring, emotionless way. “Then how and why are you still living here!?” Steele asked. “Well I have no place to go. There’s enough food for me to not get hungry, and I can’t really leave.” Steele brought a hoof to his face as he tried to process the situation. He sighed. “Well alright, can you tell me what happened here as we go back?” He asked. “Sure!” She answered, hoping up and trotting up to Steele; her cute little smile still warmed Steele’s heart. “By the way mister. My names Rose Treats, what’s yours?” She asked. “Steele.” He answered, glad to no longer have to endure walking through the darkness alone. For some odd reason, with this kid here, he no longer felt the eerie grip of the air. “Cool name!” She exclaimed, looking up at Steele with admiration; the gesture cheered Steele up more than he thought it would, and he continued to walk with a content smile. “So Rose Treats, what happened here?” He reminded the cute filly. “Oh, See. There were these big groups of ponies who everyone talked about all the time, and one group was bigger than the others. This big group-” “The Enlightened?” Steele interrupted. “Yea that’s it. Those guys didn’t like some mare, and voted for her to be the Overmare. It was ok at first, but she made a new rule that took away voting powers from the big groups, and banned the “selection.” I think the big group got mad because they didn’t like the changes, so they started to fight. It was really scary, and for a few days mom and dad had to hide in the cafeteria with me. There were other nice ponies there, but they tried to hurt anyone who wanted some of our food. I’m not sure what happened, but one day the other ponies all ran into our cafeteria and started shooting. Mom hid me in the janitor’s closet and told be to be quiet. I was really scared, but I saw she was too, so I stayed quiet. She left, and then there were a lot of loud noises. Some ponies were screaming. There was this big explosion, and when I woke up later it was really dark and everypony was dead or gone; It was really scary.” “Wow kid.” Steele thought aloud, piecing together Rose's simple explanation. He wanted to know more, but was afraid of forcing the poor kid to remember her heavy lose. The kid slept through a war that took from her everything she ever treasured, and awoke to the ashes of her life. He realized, his spirit dampening as he looked at Rose with an apathetic look; to his surprise the little filly looked straight ahead, unfazed by the recollection of her tragedy. Must have run out of tears to cry. Steele assumed. “And the Overmare? What happened to her?” “Oh her, well she died like all the others. She banned the selection, but she still had to go through with it to give us time.” “The selection?” Steele asked. Is that another social experiment? He wondered, cursing the stable tech inventors for their wicked experimentation. “Yea. Mom and dad never liked to talk about it, but this man told me that the stable computer needs someone to be chosen and die so that it doesn’t kill everyone. A lot of ponies from when the stable was still new didn’t like not being told that, so they made it so that the Overmare would be the one to be selected when the computer demanded it.” “Shit.” Steele cursed. He knew the stable experiments were cruel and often resulted in the extermination of those inside, but to force those you were trying to protect to brutally select each other for death was beyond cruel. He prayed for pity on the poor souls that were doomed to extinction the moment they set foot in their false safe haven. How could the past have been so barbaric? He wondered, clenching his jaw in anger and frustration with the mistakes of his supposed goddesses; to think he had to pray to the very source that supposedly began the suffering. The two made it back to the Overmare’s room and Steele sat down to work at the computer. “So Rose Treats, know how we can get out of here?” Steele asked, hoping he could cut the time he had to spend there. “I don’t know. I’m too small to be assigned any stable jobs, and all the other big ponies didn’t want to tell me anything.” She squeaked, crossing her arms and pouting. Steele chuckled lightly. He wasn’t sure how someone so young survived all by herself, but she had obviously gone through a lot of trauma. He refocused on the computer once more, determined to get his little new friend out of here. “Hey Rose, can you find me a pen and paper? I need to write some stuff down.” He asked, once more upset about his lack of a fancy pipbuck. “Sure thing! I saw some in the armory, I’ll go get them!” She exclaimed, turning to run away. “Wait up, you can get into the armory? I thought it was locked down tight.” “It is, the grown-ups hid the password, but during their fighting the vents were damaged and I can crawl through.” Rose answered excitedly, her grin was so wide that it started to tug at Steele’s solid complexion. “Are you sure it’s safe? It’s really dark and dangerous in here, I don’t want you to get hurt.” Steele said; he was beginning to reconsider letting a filly go alone in this hazardous hell hole. The little filly ran toward Steele, forcing him to back away slightly before being tackled and hugged by Rose; the gesture was extremely uncommon for Steele, especially since he wasn’t one to like unauthorized touching, and he stood there for a moment wondering how he should react.The little filly was choking his foreleg with her hug, and Steele couldn’t help but smile. What is it about her that makes me such a pussy? He wondered, disgusted by how easily his shell was being breached. “Thanks for being so nice, it’s awfully lonely down here.” She said, rubbing her muzzle against Steele's solid leg. The "iron"-pony chuckled. He knew this filly really needed someone, and he was glad that he could fill that quota. Afterall, right about now he needed her just as much as she needed him. “Come on Rose, knock it off.” He said, trying to gently shake his foreleg free. “Ok.” Rose answered, letting go and standing upright; she looked up at Steele with affection in her eyes. “I’ll go get the things you need.” She announced, turning to leave. “Wait, Rose, are there any explosives that you can fit through the vents in there?” “I think I saw a few, why?” “I want you to bring them back if they’re not too heavy. Think you can do that?” “Why?” Rose questioned again; the assertiveness in her voice caught Steele off guard. “I think you may have just solved my...our problem.” Steele answered. He didn’t like the caution in Rose’s voice, so he decided it’d be best to not tell her his plan just yet. “Ok, I’ll be right back.” She answered normally. Steele watched her scurry off and turned back to the monitor, but Rose returned shortly. “Oh and Steele, be careful.” She said, and left again. Why the hell would she tell me to be careful? Steele wondered. The gesture was odd, but he had more important things to worry about and shrugged it off. Shit, it’s back. Steele mentally cursed. The feeling of dread attacked his body once more, giving him a sensation of being really dirty. Was that there before? Steele asked himself as the monitor displayed a new function; Open the chamber. Chamber? What kind of chamber? He wondered. Steele selected the option and backed up as the desk began to lift off the ground via hydraulic pumps; it revealed a metal staircase leading to another long, dark hallway. “Great.” He breathed regrettably. He knew he was going to go check it out, and he hated himself already. Steele drew his guns again and looked out the Overmare’s office. The dim light from his horn didn’t show much, but he couldn’t hear or see any sign of Rose. Whatever, he didn’t know what was down there anyway so it was better to not take her along. With another sigh, Steele descended the stairs and began another journey through the unholy stable. Stabletech sure loves its long hallways. He thought. The hallway ended with another, smaller hallway, but this one was different; there was something at the end of it. Steele readied his weapons and stepped forward. “H...hello stable resident!” Welcomed an old and stuttering recording. I don’t like the looks of this. Steele thought; the bright lights ahead didn’t help either. “The lights ahead set your mind at ease, you feel welcomed." The automated voice continued. Steele felt sick, but he kept moving forward despite feeling like he was being pushed into the room. Once past the bright lights, Steele looked around to find himself in an overly spacious room. It looked nice. There was a video player on a table in the center, a large comfy couch, and some apple whiskey along with some cigarettes and dirty water. “What in Celestia’s name is going on!?” Steele shouted, having turned to leave, but found a large, thick hydraulic door blocking his exit. To his dismay, the video player had started without his assistance. “Hello there!” It greeted. “If you’re in this room, then that means you’ve been selected for the greater good of the stable.” “Fuck, no dammit, this can’t be happening!” Steele screamed, pounding on the door like his heart pounded in his chest. “Come on, you piece of shit! Open!” He commanded it, straining himself to pry the door open with his magic. Unfortunately the door didn’t budge and Steele gave up with a grunt. “You’ve lived a good life.” The mechanical voice continued, trying to lull its victim into a sense of peace. I can't die in here. Steele concluded. He turned back to observe the rest of the room. The video and voice still played, but he couldn’t hear what it was saying because of how loudly his heart thumped in his ears. Come on, Steele, think! He commanded himself, closing his eyes and concentrating hard. He wasn’t going down, not yet. Not to some fucked up experiment set up by his goddess-forsaken ancestors. That’s it! Steele thought, taking out the salvaged grenades. “And remember that time you…” The automated voice droned in the background of Steele’s thoughts. Steele knew the video was coming to an end, and began to quickly rearrange the furniture. He picked a corner near the door, and barricaded his front with the couch, table, and metal video player; he drew Mustang and Sally, readied the grenades, and took his position behind his makeshift cover. “Do you feel at peace? Good.” The computer finished, dropping its pitch on the last word and stretching it nefariously. “Come at me!” Steele demanded, tired of being toyed with. The large walls began to slide open on opposite sides, revealing Robobrains, military grade Sentinels, and turrets. “Catch!” Steele shouted, tossing two grenades left and right; he took cover behind his makeshift barrier and winced as the deafening explosion sent robo-pony brains and shrapnel all over the room. The world went silent as his ears reached their pain threshold. Deaf and irate, Steele stepped out of cover and began to pelt the first thing he saw, a sentinel, with lead. As Steele fired, he noticed that the grenades had only managed to take down the brainbots and a left turret, leaving both sentinels damaged, but fully functional. Fuck. He thought, mid-shot as the Sentinel he was attacking started its combat targeting computer and raised its missile-loaded hoof. Helpless, Steele was forced to observe the remaining turret tear two holes into his body, drawing blood, and closed his eyes as the missile silently left the barrel of the sentinel's hoof; the last thing he saw was the bright flames from the ignition of his doom. Steele’s body erupted in pain. The world spun as Steele watched his blood, armor, body, and barrier fly through the air in his silent final moments. Each inch of his body burned as flesh tore and sizzled, sending a warm sensation after each pulse of agonizing pain. The vibrations from his body hitting the cold hard floor were the last thing on his conscious mind before everything went black. Unfortunately his torture didn’t end there, and the adrenaline coursing through his leaking veins forced him into painful consciousness. Steele wasn’t sure whether it was his will to live, quick thinking, or a burning desire for revenge that gave him the strength to use his magic and turn the active turret toward the sentinel and riddle it with bullets, effectively exploding it, and in turn damaging the turret as well. His remaining harbinger, a damaged, but fully functioning sentinel rolled up to Steele’s now motionless and rapidly losing consciousness body; it aimed its plasma gun. “Intruder vitals detected, eliminating.” It announced. “Fuck you.” Steele managed before the remaining strength had finally drained from his body and left it limp and unconscious at the hoofs of his doom. *** Pain, that is what Steele used to describe the world he woke up to. Incomprehensible, agonizing, burning pain. His flesh burned and sizzled, his lungs struggled to work, his head vibrated with mind- numbing agony. Simply remaining alive burdened him, and the world as he knew it was black behind his heavy eyelids. Am I dead? He wondered. No, if he was then he wouldn’t be writhing in agony. Pity. He complained, finding it nearly impossible to gather the strength to open his eyes. Steele tried again, and successfully managed to pry open his eyes to allow the world around him to slowly return. He looked around, analyzing his predicament; he found himself laying in a pool of his own blood, his armored bard torn wide open at his shoulder and chest, and a lone sentinel towered above him, its plasma gun aimed at his head. Looking past the barrel of his would be doom, he saw his satchel laying on the ground, its contents littered the floor; Steele scanned the pile for something he could use to end the suffering, but found nothing. “Steele! Steele are you in there!? Steele!” A voice cried out; It was a fillies voice, and whatever was making it sounded afraid and hysterical. Who the hell would be here in a place like thi- Rose! Steele realized, his eyes growing large with the realization that he couldn’t die, not yet, not while Rose needed him. Steele’s eyes frantically darted across the room, searching once more for something that would at least give him the strength to speak. How did I miss that!? Steele asked himself. He spotted his salvation, a hydra potion he saved since the nightkin incident. Thank Celesia for Hermes. “Steele.” Rose whimpered behind the door, motivating Steele to get that damn potion closer to him. Steele glared at the solution to his problem, willing nearer, but could not find the strength to bring it any closer. He closed his eyes and considered bitter failure. His vision was fading from the blood lose, and he danced on the verge of consciousness. It was now or never, and he tried once more. Come on. He urged, but achieved nothing as his body refused to spare any energy it was using to cling to fleeing life. Steele closed his eyes as he realized he had been forced to give up. Forced to die in silence. He tried to pity himself, but disappointing in his shortcomings while he was so close to success, he failed to do so. He did however, find regret. Regret for doing nothing more than leaving another useless corpse in the Mojave, regret for falling prey to the bitter malice of the pre-war generation. A fitting ending really. He thought bitterly. "Steele don't die in here." A filly's voice sulked, convincing Steele to hold his meeting with the reaper. Steele awoke to another kind of regret; regret for giving up on himself and those that depended on him. He had to live, for the courier too stupid to survive on his own, for the griffon that would not get far without a tough pony ally, for the filly that had come to his aid in time to nearly receive only suffering in return. He willed the potion closer, nearly blacking out from the sheer exertion of using his magic. Luckily the bottle rolled closely enough for him to devour the precious liquid. The let the cooling elixir work its magic and mend his broken body. He finally breathed a full gasp of air as the potion worked quickly and diligently to grow new cells and replace his burned and torn flesh. Steele grunted as his chest and limbs shifted from underneath the flesh, moving, searching for their original positions and popping into place as they mended their cracks and tears. "Kindness." Steele breathed, relieved to only be lightheaded from blood-loss. Kindness was responsible for the powerful magic that toyed with the very essence of life and brought him back from the verge of death. Steele levitated the empty bottle to his face and looked over the three butterflies that marked the work of the Ministry of Peace. Kindness, an element of the impossible dream of Harmony, was powerful enough to last through the ages and awake like within his dying body. Perhaps the past wasn't as dark as the atrocities it left behind; maybe there still wonder to discover in the ashes of a hated past. “Rose.” Steele grunted, standing up. The hydra potion might have repaired his body, but his head was still spinning, and his body still ached. “Rose!” Steele screamed again, having not gotten an answer. “Where the hell is she?” He thought aloud, looking the sentinel over. What the hell happened to this thing? Steele wondered; the bot didn’t seem to have any external damage dealt to it aside from the grenade that he threw, and that had barely dented its armor. The Luna-forsaken thing had just turned off mysteriously, as if something flipped its off switch. Steele left the damn thing alone and took a step toward his belongings, but stopped himself before falling over. Shit, I lost a lot of blood. He concluded, eyeing a large crimson pool where he lay only moments ago. Steele repacked his saddlebag, reloaded his guns, and winced as he gingerly put his tattered saddlebag back on; he observed his clothing to find that that his chest and right shoulder were exposed, the clothing torn and uneven with burn marks. The whole ensemble, his coat included were caked with a layer of his blood, dividing his body in two. Steele used Ratslayer to permanently disable the remaining sentinel; after all, he couldn’t push his luck too far. He finished scavenging any ammo and explosives off the bots, and looked around the room for a chance to escape; what he found was the stable’s mainframe and water supply stashed in the left wall of where the bots came from. Thank Celestia, now I can get the fuck out of here. Steele thought, salvaging the water purifier crystal, unlocking the door to his escape, and finding a way to route power to the stable door; for some odd reason, the air around him felt a little lighter with the room and its sickening past destroyed. Or maybe it was just his spinning head, either way he was getting the hell out of here. The door opened, and as soon as Steele stepped out into the unpleasant darkness, he was nearly knocked off his unstable hooves by Rose, who buried her face into Steele’s lower chest and sobbed. “I... thought I was going... to….lose you and be all alone again.” She said in between sobs, ignoring the layer of crimson that lay between her and Steele. Steele felt sick, partially because of the sensation the stable gave off, and mostly because he was on the brink of consciousness. “It’s ok there Rose, I wasn’t planning on ever leaving you behind.” He assured her, petting her pink mane with his clean hoof. “I couldn’t let them take you too.” She whimpered. “What? Let who take me?” Steele asked, confused. Rose let go of Steele and stood on her own, wiping away her tears. “Never mind.” She answered. “Oh, and I got you what you asked for! Even the pen and paper see?” She exclaimed, pulling a little leather satchel filled with what appeared to be high end, Stable quality explosives; an old pen and rotting paper were tucked into a pocket in the front. “Thanks Rose, you’re a big help. Now lets go.” Steele said, attempting to use magic to lift the bag, but picking it up instead when he found himself too weak to do so. “Go where?” Rose asked. To Steele’s surprise there was an unpleasant tone in her voice, and he pondered as to how he should respond. “Uh, to meet my friends. I’m hurting real bad right now, and I need their help.” Steele answered, struggling to light his horn enough to find their way back. “I can help you.” Rose answered gruffly. She was following Steele, but she was looking down as if she was upset with something. But what could that be? Steele wondered. Steele stopped walking and turned to Rose. “Oh come on Rose, you’ve been a big help, and I couldn’t have done anything without you.” He said, petting her mane in an attempt to cheer her up; luckily she looked up and smiled. She hugged Steele’s leg again. “Ok, but you won’t leave me right?” She asked. “Never.” Steele answered, turning around and beginning to walk toward the Stable door and leave this ordeal behind him. Steele was glad to finally be getting out of this hell hole, but as he progressed the feeling of dread grew stronger, angrier, like there was something that didn’t want him to leave; simply walking tired him as unseen hooves hindered his path, pulling him back into the stable. Trying not to empty his stomach, Steele looked back to make sure Rose was still behind him; she was, but she seemed cautious, like there was something she was waiting for. Maybe she feels it too, after all her friends and family died here. Steele reasoned. The duo finally ended up in the Stable door control room. The smell was still horrible, but now a small green button was illuminated in the control room, right next to the dead pony skeleton with its brain residue covering the other controls and glass panel. “Hey Rose, do you know who these guys were? They still smell, so they can’t have died that long ago.” Steele asked, looking around the control room for anything else he might have needed to press. “They wanted to abandon me, to leave me and never come back. Steele, they left me all alone!” Rose yelled, stomping her hoof. “It’s ok Rose, I...uh… I” Wow this must be a really strong smell. Steele thought. He couldn’t think straight. Either the smell was that bad, or the feeling he was getting came from something else. “Please don’t leave me Steele. I don’t want to be alone.” Rose said; she was crying again. “Oh come on Rose, I already told you I won’t, so please don’t cry.” Steele pleaded, pushing the green button and starting the opening process. Sufficient power supply detected! Thank you for choosing Stable tech, be careful out there! It notified. The Stable door began to screech open. “Steele!? Steele! Shit, he did it!” A muffled voice screamed, it belonged to Hermes. “Don’t leave me Steele, please! I don’t want to be alone, I don’t want to be by myself again. Don’t leave me, Steele!” Rose screamed, forcing Steele to collapse from the multitude of pain in his head. Where the hell was she screaming from? Steele asked himself, looking through tearing eyes; he couldn’t find Rose anywhere. She must have gotten scared of the noise and run off. Steele reasoned. The door finished opening, and light flooded into the room. “Told you he’d do it.” Scratch said, rushing over to Steele’s side and providing a support for him to lean on. "Holy shit, Steele what the fuck happened to you?" She asked, grabbing his side and supporting him. “Shit boss man, what the hell happened in there?” Hermes asked, seeing the poor condition Steele and his clothes were in. “Rose, where is she?” Steele asked, only half conscience with the knowledge that his friends were there. “Who the hell is Rose?” Scratch asked once they had escorted Steele outside and sat him down. “Rose, a small filly, where is she!?” Steele demanded. “I think he’s lost it.” Scratch commented. “What filly boss man, you were the only one there.” Hermes answered, looking quizzingly at Steele. Audio log downloaded, playing now. Notified Hermes’s pipbuck. “What crap did you pick up now?” Scratch asked angrily, glancing at Hermes who had snuck a pipbuck out of the stable on the way out. “It’s not crap.” He answered wryly. “I picked it up from one of the bodies in there, it might provide some answers.” “Rose.” Steele began before being cut off by the log. This is Stable eleven technician, Iron Weld. To whoever finds this log inside of Stable eleven, turn back. It's pointless. I am the last surviving member of this stable. There were five of us left after we found the answer to the mainframe’s demands; it was simple. From the very beginning the whole damn thing was a test given to us by Stable Tech. They wanted to see if we’d send a pony to die so the rest of us can live, and we did; and not only did we do it, but we’ve done some terrible things to each other to select someone. Anyway as I was saying, there were five of us when we found out that all we needed to do for the computer to not kill us all, was to simply deny it. Show it that we valued the idea of preserving other’s lives more than our own… and we’d have lived. When I and the last of us found out, they couldn’t take it. We all wanted out, but some of us just couldn’t live with it all. They wanted all of us to kill ourselves, to take the horrible history of our stable with us, but I just couldn’t do it. I’ve helped them kill themselves, and am leaving this cursed place forever, and as a warning to all you scavengers out there, leave now. You might not believe in ghosts yet, but you definitely don’t want your opinion to be changed in this stable. Again, there is absolutely no one left alive in there, and nothing worth of value, the whole damn place feels haunted. Turn back and leave, for your own good! And… and if you don’t believe me… *Sigh* for Celestia’s sake, we killed fucking children down there. Children! Hell, I saw a poor little filly’s body torn apart in the goddess forsaken janitor’s closet. The poor thing was hiding in there. Hell… I knew her parents too. Sweet thing hated to see us fight, always wanted to protect us somehow. So please, don’t press your luck in there. Turn back, it’s not worth it. I repeat, turn back now! The recording finished, but the words still rang in Steele’s head. No one left. Everyone’s dead. It couldn’t be. No, Steele saw her, he felt her. She saved him… she saved him after all, and he broke his only promise to her. Steele felt sick, he leaned over and vomited. Hermes and Scratch watched him, they could tell that Steele saw some shit that not even he understood in there; all they could do now was try and help him somehow. “I got the damn crystal. Help me get back, I’m not feeling quite right.” Steele ordered, leaning over for another wave of sickness to pass. “Alright boss man.” Hermes answered calmly. With their assistance, Steele made it back to Novac in one piece. He managed to give them a short summary on the shit he’d seen, thought maybe that might help him somehow, but instead it only made things worse when neither Scratch, nor Hermes could respond. “You should see the doc, that missile might have done more damage than was fixed by the hydra.” Hermes suggested. “Yea, we’ll take your gear and see if we can sell the salvage and patch up your suit.” Scratch added. “Thanks you two, but I need to lay down right now. You can take the salvage, but don’t sell the explosives. Might be useful later.” Steele answered, motioning toward the hotel rooms. “You need to see a doc.” Hermes pressed. “I need a fucking therapist right now.” Steele barked. “I’ll see the doc in the morning, it’s late anyway. I was in there all day and I’m tired. You two should get some sleep as well. We’ll deal with everything tomorrow.” He finished, making a feeble attempt at walking before finally being helped by his friends. “Leave it to Steele to have a game plan after the shit he’s been through.” Hermes remarked. “You can go Hermes, I’ll watch him tonight. Take the other room, but see if you can repair his armor first; I think I saw a trader roll in recently.” Scratch said. "Oh, and see if you can give that thing a wash first." She added, eyeing the crusty layer of blood with disgust. “Hey, if you want to be left alone, just ask.” Hermes joked, but stopped laughing when Scratch stared him down. “Sorry, wrong time. Night you two.” He finished, grabbing Steele’s gear and setting out. “I’m here if you need me Steele.” Scratch said, removing her own gear and grabbing her bed. “Thanks.” Steele replied meekly. He used the bathroom to rinse off as much blood as he could, and collapsed on his bed under the concerned watch of Scratch. He might have had his dirty, blood soaked armor off, but he still felt dirty inside. He felt like he let her down; he felt violated, abused, toyed with. He’d never believed in, not to mention interacted with ghosts before, and this was just one hell of a messed up first time. Am I losing it, could I just have been scared? He asked himself. He hoped to find solace in his insanity, but he knew he was lying. He felt her. He talked to her. There was no fucking way he imagined it. He comforted, then abandoned the ghost of a little filly who had endured so much suffering that she couldn’t accept the cold hard fate of death. The idea itself was so sickening that Steele rushed out of bed and puked into the toilet again. Once he had nothing left to puke, he steadied himself on the sink, and began to wash his face. “You alright in there?” Scratch asked caringly, disappointed in her inability to help him further. “I’ll be fine.” He answered gruffly, but the truth was he didn’t think he’d ever be fine again. Steele looked up into the mirror and stared at his reflection; a pale, sickly, horror stricken face stared back. Relax Steele. It was just the stable and your mind. Hermes got to you that’s all. You pictured ghosts, saw a bunch of dead bodies, and made up a filly to keep you company. Point is, you got out of there, and you got the crystal. You got shit to do, Steele, toughen up! The Mojave was never easy, and you know that. Get yourself together. He motivated himself. Steele sighed and went back to bed. He felt a little better now, especially knowing that he had friends who got him out of there. Finally Steele’s exhaustion caught up to him, and he fell into a deep, uncomfortable slumber. Chapter Five“Steele! Steele! Steele are you in there?” asked a whiny child's voice; the sound of little hooves striking thick steel followed shortly. “Steele!” It squeaked again. Thump after thump found its way into Steele's head and finally revived him with a deep intake of air through collapsed lungs. Pain greeted him with its foreboding presence and hindered his attempts at lifting his heavy eyelids. It stung him once more, but to its dismay that only persuaded him to find the strength to finally get his eyes open. Fuck. Where am I? He wondered. His mind raced and struggled to place him in a reality where he lay in a pool of blood, in a sideways room. Hell, if it wasn’t for the ringing in his ears he’d be certain there was a ominous buzz lingering ever so closely to his left. “Shit!” Steele cursed as reality hit him hard. His adrenaline and fear gave him the strength to ignore his body's cries of pain and use his magic to throw himself away from the sentinel’s plasma shot; his body hit the door behind him, replying to the earlier knocks with a solid thump, and his vision shrouded in darkness for a brief moment. “Steele!?” Questioned the familiar voice; a voice that gave Steele too many emotions to focus on right now. Consciousness quickly losing its weak grip over his mind, Steele grit his teeth to a point where they threatened to crack, but mustered enough strength to pull out his revolvers and pelt the sentinel with all the hatred, anger, confusion, and fear he felt. The sentinel was long disabled before Steele stopped firing blanks, his adrenaline taking over his reflexes; once it wore off, his guns clinked uselessly to the side. He took a moment to breath and pick up whatever pieces of his psyche he could find. The fuck is going on here? He asked himself, breathing heavily as he looked around his room, his meant-to-be steel coffin. He brought his hooves to his face and looked them over with utmost disbelief; he clinked them together a few times simply to assure himself of their existence. Is this a dream? Was I out cold? He wondered. “Steele answer me.” A voice sobbed. “Please.” it added. The request wrecked Steele's train of thought and quickened the pace of his heartbeat. Behind his dying body was a ghost filly that supposedly not only saved him, but provided him comfort when he needed it most; and it asked nothing more than love and loyalty in return. Or was that a dream too? He asked himself; after all, a place with a history as vile as stable eleven's could do much more that make a fear stricken mind believe its own wicked imagination. “I’m all alone again aren’t I?” Questioned a grief stricken filly, filling Steele with another wave of emotions he didn’t want. Clinging on to the last threads of life and awareness he had left, Steele leaned against the stable door, a trail of his own blood leading to his body like paint from a brush, bleeding to death; he listened to the sobs, but he didn’t know how to feel. He was tired, angry, sad, and above all, frustrated. He had had-enough; he didn’t want to deal with this, he didn’t want to die, didn’t want to bear the pain of losing his chance to help Rose another time. He considered getting up, but the pain kept him firmly planted. Maybe he did want to give up, to lose. He tossed the idea around a bit, savoring its taste and considering all it entailed. Lose; that’s all he had to do. Give up, call it quits, let… go, and all his troubles would be gone. With all the shit he’d gone through he had never really lost. He never died, never suffered physically irreparable damage. He always came up on top, always survived despite the Mojave’s wishes to see him dead; he’d won every round, survived every blow, and clawed his way to survival up until now. He had won when his prize was life, but what point was there in winning when the prize was no longer attractive? Why win when you lose just by playing the game? Maybe it was time to give up; to lose a round so that he may end the game in his favor. Steele closed his eyes, relaxed, and let the cool hand of death slowly embrace him; he was going to let the Mojave win this time. Another sob woke Steele up for good, and he jolted back into awareness. Who am I kidding? He told himself. He wasn’t going to die, not because he wanted to live, but because he had to. He had friends. Dream or not he had made his choice; to survive for the small group he now lead into either riches and comfort, or death. Regrettably, he had placed a responsibility that he could not run away from.They needed him, and despite what he forced himself to think, he knew he wasn’t selfish enough to cheat them by giving up. “I’m coming, Rose.” He mumbled, momentarily breaking the sobbing as he struggled to levitate the hydra potion. He gave it one last push, and rolled the bottle close enough to take it and gulp down its precious contents with an almost angry enthusiasm. How the hell did The Steele almost decide on giving up? He mentally barked at himself, letting the potion wash over his insides and set his bones in place. Steele got up on shaky legs, careful to not slip on his own mess. As his dream had predicted, the sentinel stood slouched and deactivated where it had almost killed him, his clothing was torn and caked in blood, and his head spun from having most of it on his clothes and coat. Steele reloaded his weapons and repacked his gear, trying to not linger on the dé jà vu. He found the stable’s mainframe and water crystal where he imagined they would be; he hesitated before unlocking the door, but quickly forced himself to. Finally, he stood before the very door that had lead him into two separate lives that he could not distinguish from real or imagined. Behind it lied an answer to a question he did not want answered. He wasn’t sure if he could bear to face Rose again, face a spirit that he had cruelly betrayed; he sighed and took a deep breath before giving the door his best glare. He wasn’t sure he could live through another abandonment, but he sure as hell knew he wouldn’t live through leaving a crying and dependent filly in a hell hole like this. He opened the door. “Steele!” Rose gasped. The filly had been crying and her face and coat were soaked with tears; beside her rested an old bag filled with explosives. A pen and paper stuck out of the small outer pocket. To Steele's relief he felt Rose as she gripped his foreleg and sobbed quietly into it. Steele pondered as to what to say, taken both by the awkwardness of the gesture and his experience. On one hoof he knew that touch had deceived him, but on the other he could not fathom a way for tears that weren’t his to feel this genuine. Overcome with emotion, he could do nothing more but hug the cute little filly; she squirmed a bit, surprised by the sudden action, but soon melted into his tight grasp. Steele hugged her for all he was worth. He hugged her for forgiveness, for affection, and to hope that he never has to leave her behind like he supposedly already has. After Rose’s external, and Steele’s internal sobbing had ceased, Steele cursed himself for being a pussy and straightened himself. “I thought you were-” “I'm not, and I won’t leave you behind.” Steele interrupted. He just wanted to leave, to find his friends and save Rose from this shit-hole. “Come on, follow me.” He said, straining to put the saddlebag on his aching body. “Where to?” Rose questioned him with a familiar caution. “I’m taking you with me.” Steele answered assertively, more as a command to himself than to answer Rose. He was too scared of reliving his dream to bother adding anything else. Steele marched through the stable, ignoring the familiar dread, and taking caution as to not look back at Rose for fear of seeing her displeased. He lead her back to the stable door and paused, praying that he would not hear that damned question. “You’re leaving Steele?” Rose asked, concern and tension in her voice. Celestia dammit. “We’re leaving.” Steele answered sternly. “But-” “We are getting out of here.” Steele growled again, fighting the pain in his head; pain that he hoped was coming from the lack of blood rather than Rose. Steele quickly maneuvered to open the stable door before Rose could protest, and the squeal of the rusty stable door droned out any other noises. Through the pain, Steele maneuvered to stand in front of the door, ready to see his friends and be done with this ordeal. Once the door opened however, the color drained from his face. It was night time, and nothing but a used, days old campfire stood where his friends were supposed to be. “Wha- What?” Steele thought aloud, his world torn right from under him. A soft, yet almost cold presence pressed itself against his rear leg. “Steele? You aren’t going out there, right?” Rose asked, hugging his leg tightly. Steele failed to come up with an answer. Everything was wrong! His friends were supposed to be there, it would be day, and they would all leave! This couldn’t possibly be right, could it? Steele wondered. Ok. Okay, take it easy, Steele. You have no idea how long you’ve been in there. Maybe it has been days and they’ve left. You’ll catch them in the morning. He reasoned. He took a few deep breaths and cleared his head; right now he had Rose to worry about, and she seemed alive, so he just had to calm down. Besides, he didn’t really want to leave the safety of a haunted stable anyway. Outside was dangerous. He could lose Rose, or get hurt; it was safe here, in the stable. Wait, what? he asked himself, surprised by the unusual thought. “Steele it’s scary out there, can you stay with me?” Rose asked, tugging at his leg and heart strings. “But we can camp out there, in fresh air, without bodies.” Steele reasoned, glad that there was enough ventilation to rid the air of the foul stench. “But it’s scary and dark out there. I’m staying here, and you said that you won’t leave me, so come on let’s go.” Rose protested, letting go of his leg and motioning him to follower her into the stable. “No! Rose I wanna get out of here, please let’s leave-” “Steele, you said you were not going to leave me!” Rose shouted, taking a more intimidating stance, which despite the fear in Steele’s conscience, was cute for her small size. “I’m not, Rose, please-” “You said you weren’t leaving me!” Rose screeched, her yell echoing through the stable and Steele’s head; he shut his eyes and covered his ears in an attempt to drone her out. “Rose.” Steele pleaded through the ringing; his heart was racing and his mind tried to reject the unpleasant dé jà vu. “Why would you want to leave me, Steele!? I helped you, I cared about you, I needed you! Why would you hurt me like that? Abandon me!? Steele!” “Steele! Steele are you alright?” Scratch shouted, rocking him in an attempt to wake her distressed friend. Steele recoiled out of bed, nearly crashing into Scratch. “Luna save me.” Steele muttered, his heart thumping loudly in his ears. He felt sick again, but was thankful there was nothing left in his stomach for him to puke. “You alright?” Scratch asked again. She was visibly shaken and she eyed Steele with concern. Steele struggled to comprehend his situation. What was real and what was a dream? He wasn’t sure anymore, but at least now he had someone he trusted beside him. “What happened?” He asked gruffly, looking at Scratch with tired, blue eyes; she was fully dressed and the morning sun shone through the window. “You were screaming your name in your sleep so I woke you up.” Scratch answered; to Steele's dismay she eyed him like he was mad. “Goddesses.” Steele sighed, pushing his muzzle into his hooves. “Hey, you alright? What happened?” Scratch consoled, placing her talons on his shoulder. Steele looked up and was met with genuine concern on Scratch’s face; dream or not that was a welcome new addition to his life. “Rose.” He finally whispered, looking back down toward the foot of his bed. Scratch thought of what to say without hurting Steele further, but was interrupted by him once more. “Nevermind me, Scratch. Thanks for waking me up, appreciate it, but we have things to do.” He said, getting out the opposite side of the bed. “I see you're ready, but where’s Hermes?” He added, making his way toward the bathroom. “Hermes couldn’t find the trader yesterday, so he left to repair your armor and gear today. I, uh. I didn’t want to leave you unattended, not in your current state that is, so I stayed behind to watch you… sleep.” Scratch finished, scratching the back of her head and looking away to try and make the situation less awkward. Steele craned his head past the bathroom’s doorway to give Scratch a raised eyebrow, questioning look. “Smooth.” He said, chuckling as he closed the door behind him. Scratch face-clawed as the door closed. “That came out weird.” Steele heard through the door. Steele spent an unusually long time looking at himself in the mirror. What would normally be a scruffy-haired, lively, deadpan face, was now tired, sick, and weak; only his toned muscles tied together at his chin scar kept his face from drooping, and even they looked energy deprived. What’s wrong with me? Steele wondered, hating himself for looking as bad as he felt. Probably just hungry. Yea, that’s it. Some food will do me good. He decided, a bit more enthusiastic now that he had a goal in mind. Steele finished tidying himself up and met Scratch outside. “Where are the explosives?” He asked. “They’re in the floor safe of our other room. It’s not like we’re going to be carrying those around, so might as well just leave em here where it’s safe.” “And the crystal?” “It’s in my bag. You don’t have your clothes on you right now, and we’re carrying some pretty precious cargo; I’d rather not let every traveler see it.” Scratch answered quietly. “Good thinking.” Steele answered, looking toward the rest of the town. He was glad someone other than himself could make the right decisions. “Let’s go find Hermes. I don’t feel like staying here much longer. Besides, I don’t like being this vulnerable in broad daylight.” He added, looking at his exposed coat. “Morning, boss man!” Hermes greeted enthusiastically, stopping his friends at the foot of the staircase. He was levitating Steele’s hat and garb, both of which seemed to have gone through some patchy repairs; his own stable suit was reinforced with metal pieces and leather that seemed to be the work of the same inexperienced trader. “Nice timing.” Steele greeted; he eyed his clothes with displeasure. “Thanks. How’d you sleep?” Hermes answered. “You don’t look like yourself.” He added. “I’ll be fine soon as I get my clothes and hard earned pay.” Steele answered, taking his garb and putting it on. “Sorry about the patchy repairs, but it was the best the trader could do.” Hermes apologized. He looking away while Steele finished dressing himself and put on his hat. Displeased with the patchwork, yet finally clothed, Steele looked over the repairs. He unsuccessfully tried to not look disappointed at the makeshift work. Instead of his usual neatly concealed protection, large, bulky steel plates covered his shoulder and chest. A few small holes in the leather revealed the older and thinner plates behind it. “Well I can still walk, so it’ll have to do.” Steele said, breaking the awkward silence. "Least the blood is gone." “Well you have thicker armor now.” Scratch commented. She herself looked slightly disgusted by Steele's new wear, but said nothing else.” “What now?” Hermes meekly asked, still feeling bad for doing his job poorly. “Lets go collect what belongs to us.” Steele answered, pushing past Hermes and heading toward the mayor’s office. Once there Steele stopped short of the door. “Give me the crystal and stay out here you two, I’ll handle this.” He commanded. “You sure you’re in the mood to negotiate?” Scratch asked, hesitantly handing over the crystal. “I’m not, and that’s why I’m going.” He answered, opening the door and walking in. Upon entering Steele interrupted a conversation between No-Bark and Sunny Aurora, both of whom turned to face him as soon as the door clicked shut behind him. A shot glass filled with apple whiskey sat atop the mayor’s desk, indicating that she had either been working hard recently, or anticipating Steele’s arrival. No-Bark shifted around in his chair while Steele and Sunny stared each other down; both found the matter at hand unpleasant, but Steele knowing he had the leverage this time, took initiative. “I didn’t know you were waiting for me like this, Sunny.” Steele greeted, walking up to and taking a seat at his chair. “If I’d have known I’d have dressed in something a bit more presentable.” He said, smiling charmingly at Sunny, who bore through him with a fierce stare of utter contempt. “Good idea, maybe next time you can clean up for the occasion too.” She snickered, eyeing the rusted brown patches left on Steele's coat with disgust. Steele acknowledged her statement with a nod and quickly looked himself over. “Price I had to pay to get this town what it needs.” He continued calmly. “Our hero.” Sunny spat. “I don’t know what it is, but something tells me you’re not exactly happy to see me, so why don’t we cut the formalities and get straight down to business, huh?” Steele offered casually. He levitated the glass of whiskey to his mouth and savored the mayor's face as he took a sip. “Lets.” Sunny agreed, tearing open a drawer and removing a sack of bits neatly tied shut; she placed it on top of a set of documents and slid the whole package over to Steele. “A thousand caps, two hotel rooms, and -" She took a moment to swallow the idea of her next words. "Citizenship deeming you eligible for a discount at all vendors in Novac.” She finished. “I assume favors will remain a verbal agreement.” Steele said, looking up from the documents and payment. “I’d rather not have the town know they owe something to some mercenary.” Sunny answered bitterly. “This mercenary has more support from the town than its mayor.” Steele remarked. “News gets around fast when problems disappear as soon as a new stranger shows up.” Steele leaned back into his chair. “But, I’m sure they will soon be praising the mayor that gave them access to a fresh water supply in the dry hell they know as the Mojave.” Sunny eyed the cocky bastard in her chair and thought of all the hateful things she could say. Instead she chose to get the ordeal over with as quickly as possible. “Fair enough, but first things first. The crystal If you please.” Sunny said, extending a hoof toward Steele. Steele drew the crystal from his saddlebag and began to levitate it over, but withdrew it right before Sunny could take it. “And the information you owe me?” He said, taking pleasure in watching the mayor’s frustration with him. “No-Bark here would gladly tell you what he saw soon as you hand over that crystal, wouldn’t you honey?” She asked him, no longer using all the venom she had saved up for Steele. The crazy pony had been sitting quietly this whole time, trying to not get noticed by Steele for fear of falling victim to another one of his interrogation sessions, but with the reassuring smile from Sunny he found the courage to speak. “Anything for my wifey.” He began, earning Sunny a confused eyebrow raise from Steele. Wifey? Steele wondered, but a smirk and stern glare from her warned him to stay silent. “But first, the crystal.” Sunny said, extending her hoof once more, this time she narrowed her eyebrows at Steele. He reluctantly levitated the crystal over, and the major snatched it from his magical grasp as soon as it was close enough. “Thank you.” She sneered. “Now No-Bark dear, can you please tell us what you saw when Lucky passed through town?” She asked, using a tone similar to that of a caring spouse. “No-Bark sure can!” He exclaimed, returning his attention to Steele. He wet his lips before continuing. “Here No-Bark was, quietly sitting in the dark waiting for the zebra ghosts to show up and attack our brahmin again. It was real cold outside, and Ol' No-Bark was lying real low and quiet like so the ghosts wouldn't see him. Oh if they did he'd sure be in trouble." He wagged his hoof around for emphasis. "No-Bark knows the zebra ghosts don't take kindly to us pony folk, ah-" "No-Bark dear, can you please get back to the man Steele is looking for?" Sunny asked kindly. No-Bark looked at Sunny like to a stranger for a moment, but recollecting his insane thoughts he continued his story. "Righty, so here come this trio, real mean looking; their leader all fancy looking in his big shot checkered jacket. He was talking to his two friends, nasty looking raiders that meant trouble, when out of the blue they got attacked and chased by an alicorn. Hoowee I never thought I’d see anything like it, but the darn thing chased em off toward Boulder City.” No-Bark finished, chuckling to himself. Steele exchanged a quick confused glance with Sunny before asking: “An alicorn?” He confirmed doubtfully. “You’re talking about the extinct species of gods that faded into history, those alicorns, right?” “Well seems like they ain’t extinct no more!” No-Bark shouted, taking offence at Steele’s sarcasm. What else did I expect? Steele asked himself. He sighed and kneaded his forehead in an attempt to relief the stress. “Well I heard Boulder City, so that’s where I’m going.” Steele concluded, getting up and stashing his reward. “Thanks for your time ma’am.” He added, sharing a final glance with Sunny before he turned to leave. “Good luck.” She cooed, taking a sip of her whiskey as she enjoyed the thought of Steele having nothing but a sketchy hint of a lead. “How’d it go?” Scratch asked him soon as Steele closed the door. “Well my bag’s a 1000 caps heavier, we got a place to sleep, and we got a destination.” Steele answered, eyeing the nearby food tent with a hungry temptation. “Where’s that boss man?” Hermes piped up, eager to finally have a lead on the bastard that left him for dead. “I’ll fill you in soon as I fill my stomach.” Steele said, giving in to his hunger and making his way to the food tent. “You two coming? Common, my treat.” Steele urged. “Aw, sweet! I was beginning to think you lost your appetite too.” Scratch exclaimed, hurrying to catch up to Steele and finally satisfy her hunger. “Fine.” Hermes sighed, disappointed about having to wait again; he dragged himself after them. Steele’s current situation didn’t please him at all. Questions without answers lingered on his mind, mocking him and deluding his thoughts from peace. He felt weak and exhausted as his body had life forced into it by powerful magic, and his restless mind ceased to relent on further stressing it. To make matters worse his responsibilities loomed on his conscience, and all he had to show for his leadership was a sketchy lead given to him by a crazy pony. Things weren’t well and the near future didn’t seem to hold anything promising, but all that didn’t matter right now. He couldn't begin to work on fixing his problems with an empty stomach, and maybe once it was satisfied the world would seem like a habitable place again. *** Steele let out a content sigh and placed his bowl back onto the table. Nope, still terrible. He thought. Although his stomach might have been full, he still felt empty and disappointed. “Feel any better?” Scratch asked, making little popping noises as she licked her talons clean; the roasted squirrels she had, appeared to have satisfied her hunger and put her in a good mood. “Huh?” Steele asked, looking up from his bowl. “Guess not.” She replied, eyeing Steele’s disconnection with concern. “So where are we going boss man?” Hermes exclaimed. The suspense was killing him and he had barely touched his food despite having not eaten anything since Steele got out of that damned stable. “Boulder City.” Steele answered solemnly. “That’s what No-Bark said?” Hermes pressed. “Yea, but he also said they were chased by an Alicorn.” Steele added, his tone a mixture of both humor and displeasure. “Alicorns?” Scratch asked, staring at Steele as if he had been the one to say it. “Alicorn.” Steele corrected bitterly. “Well, there are stories-” “Enough stories Hermes!” Steele growled. “I’ve lived through fables better left stories than history. I’m still not sure what the hell I’m in living now, but if it’s just another story, then I’d rather write it than listen to it!” Steele yelled. He took a moment to calm himself down and not give prying eyes another show. Once calm, Steele took another deep breath. “I know that’s not much of a lead, but it’s all we have. I don’t like it either, but I have no clue as to what the hell we do next, hell I’m having a hard time deciding what to do with myself. So enough stories, enough questions, lets just get back on track so I don’t have time to lose my fucking mind.” He sat back down with a heavy thud and waited for a response. “My bad boss man, didn’t mean to criticize.” Hermes apologized awkwardly. He returned his attention to his food and played with his cold soup. “You ever been to Boulder City, Scratch?” Steele asked, switching topics to avoid any awkwardness. This friendship thing was already a bigger pain in the ass than he bargained for. “I have been, once, but I was on the run from some mercenaries and only stayed there for a night. All I know is half the town’s leveled from some Legion-NLR skirmish back in the first battle for Hoover Dam. Place is crawling with NLR troops that come to honor their fallen.” “No problems with raiders or Legion then, good. Whoever this Lucky Star guy is must have good relations with the NLR if he decided to stay there for a night; those uptight fakes rarely appreciate uninvited guests.” Steele rose and prepped his gear. “Either Way, lets go. It’s still early and Boulder City is half a days away, if we set out now we can make it before nightfall.” He urged, eager to finally do something other than sitting around and thinking. “Right behind you.” Scratch replied. She shouldered her sword and followed him into the hot, dry Mojave. “Comen!” Hermes shouted, his mouth filled with food he desperately tried to finish. After a few more attempts at shoving as much food into his mouth as he could, he gave up and ran after them, his gear comically bouncing around from a lack of secure storage. The trio went North, toward Boulder City. The trip itself was generally quite since Scratch and Steele have had their fill of socializing, and Hermes, upon not getting anything more than grunts and mumbles, gave up his attempts at making conversation. As the sun lowered itself only slightly above the horizon, the first abandoned housing of Boulder City came into view. Finally here. Steele thought, relieved that he no longer had to endure the heat of the Mojave, and could focus on something other than the filly sized weight on his conscience. “Take it easy on the water.” Steele instructed Scratch; it was her second bottle for the trip, and Steele was getting agitated. The heat, his fatigue, and his acquired frugality all boiled down into a deep displeasure at seeing the waste of such a precious resource; ignoring him, Scratch raising a talon as she finished the water, further angering him. “I’m bigger than you, I need more than a bottle like you two.” She stated, tossing her bottle onto the ground. “Oh, are you?” Steele hissed, leaning into Scratch menacingly and broadening his chest. “Yea, I am.” Scratch replied, pressing her face against Steele’s and showing off her large form as well. She didn’t like Steele’s tone, and no one was about to out-tough her; she knew better than to step down to ponies. “Take it easy you two. We’re friends, remember?” Hermes piped up. He felt uneasy about seeing the two of them threaten each other like that. Neither would back down, and he wasn’t sure what he’d do in that situation, so he rather evade it all together. The two glared fiercely at one another, exchanging threats in complete silence. It would only take a single mistake to pop the thin layer of control keeping the tension at bay. What are you doing? Steele asked himself. A gap in his anger let a single message from his conscience slip through. It killed him to give up, but eventually Steele let off and took a step back; he was ashamed of acting like a brainless raider. “My bad, the heat’s getting to me. I’m on edge and I took it too far. Try and be less wasteful, with water especially. This is the Mojave, that stuff is rarer and more important than the caps we risk our lives for.” He said, picking up his pace again without another word. He didn’t like giving up his ground like that, especially to someone under his leadership, but he realized that friendship meant he had to admit when he was wrong. “Alright.” Scratch replied gruffly. She frowned as Steele walked away, still worked up about him treating her like she was an obedient child. Who does he think he is anyway? He might be a tough guy and all, but he’s not the only one around here who can take care of themself. She thought bitterly. “Hey, Scratch, take it easy.” Hermes asked, putting a hoof on her shoulder. “Steele’s a bit worked up right now, remember? There’s no reason to start fights with someone like him, cause he won’t back down like that again.” Hermes reasoned, hoping a conflict over nothing could be avoided. Scratch finally brought her attention to Hermes after he tugged on her talons. She simmered down once she got an eyeful of his pleading emerald eyes, and unclenched her fist. Having pleased Hermes she returned her attention to Steele's shrinking form as he gained distance on them; he was shaking his head and all in all appeared unsettled from the confrontation. She sighed and dropped her grudge. “No need for stupid fights between us, right? We got the Mojave and all the damned things that inhabit it for that.” She answered, smirking as Hermes let out a relieved sigh. “Thanks.” He said. “Let’s go catch up.” He added, trotting after Steele with Scratch in tow. When they caught up to him, he was standing still, surveying the scene before him. Up until now the town was deserted and useless, old shops stood vacant and boarded up, buildings were crumbled and structurally weak, and only a few squatters and a traveling merchant with his brahmin were seen walking the streets. “Guess these were the guys you were talking about, Scratch.” Steele said, looking back at the twenty or so NLR soldiers scattered around the center of the town; oddly enough the mass of well equipped soldiers all seemed on edge and had their weapons drawn. They all varied in size, shape, and race; even a few pegasi joined their ranks. Most were recruits, and their crisp uniforms and rifles paled next to the heavy gear of their seniors. They were all mostly loners and mercenaries united under one flag whose believes they did not necessarily hold. It payed to be one of the largest and well equipped in the Mojave, and all were willing to remain loyal to their colors so long as they stayed on top of the food chain. Strangely enough, the small platoon seemed shaken and on guard. The oddly paired trio had their undivided attention. Unsettled by the unwanted attention, Hermes leaned toward Steele. “What do we do now?” He whispered. “I can fly up and see what’s going on, but I rather not get shot by these guys.” Scratch suggested, returning the unpleasant glares. She particularity eyed the pegasi and their rifled battle-saddles. “No need. I doubt these guys remember me, so lets go see what they’re up to. Who knows, maybe Lucky’s to blame for this.” Steele said. He began to find his way through the en masse of blue uniformed mares and stallions, keeping his hat and eyes low. “I think I might want to stay back here for now.” Scratch said. “These guys don’t look too happy to see a griffon here.” She explained, pointing a thumb toward the unhappy faces of the NLR. “Good idea. See if you can find a rooftop where you can still see what’s going on, we might need you.” Hermes replied, looking back at the multitude of NLR soldiers that had their gazes locked onto Scratch. He could still read their tense body language through the layers of leather body armor. “On it.” Scratch said, spreading her wings and taking off toward the sky, further unnerving the NLR. Once she was out of sight, they returned their hard gazes toward Hermes, judging him for bringing a griffon into their city. He tried to keep calm and followed Steele, turning heads as he went; he followed him to a less populated area of the town square, where the NLR seemed to have set up operations. “I’m going to have to stop you right there.” Boomed a loud NLR Lieutenant; his blue winged, crescent moon insignia rose and fell with his heavy chest. “What’s going on here?” Steele asked calmly, unfazed by the Lieutenant’s bravado. Another bastard brainwashed by the NLR officials to actually believe the bullshit they spewed. He thought bitterly. “You’re not in any position to be asking the questions here.” The Lieutenant answered gruffly, obviously angry that this pitiful excuse of a mercenary was questioning his orders. “Oh, common. Can’t you just tell us why the mighty NLR, with all their trained soldiers are standing here with their hair on end?” Steele asked, adding a dose of sarcasm that only further angered the Lieutenant. The thick earth pony stallion opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by Hermes. “Sorry about bothering your operations like this Lieutenant…” “Lieutenant Gravel Dust.” “Gravel Dust, but we’re looking for someone named Lucky Star. We heard he passed by here with his two friends. Have you seen them?” The large pony eyed the duo, particularly Steele and the heated animosity in his eyes. Even a large guy like him was put off by his nerve, so he decided to acknowledge his politer friend instead. “Can’t say I have, but you two are going to have to resume your search another time. Right now we got a hostage situation on our hooves. A couple of Goths have captured some of our soldiers after we got word about their location here from some stranger. They’re holed up in one of the buildings up ahead." He nodded toward the section of the town that seemed to have taken the brunt of the fighting and left a single decomposing building as the sole survivor. "We got a few soldiers taking cover and making negotiations right now, but the Goths inside know they're done for and are not giving up the fight. Anything could happen, so we’re keeping civilians out of this.” He answered. “Goths?” Hermes asked. “Nasty bastards that are capable of giving even Legion a run for their money. They used the be the largest and toughest raider gang in the Mojave and beyond. Least till Legion and the NLR brought their numbers to a dwindling few, they're only the shadow of what they once were.” Steele informed. Gravel smirked and spat onto the ground. “They were raider scum that threatened the security and stability of the Mojave, and NLR operations.” Gravel stated. “They deserved to be eradicated.” “Funny, you said that almost exactly like they taught you to at boot camp." Steele smirked. "Forgot the part about the greatness of the NLR." He remarked sarcastically. “Excuse me?!” Gravel barked, steam threatening to rush out of his nose with every deep exhale as he steamed with anger. “As I was saying, they have a nasty initiation ritual, and every Goth is not to be taken lightly. I say it’s best not to piss them off or engage them head on, least not in melee combat. Their pain tolerance is similar if not greater and as severe as Legion’s.” Steele explained, completely ignoring Gravel and facing Hermes, who was unnerved by Steele’s actions and their potential consequences. “Is there something you want to tell me, boy?!” Gravel yelled, the veins in his neck nearly popping as he gripped Steele and raised him into the air, forcing Gravel to rise on his hind legs. Steele’s ice cold gaze clashed with Gravel's fiery stare. “We just want to pass through and see if we can help you guys with your problem.” He wheezed, pulling back on Gravel’s tight grasp with his own hooves to avoid being choked. “Besides.” He added, his horn glowing. “We don’t want to have a problem, now do we?” He grinned as Gravel’s eyes widened at the sound of a click; his grasp loosened with a cold .44 magnum's barrel at his temple. He looked back to find Hermes, although nervous and uneasy, levitating his plasma rifle and standing at the ready. “I hope they kill you two.” Gravel growled, dropping Steele. “You're lucky my men weren’t nearby to kill you both.” “Thanks for your time.” Steele replied, re-holstering his revolver and moving past the angry Lieutenant. "We'll see what we can do to help." Hermes quickly offered before catching up to his reckless friend. To think I put my life in this guy's hooves! He thought. “What the hell was that, Steele?” Hermes whispered loudly once he caught up. “I got us through, didn’t I?” Steele asked nonchalantly, signaling to the few NLR troops who were entrenched in front of the building. “You nearly got us killed, is what you did.” Hermes replied bitterly, climbing up the NLR trench after Steele. “Oh yea, about that. I appreciate the loyalty back there. Honestly didn’t believe you’d have the guts to aim at that guy.” Steele added, stopping short of a broken wooden door that separated them and the Goths inside. “No problem.” Hermes sighed. He decided to drop the subject upon seeing that he was getting nowhere. “Focus Hermes, these guys don’t fuck around.” Steele commanded, drawing his revolvers and Hermes’s attention. “And remember, no niceties.” He added before kicking down the door and stepping in, guns ablaze. Steele stood still, his eyes locked on the stallion that levitated a sawed off shotgun and pointed it at his face. The Goth was surprised and quickly re-adjusted his stance to match Steele’s, his friend only had time to pick up his 9mm submachine gun and aim at Steele as well, his jaw clenching the gun’s grip tightly. “Hello gentlemen, we’d like a word.” Steele announced, keeping his guns locked on his attackers, and his eyes on the shotgun wielding unicorn. “Oh, so you think you’re fucking funny huh, tough guy.” The unicorn said, his voice strident. “Blow his fucking brains out.” The other Goth suggested. He spat out his gun, obviously deeming Steele not worth the effort. “With pleasure.” The unicorn answered, grinning at Steele. “Now take it easy you two, you don’t want the NLR to come here and kill you all, now do you?” Steele reasoned. “That is, if I’m not done with you two first.” He added, pulling back the hammers of his revolvers. “Big mouth for a dead man.” The unicorn answered, levitating his gun closer to Steele. “Celestia dammit Steele! Why can’t you enter like a normal-” Hermes shouted, entering plasma gun first and stopping his sentence short. “Well, Luna fuck me.” The earth pony said softly, apparently in awe of Hermes’s presence. “It’s you, you piece of shit!” Hermes yelled. He launched himself at the Goth, pinning him to the wall with his rifle; his eyes threatening to melt a hole in his chest before he could pull the trigger. “Whoa, take it easy hot shot!" The Goth protested, raising his hooves and giving up the fight. "Fuck man, If I didn’t know any better I’d say a ghost has come to kill me for my sins.” He smirked, eyeing Hermes with fearful recognition. Steele and his unicorn opponent gave each other a quick glance of confusion before returning their attention to their partners. Way to grow a pair of balls Hermes. He thought proudly, surprised that his clumsy, loose-tongued friend out machismo-ed a Goth. “I thought we killed you for good.” The Goth continued. He tried to casually push away the rifle, but Hermes only thrust his deeper into his chest. “Yea, Lucky must have been a lousy shot.” Hermes hissed back, his magic squeezing the trigger slowly. “Look, I’m sorry man. I was only doing what Lucky told me to, and now the fucker left us for dead too. He took your package and threw us to the NLR. Hell I’d like to see him dead as much as you do.” The Goth explained, obviously bewildered by the stallion who escaped death. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now!” Hermes demanded, bringing his rifle up to his old assailant's throat; his friend swung his gun at Hermes, but Steele used the opportunity to dig his revolvers into the unicorn's throat. “This isn’t between us, so I don’t think there’s a need for our guns. We can put them down now.” He suggested, twisting his guns to prove his point. The Goth lowered his gun begrudgingly, but stared at Steele with a growing distaste; loyal to the deal, Steele lowered his guns as well, but kept them out in the open in case of trouble. Goths weren't ones to like being out-alphaed. “Because if you kill me now, then you’ll never know where to find Lucky, and Magister militum will gladly have your head.” The earth pony reasoned. To Steele’s surprise, he made no effort to try and counter Hermes’s attack; if he didn’t know any better, he’d say the Goth was actually scared of him. “Magister who?” Hermes asked, poking the Goth with his gun again. “Their leader. It’s best to stay on his good side.” Steele informed. “Yea, listen to your friend.” The unicorn Goth piped up. “It’s wiser to stay on my good side.” Steele threatened, glaring at the unicorn. “Fine then, you tell me where’s Lucky, and we can talk about you getting out of here alive.” Hermes said, backing off and giving the Goth a bit of breathing room. “With pleasure. The bastard was last at The Follower’s church, back toward the outskirts of this town. We didn’t have a chance to ask him what the hell he needed there before he stole the package and took off, hoping to claim the profit and leave us without pay no doubt.” The Goth explained, spitting on the ground at the thought of Lucky. “Oh, and here, a souvenir for you. It's Lucky's lighter. Shove it up his ass when you catch up with him.” He said, taking out a small, engraved lighter and tossing it to Hermes, who caught it with his magic. “With pleasure.” Hermes answered, looking over the lighter and re-holstering his plasma rifle. “As for you getting out of here. If you release the hostages, we can get the NLR to let you go without a fight, deal?” “Ha, you make sure they agree to that, and then we’ll do it.” The unicorn Goth remarked. “He has a point. The NLR won’t give up an opportunity like this easily.” Steele said. “Let me do the talking then.” Hermes assured him, a new zest in his actions. He left Steele and the Goths alone to an awkward silence while he talked things out with Dusty. “So… no hard feelings then?” Steele asked, attempting to break the ice. “Yea, you get us out of here alive, and no hard feelings.” The unicorn replied. Hermes returned after a few tense minutes later. “They’ve agreed to let you guys go if you let the hostages leave first.” “As if we’d fall for that.” The earth pony Goth smirked. “I don’t think you guys have much of a choice.” Steele said. “Yea, but it’s better than getting rid of our leverage and letting them come and get us.” “They were ready to come in and kill you anyways. Before we got here, they had men getting ready to move in and kill you both.” Hermes said. “Letting them go is your best bet.” He added. The two Goths looked at each other and silently argued as to whether or not to do as they were told. A short conversation between their eyes, and the earth pony sighed. He kicked a nearby chair and looked down regretfully. “Tell them we have a deal.” He barked. “Alright, come out after the hostages are out of the way.” Hermes instructed, turning to leave. “Hey, courier.” The Goth called. “Yea?” “Before you kill the fucker, tell em “Blade sends his regards, will ya?” Blade asked. “Sure.” Hermes answered, walking to meet Dusty. Steele followed him out. “They’re letting the hostages go now.” Hermes announced as the duo met once more with Dusty. “Good. Now we can kill them without trouble.” Dusty replied, unsheathing his radio from his garb. “What!? You said you’d let them go!” Hermes yelled. “Yea, but HQ just sent us new orders. I can’t just let them off like I promised.” Dusty said, looking past Hermes and Steele. “Good, I see our boys are unscathed. Nice work gentlemen, the NLR gives you its thanks.” He told them. He brought the radio to his muzzle and pressed its button. “Firing squad.” He began. “You can’t do this! We had a deal!” Hermes yelled, rage and a hatred for the NLR swelling inside him; he considered drawing his rifle. “You can’t trust anything that comes out of an NLR officer. They have no honor and would rather do what gets them paid than what's right.” Steele said. “Ain’t that right, Lieutenant?” He asked, giving Dusty his most criticizing glare. “Orders, sir?” Dusty’s radio buzzed. Dusty glared at Steele with utmost contempt. He had never met anyone who dared to even attempt to push his buttons, but damn with this bastard good at it. He shifted his gaze to the steaming courier, observing the effect his actions had on him. Oddly enough a change in thought seemed to pass through the Lieutenant's thick skull, and he returned his attention to the radio. “Firing squad.” He began, staring at the duo. “Stand down.” He finished, securing his radio and looking meaningfully at Hermes. “Copy that, standing down.” The radio replied. “The NLR is more trustworthy and respectable than your friend here makes you believe.” Dusty stated. “We thank you for your help.” He added, turning his back to the duo and walking off to fulfill his other duties. Blade and his fellow Goth trotted nervously past Hermes and Steele. “We won’t forget this!” He shouted. The duo watched the Goths disappear into the outskirts of town; to Steele Hermes appeared a bit disappointed in not dishing out his revenge, but he as he watched his friend sigh contently and eye his new trinket, he knew they had made the most of the situation. “To the church than?” He asked once Hermes had gotten awfully quiet. “Yea, and Steele.” Hermes delayed, eyeing his rough friend with a smile. “Hmm?” Steele asked; he raised a brow at Hermes's odd behavior. “Thanks for your help. I don’t think this would have ended as smoothly without you.” Steele rolled his eyes and resumed his search for the church. “Don’t get all sappy on me yet kid.” He replied, leaving Hermes alone to stare at him quizzingly. What kind of church could exist in the Mojave? He wondered, returning to the pointless task at hoof. Most had given up on the goddesses, and those that didn't, kept it to themselves. All Steele hoped was that this wouldn’t be another mad cult whose beliefs the Mojave had corrupted. “You can’t keep things nice, can you?” Hermes asked, trotting up to Steele and interrupting his thoughts. “Things don’t stay nice in the Mojave.” He answered. “You but you’re not a thing.” Hermes argued. “Then I’m an asshole.” Steele countered. “Well can’t argue with-” “You sure you want to finish that?” Steele inquired, narrowing his eyes at the courier. “Me?” Hermes asked, raising a hoof to his chest with a sarcastic, hurt expression. "Never." He laughed; Steele wasn’t as cold as he lead himself to believe. The duo found themselves in the worst part of the town; nothing stood taller than a few stories here, and most of it was destroyed. The air grew thicker here as the dry Mojave breeze picked up dust and ash. All that remained of a once lively city lay scattered across the desert in ashes, or in rubble on the streets. “You sure this is where we need to go?” Hermes asked. “It’s getting dark.” He noticed. “Depends, does that fit your description of a church?” Steele asked, pointing to an old building. Surprisingly the only structure that appeared habitable around this part of town blended well with the remains around it, and effectively hid its gloomy exterior from anyone not directly seeking it. Its once white wood was now closer to gray, and its structure seemed rotting and unstable. Standing three stories tall, the old hazard had its windows blown in and boarded up; only the insignia of the goddesses remained attached above its thick, wooden double doors, protected by a magic long lost. “You guys sure like to wander and cause trouble.” Scratch announced, flying down from seemingly nowhere to meet her friends. She landed with a soft thump and eyed them both. “Didn’t think you guys were going to be dealing with Goths, not to mention cause trouble with the NLR too; hell I was ready to swoop down and decapitate the bastard that had you pinned, Steele.” “Nice to know you had us covered then.” Steele answered sourly. “Hey, what’s with the tone?” Scratch asked, starting to get annoyed with Steele’s mood swings. “Oh sorry, I forgot it was custom for you to run away soon as there’s trouble.” Steele remarked sarcastically, scowling at Scratch. “Run?! I was watching you guys from one of the rooftops because my presence there would only anger the NLR! I don’t run, Steele! And I’d like it if you shove you sarcasm and anger elsewhere.” Scratch said menacingly, thrusting a talon into his chest and forcing him to lean back. “I don’t know what the hell your problem is today, but I won’t have any of it, especially not when I watched your sorry ass for a whole night.” “God, it’s like you’re a married couple.” Hermes remarked; he giggled, but stifled himself and cleared his throat when the bickering couple gave him another set of glares. “You’re right.” Steele piped up, surprising the both of them with his response. “I’d thought you ran off when you didn’t show up behind us, and the wasting of water from earlier had me worked up. I was wrong Scratch, and I apologize. We even?” He asked, extending his hoof to her. Scratch stared at Steele’s hoof for a moment; pondering what kind of trickery Steele was up to. He didn’t seem like the kind to apologize, heck even she didn’t apologize unless absolutely necessary. She searched his eyes for answers to his odd behavior, but finding nothing no trace of animosity she accepted the apology. “Yea, we’re even.” She said, shaking his hoof. “See, you even make up like a couple! Just don’t kiss on me now, if the NLR sees you they might start shooting for public indecency." Hermes commented, giving his best to not break out in tears from his own joke. With a hoof-print on his cheek and lingering pain from the worst noogie of his life, Hermes caught up to his friends and joined them at the churches doors mumbling curses to himself. “It was just a joke.” Hermes complained, rubbing his sore head and face. Ignoring his whining, Steele swung the large, metal door knocker and listened to the deep sound echo throughout the church; soon hooves clicked behind the door. The trio exchanged mixed expressions as they listened to hushed voices and movements from inside. Eventually one the the heavy doors creaked as it opened slowly, revealing a dim interior lit by nothing more than candles. “How may the church help you?” A silver maned, dark purple unicorn asked; his light purple eyes scanned the suspicious trio nervously. “We’re looking for-” “Guidance? Yes, many that come here do, but I’m afraid I cannot be the judge of that. Please come in.” The unicorn interrupted Hermes, opening the door and ushering the trio into the dark and ominous looking church. The trio were hesitant about accepting this robed stanger’s invitation, but Steele rolled his eyes and pushed forward, deciding that he’d already seen enough to not fear the dark. He lead the group down the aisle, his hooves clicking softly against the aged and worn wood. As they walked, the trio observed their surroundings with mixed feelings of wonder and apprehension. They past old pews that once held faithful ponies, and walls that held dim, spiritless candles. To Steele, this seemed like a place where faith and hope came to die, not to be found, but his friends seemed to have their own opinions about the eerie, almost malign interior. They could have used a better interior decorator. Steele snickered to himself. His short trip down the main aisle stopped Steele short of the church’s pulpit, and left him wondering whether to admire or detest the ominous structure. The pulpit itself was crafted out a thick, dark wood; its lectern was made of the same material and seemed to stem from the pulpit. Behind the impressive display, the insignia of the goddesses’ was embedded into the wall, overlooking the rest of the church like a watchful eye, almost as if it could banish any evil that would enter. Surrounding the emblem was a crescent candle stand, encircling the emblem with dim light. “Beautiful isn’t it?” The mysterious unicorn asked, suddenly next to Steele. “Iron Weld! We do not bring darkness and sin within these walls!” A new voice boomed, resonating through out the empty church. Surprised, Steele scanned the room to find the source of the powerful voice, and was taken aback when he found it belonged to a frail old pony. The old coot had appeared out of nowhere and was now standing on the pulpit, almost as if he had risen from the ages old wood; his features were hidden by the dim light, giving him a mysterious and powerful presence. “I’m sorry Oracle.” Iron Weld apologized, kneeling apologetically. “These strangers came here for guidance.” He explained, pointing a hoof toward Steele and his friends, his gaze never leaving the floor. “You have brought sin into this house!” Oracle yelled, leaning over the lectern and revealing his ice cold, foggy, blind eyes; eyes that pierced Steele’s being and criticized his very core. “But, sir-” “Enough!” Oracle roared, forcing Iron weld to wince and return his gaze to the floor. “You three, come forward.” He instructed, balancing himself on lectern. So much for normality Steele mused, stealing a glance at his friends; they shared the same confused look, but said nothing and looked to Steele for instruction. Steele stepped forward, deciding that this might be the only way he’d get any answers out of the mysterious grey unicorn. “Lost and searching for guidance are we? Well, you will find it here, however-” “Actually we’re-” “Silence!" Oracle demanded, slamming his hoof on the lectern. I know what you are here for, the goddesses foresee everything and I, as their prophet, will act as the vessel that shall fulfill their wishes!” So much for a sane church. Steele thought bitterly, deciding to hold his tongue for now. “The goddesses brought you to me so that I may provide you guidance in your time of need, but first... I must pass judgement.” He paused, scanning each of them with his cold, pale eyes. Under his gaze, Steele's friends shifted uncomfortably, and Hermes looked away completely. “I sense evil among you, and I will deem you either worthy of the goddesses' blessing, or damned to rot a sinner’s path.” He continued. “Young one, step forward.” He instructed, keeping his cold stare locked onto Hermes. “Me?” Hermes hesitated, wondering how a blind pony can see so much. Steele's distasteful eye-roll motivated him to step forward obediently. “Your hoof child, give it to me please.” Oracle asked, offering his own weathered hooves in return. Hermes hesitated, glancing back at his friends for guidance, but complied and surrendered his hooves. Oracle gripped Hermes’s hooves tightly, and in an instant pulled himself mere inches from his eyes, staring at them intensely as if searching for the very essence of Hermes's core; frozen in fear, Hermes could do nothing more than surrender his stare to the misty eyes, caught in their cobra-like spell. Within only a few moments the psychic began to tremble slightly, a low pitched hum escaped through his pursed lips; as if to strengthen Hermes's anxiety the mystics eyes began search every nook and cranny of his own, letting no secrets stay hidden from their magnetizing grasp. Suddenly, the old mystic dropped the courier's hooves and rested himself upon the lectern. “Child!” Oracle yelled, startling Hermes out of his trance. “Not a single wicked mark poisons your soul, no impurity clogs your airy heart, and no sin clouds your mind with grief." He explained, easing Hermes with the flattering description. "But, beware young one." Oracle warned, catching his attention once more. "For a blank page is easily tarnished by those less-" He lingered on the last word, choosing instead to gaze in Steele's direction, eliciting a rather un-amused smirk from the pony who waited impatiently in the shadows. "Pure." He finished; he stared meaningfully at Hermes now. "Beware your heroics child as you know not of the hardships that life holds, and not of the chaos that plagues the land and seeks to corrupt the last remaining spirit of the days of old. I advise you my son, to form an image of yourself now, before you are so easily corrupted and deluded by the very thing you strive to protect; fill the page with your words before other's leave their corrupt marks on it, and be wary to trust the ever charming snake." Oracle hissed, almost whispering as he leaned closer to Hermes. "You young one has the goddesses' blessing." He announced, returning to the floor and waving Hermes off. "Now my daughter, come into the light and let me shine it upon your dim soul." He instructed, You know not of the hardships that life beholds and retain the spirit of the days of old. But beware young soul!” Oracle warned, leaning into Hermes and covering his face with breath as stale as the pony it belonged to. “You can be corrupted, tricked, easily deluded by the very thing you strive to protect." The mad pony pulled back and returned to the ground. "There will be hardships soon, but stay on the right path. Beware child, do not let the things you hold dear lead you astray!” He finished, taking a moment to regain his breath and recharge for another reading. “The young one has the goddesses’ blessing.” He announced, returning to a calm voice. “Please, my daughter, step forward and let me shine a light on your dim soul.” He instructed, coaxing Scratch to come closer. Scratch hesitated, but decided to humor the crazy pony nonetheless. She approached the lectern and offered her talons with annoyed skepticism. I mean, you don't even have to see Hermes to know he's a wuss. She thought un-amusingly while observing the old coot. “Do not grow tense my child, the goddesses see no difference in their children and neither do I.” He said, smiling as if he could see the surprise on her face. Although a bit flustered, Scratch did as she was told and relaxed, tempted to hear what Oracle had to say. Oddly enough, Oracle took his time with handling Scratch's talons, gripping them gingerly and running his hooves across them slowly. He released one of her talons and focused on her right one as he inspected it diligently, yet delicately as he searched for all the answers he needed. To Scratch it was an awkward talon massage that she never signed up for, yet it appeared that Oracle deemed the process similar to that of reading a complex book, his brows furrowing and lips pursing as if he was struggling to pass a difficult paragraph. Once he finished, he gently lowered her talons and sighed heavily. “Yours is a dim soul indeed. Pain and guilt dirty your mind with fear, as fate seems to cruelly take from you the one thing you yearn to obtain. Oracle raised his head to meet Scratch with sorrowful eyes. " You deem yourself as broken as the world that you relentlessly toil yourself in, searching feverishly for answers you fear you'll never find. Indeed, the future holds many questions for you, questions to which answers will be hard to find.” As Oracle uncovered the truths she wished to leave buried within the confines of her mind, Scratch's bold bravado began to melt into sadness and disbelief. She refused to hear that what she already knew, and she looked away from Oracle, ignoring whatever else he had to say. “Look up child.” Oracle instructed softly, bringing a cold hoof to Scratches beak and lifting it till she faced at him. “There will be many moments in your life where you will be faced with truths you can’t and won’t want to believe, but you must overcome them." He inspired, straightening himself and raising his voice to a more commanding tone. "Stand tall my daughter, for I see answers at the end of your journey. Do not give in, and you will find them in time.” Oracle finished, dropping his hoof from Scratch’s face. “She has passed judgment.” He added, smiling warmly at the surprised, yet seemingly content griffon as she joined Hermes’s side, lost in thought as she mulled over what had been foretold by the old prophet. “Come my son. I can feel your hesitation, but I must assure you, I speak the truth no matter how badly you wish to deafen yourself to it.” Oracle instructed, cutting off Steele mid eye-roll. A lunatic, a con-artist that sells his bullshit so passionately that he may even believe in the shit he's selling; Oracle was nothing more than that for Steele. However, the mad pony was the only one standing between him and the progress of his regrettable "quest of virtue", and that was incentive enough for Steele to begrudgingly take part in Oracle's act despite the sinking feeling in his gut. Bullshit or not, Oracle and the rest of the church felt off. As Steele took his spot, Oracle's face tensed into an unpleasant frown. “Your hooves son, quickly.” He urged, prepping his own hooves to ambush Steele's once close; his sudden aggression made Steele think twice about listening, but curious, Steele obeyed only to find his hooves seized swiftly. As soon as Oracle had Steele's hooves in his possession he winced, almost as if they had burned him and he refused to let go. “Your hooves son, they are so cold.” Oracle whispered, his face quickly twisting with pain; he began to sweat and moan. A few moments of awkward moaning passed, and Oracle began to have an intense conversation between things only seen to him; his tone changing in pitch and volume as he murmured his insane conversation out loud. His mad little show was slowly plucking away at the last nerves Steele had, testing his patience as he grew further agitated by having his hooves locked to the demented freak show. Growing sweaty himself, Steele looked to his friends for support, but found them uselessly enthralled in act; even Scratch payed him no mind as she eyed Oracle with a strong sense of foreboding. Looks like I'm sitting this one through alone. Steele realized, deciding to endure for a while longer. Suddenly, Oracle threw away Steele's hooves and collapsed onto the lectern, gasping for air as he dampened the wood with his perspiration; in the surprised silence, Iron Weld stepped forward worryingly before Oracle shot back up and glared at Steele with disgust. “Your soul is blackened with sins that you weigh your mind and scar your body. Corruption invades your thoughts, blackening your judgement. Your heart beats not with pure blood and hospitality, but instead bleeds black ink filled with fear, pain, and regret." Oracle accused. He began to circle Steele, who hid under his hat and took the all too familiar insults. "You're beyond broken child, you're corrupt, dirtied with sins of your past, some of which are not yours to bear. Truly, you bear a burden that is not all yours to bear, dirtying yourself with the sins and blames of others and letting their corruption sully your own weathered soul." Oracle came to a stop in front of Steele, staring meaningfully at the icy pony. "But indeed, a bleeding heart is not a frozen heart. You yearn for freedom, for redemption, for forgiveness, and oddly... for acceptance." Oracle mused. "Corruption can be cleansed my son, but it cannot wash away the troubles you yourself choose to hold onto. Cold, perhaps you are son, but I do not yet see heartlessness, so learn to not pay for the wicked deeds of others, and accept your failures as lessons." Oracle warned edging closer as he spoke. "Your past makes you selfish, but beware for soon you shall be faced with a burden far greater than can be fathomed my most. Some will deem you a demon, others a hero, yet all will play you to their will. Treasure what you have child, for losing them will only have you lose yourself." Oracle had stopped short of Steele and stayed silent, letting Steele process the warnings given. For Steele, the rant was nothing more than a collection of all the insults he heard before, and a bunch of nonsense he deemed worthless to pay any mind to. "There is more!" Oracle announced with a loud stomp that resonated throughout the church, startling all; he brought himself only a few mere inches from Steele's muzzle, clouding Steele's airway with his aged, rancid breath. "Your possession and failure to differentiate your mistakes from those of others fuels a malevolent bond with a soul that needs you as much as you refuse to let it go." Oracle griped Steele's garb tightly, trying to shake sense into the speechless mercenary. "It feeds from you child! For the goddessess' sake you must let go, for the good of you both free your heart and mind from its shadowy grasp! Only then can you be cleansed!" He commanded, pushing Steele till he sat, frozen in disbelief. The final threads of precious patience and control Steele held onto snapped, and the ground beneath him felt like it had been ripped right from under him. How could he know? How could anyone know! He asked himself. The sore subject pulled on familiar heartstrings and Steele struggled to control his emotions. He seized Oracle fiercely, staring madly into the blind pony's eyes. "How much do you know!" He demanded. "Tell me old man!" He pleaded, shaking Oracle as he struggled from snapping completely. Scratch and Hermes felt the urge to do something, but neither moved as they remained frozen in disbelief of what was unfolding in front of them. Emotion was an unknown word to Steele, and for him to so easily be forced into an emotional panic was baffling. “I cannot let you leave until you are cleansed child!” Oracle shocked, accepting Steele's anger. “You must let me cleanse you, for I, as a prophet of the goddesses cannot let you leave otherwise!” “You’re crazy!” Steele objected, dropping and backing away from Oracle. “This is all bullshit! And I’m tired of wasting my time here any longer!” Steele objected, breathing heavily as he yearned to deny everything Oracle had said. “Steele.” Hermes began, taking care with treading on thin ice. “No Hermes, I’m tired of this stupid quest you have me running!” Steele barked. “Son, you don’t have a choice, unless you wish to attack an old man that is.”Oracle said calmly. “Look at yourself Steele, you're a mess and you know it. Listening to someone else for once might do you good.” Scratch said. “The sooner you do, the sooner we leave.” She added. Steele glared at her, but intent on not making a scene he shut his eyes and took a deep breath;perhaps she was right. He was losing mind and tempter at the thought of being read so clearly by the mad pony. There's no point in humoring them anymore. He resolved, deciding that Oracle may have taken a lucky shot in the dark and hit a weak point. “Ok, I’ll do it if you’ll give us what we’re looking for.” Steele surrendered. “You might find more than you’re searching for.” Oracle warned. “Iron Weld! The materials please!” He commanded. Iron Weld moved swiftly, levitating a large metal tub onto the pulpit and filling it with a questionable liquid. He then retrieved a necklace that had a smaller insignia embedded in it, and gave it to Oracle. “Now my son, remove your clothing and kneel before the waters blessed by the goddesses.” He instructed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Steele objected, eyeing the sludge-like liquid with caution. “Kneel!” Oracle commanded once more. This time Steele did as he was told, removing his garb, and kneeling in front of the tub to meet his grim reflection. “Now, in the name of the goddesses, in the name of Equestria, in the name of this church, do you repent my son? Do you wish to have your sins washed free, forgiven by the goddesses?” Oracle asked, projecting his mighty voice across the whole church. “I do.” Steele answered reluctantly. “Then pay a price for your sins! Let them surface now!” Oracle commanded, levitating a whip from the lectern and whipping Steele across the back. Steele screamed, his anger surfacing like the streaks of red that ran across his back. Scratch and Hermes flinched, reaching for their weapons, but were stopped by Iron Weld. “No! Don’t, it is necessary!” He pleaded, momentarily quelling their anger and forcing them watch with cautious anxiety. “Do you wish to wash your sins now that they are out in the open for all to see, to sever your ties with the wicked?!” Oracle asked, whipping Steele again and forcing a yelp of pain from the hardened unicorn. It took every ounce of willpower for Steele to not lash out on the crazy bastard. “Yes.” He answered through grit teeth, more out of anger for being reminded of his Legion days than from pain. “So be it.” Oracle finished, walking behind Steele and submerging his head in the vile liquid. Steele thrashed, surprised by the sudden action. His throat erupted in fiery pain as he breathed in a mouthful of the vile liquid. His lungs felt as if they were on fire, and pain erupted throughout his body. He tried to fight back, but somehow the frail old pony held him securely submerged. I won’t die like this! Steele commanded himself, placing his hooves against the ground and getting ready to push back with all his being. Suddenly, as quickly as it had come, the force behind his head lifted and Steele’s head shot out of the tub, gasping for air much like a fish out of water. Steele struggled to regain his breath, each inhale bringing a sharp wave of pain with it. His lungs and his muzzle burned, but not as much as his desire for revenge. He scanned the room with red, itchy eyes. He heard yelling, but as he scanned the room he found his vision fleeting. Everything was getting blurry, and Steele tried to spin around to spot his friends. But as he turned, only darkness filled his vision, and he collapsed as pain filled his body. Chapter SixThe rhythmic thumping of pain resonating within his skull sounded the return of Steele’s conscience. I’m going to kill, no murder that bastard. Steele concluded decisively. Bitterly delighted to not have his airway obstructed by the absurd ritual of a mad pony, Steele forced his eyes open and cast his vengeful gaze at the first thing he saw; it only took a moment for his sense of smell to sync with his sight. “What the fuck!” Steele screamed, recoiling sharply and using his fore-hooves to backpedal and sit upright; he furiously wiped his muzzle in an attempt to rid himself of the putrid smell of the innards of a decaying corpse. “What’s wrong!?” questioned a distressing voice. Steele froze. Through his gaping blue eyes one could see the sheer fear that chilled his spine, gripping him with an icy terror that wiped his mind clear of thought. “Steele?” It asked again making him wince and shut his eyes. No. Steele answered mentally. Steele lowered his hoof, yet kept his eyes shut, unwilling to believe what he prayed to not be true. He didn’t want to hear nor believe the nightmare he once more found himself in. “Steele what’s going on?” The dreaded voice asked fearfully. Steele’s shaking halted as his self pity began to twist into hatred and insanity. He turned to meet rose with a deranged look of disbelief, frightening the small filly and causing her to back up nervously with a sharp gasp. “Steele?” She squeaked nervously, her eyes locked on his unsettling ear twitch. “You’re not real.” Steele whispered, madness rearing its ugly head and clawing its way into his fragile psyche. “You can’t be real. You’re dead.” Steele continued, now edging his way toward the freshly awoken filly. “Steele stop it, you’re scaring me.” Rose whimpered, almost whispering as her fear swelled her words and trapped them within her throat. “What do you want with me? What did I do to deserve your curse!?” Steele demanded, frightening the small filly and sending her screaming and running further into the eerie darkness of the stable. Steele breathed heavily, rage threatening to surface and take control of his actions; pained emotion had gained the upper hand in its battle with reason and Steele seethed with sorrow and confusion his heart bled. He didn’t want any of this, and yet seeing the small filly retreat full of fear had reawakened something within him. As rapidly as it came, Steele’s anger and frustration evaporated, leaving him with a look of guilt and sorrow. “Rose!” He called, his voice whiny and soft, remorseful even. Celestia what is wrong with me? He wondered, questioning what possessed him to lose control of his pent up aggression on a defenseless filly like that; dead or alive, it was not something he could see himself do, and yet there was no doubt that he had unwillingly lost control. He began to once more wonder what had brought him back into this godforsaken horror that played with his emotions and sanity as if they were the strings of a mere puppet, however the thought of being something’s plaything infuriated him and instead lead his thoughts on the matter of dealing with Rose. What was a stallion to do when the dreams he can escape to become nightmares? He wondered, demanding an answer from no one in particular. When he came up short on an answer he decided to fall back on instinct. Do what needs to be done and sort out the details later. He instructed himself, picking himself off the floor and halting before the corridor that lead deeper into the ominous stable and his fears. Easier said than done. He realized. Steele was used to darkness, often gazing into it to meet emptiness and uncertainty, but when he felt something gaze back, and do so with utmost certainty and hatred, he questioned his boldness. This was more than darkness, this was fear and death; there wasn’t a lack of light, but rather the death of it inside this stable, and it chilled him to the bone. Worst of all, Rose was involved in it all, and to make things worse he couldn’t tell whether she was the problem or a light intertwined by the darkness that sheltered her. Real or not, she was there. That was something that Steele only now began to grasp. She existed, but she did not belong in the world of the living. Steele glanced back, meeting the open stable door with a longing stare. He had a choice, to leave and let Rose go, to let the both of them move on, or he could continue his futile quest on trying to save the ill-fated filly he could never truly grasp. Would it be selfish to forsake the kind soul that saved his, or would it be more selfish to instead pursue it, forcing both of them to continue making each other suffer on the foolish basis that once it’s over they can truly be together? Steele sighed, returning his gaze into the black abyss that was the inner stable. “Rose!” He called again, saddening as his shout was quickly absorbed by the wickedness within. “I’m sorry.” He said, defeated. He turned to leave, not knowing where to go, but intent on ripping Rose from her place in his heart no matter how bloody or painful it would be. Steele took his first steps toward the exit, toward his freedom, and yet he stopped short, trapped by the darkness within the stable. The shadows themselves slithered from within the deep confines of the stable and stretched themselves to snag Steele in his tracks. Paralyzed by the chilling sensation, Steele was unable to resist the black snakes as they slithered their way up his limbs, encircling his body and tightening their grasp; he could feel the shadows slowly, yet diligently twine themselves around his body, and the largest, thickest of them all encircling his neck. He stood rigid, helpless even as he could sense the shadowy serpent coil itself around his neck, raising itself higher until it had him under its alluring spell. It was not ready to let Steele go just yet, and under its influence Steele realized he was not ready to move on so easily either. He turned to face the darkness once more. His heart bled for the chance to get to Rose, his mind yearned for peace, and his soul plead to be free from the burden of failure. She needed him, he was certain of that, and like it or not he needed her too. Steele advanced toward the shadows lead by either insanity or courage, he no longer cared which, enticed by the tune the dark piper played. Steele it called in that familiar childish voice, edging him to run toward it now. As he ran, his hooves clinking against the cold hard floor, Steele embraced the familiar dread and gut-wrenching despair; he closed his eyes and let his actions succumb to his will. “Steele, Luna dammit!” Hermes shouted, shaking life back into the unconscious body of the dark coated Stallion. To his relief Steele took a single deep breath and began to cough out the remaining toxin in his lungs. Conscious and bitter, the merc sat upright and strained his eyes to adjust to his dim surroundings; he was met with a very relieved looking Hermes towering over him. A quick glance revealed that the courier had been trying to revive him while keeping a distraught Iron Weld at bay with his plasma rifle. Steele’s eyes widened for a moment and he shot a disgusted look toward Hermes. “Don’t tell me I needed…” He began, watching Hermes’s mood shift from confusion to his stupid little grin. “No boss-man, but if you did I wouldn’t be the one standing over you.” He informed, grinning mischievously at Scratch who was keeping Oracle firmly pressed against the lectern with her sword. “You realize I can reach you with this thing from here, right?” Scratch replied. “I’ve even found a plausible candidate for your undertaker.” She added, returning her attention to the frail old pony eyeing her with a blank, grim expression. Hermes laughed and returned his attention to Steele. “You alright boss?” He asked, offering a hoof. “Better knowing you didn’t take your only chance to get a piece of this.” Steele joked, accepting a gawking Hermes’s hoof and bringing himself upright with a grunt. “Did you just?” Hermes began, turning to Scratch who was having a hard time trying to stifle a giggle. “Did he just make a joke?” He asked simply to ensure his own sanity. “Now is not the time for humor! You’ve made a grave mistake, Steele. I’ve done what I can to help you, and I can see you’ve come to realize what burden you carry, but ultimately it is up to you to sever your ties, child.” Oracle boomed, chilling the mood and silencing all. Scratch and Hermes eyed Steele nervously, seeking instruction from the suddenly sullen stallion. Whoever or whatever this Oracle guy was, he was no fool. He had successfully toyed with Steele enough to have him realize the weight his words carried. Mad pony or not, Steele had to admit the old coot might not understand him, but in the very least forced him to finally understand the nature of his psychological torture. “Let him go, Scratch.” Steele commanded. “Wait, you know what he’s talking about?” She asked, hesitant to let the blind psycho loose just yet. “Let him go.” Steele instructed again, this time succeeding in having Scratch back off. “You have valuable friends my son, not many have such a luxury in these times.” Oracle began. The blind mystic approached Steele with a strong sense of importance. “You should cherish them before you get the chance to lose them.” Oracle warned, breathing directly onto an irate Steele’s face. “You should cherish the few teeth you have left before you lose them for playing your little mind games instead of giving us what we came here for.” Steele remarked through grit teeth. Enough of this bullshit. He told himself, he was getting answers. Unfazed by Steele’s remark, Oracle only sighed and gave Steele a pitiful look. “Iron Weld, clean up the ceremonial supplies and fetch our guest his clothing.” He commanded, staring intently at Steele until he heard Iron Weld fulfill his wishes; he turned to walk away from Steele, seemingly defeated in trying to persuade change in the cold hearted pony. “You will find those you came here for upstairs, but you will not find what you seek without change.” He stated gravely. “What do you mean those?” Steele asked, making sure his gear was untouched. When he received no answer he looked up to find the frail old pony had disappeared into the shadows as mysteriously as he had come. “Celestia dammit, where’d he go?” He questioned his friends, but to his frustration they too were surprised by the agility of the old pony. “The stallion you three are looking for visited the Followers upstairs. You can find the staircase over there.” Iron Weld informed, pointing to a corner of the church that hid the dark wooden spiral staircase ascending further into darkness. “Here are the rest of your belongings.” He added, levitating Steele’s saddle bags to him. “Thanks.” Steele answered bitterly, smirking when the assistant let a loosely packed piece of paper fly out of his bags. “Oh I’m sorry about that, here let me-” Iron weld began, levitating the paper to his face for a moment before freezing as soon as his eyes met the aged document. The trio watched curiously as the quiet pony had the color drain from his face while his eyes raced through the paper over and over, reading it with utmost disbelief. “Leave me!” He yelled suddenly, shocking the trio. “I’ve come to this place to escape that hell, and here it is come back to haunt me.” He informed, backing away fearfully and launching the paper into the air, as far away from him as possible. “What are you talking about, what’s on that paper, Steele?” Hermes asked. Steele stayed silent, returning Iron Weld’s disgusted glare for a moment before finally using his magic to bring the paper back to him. He took a quick look at the paper and read a few lines before burying it into his saddlebag. “A note I took from the stable.” He informed, regretting not leaving the damn thing to rot. “Well what’s it say that has you two drama queens so worked up?” Scratch asked. For her, this whole haunted stable thing has long since run its course and quite frankly was getting stale and boring. “It’s the overmare’s last words, including why she made the orders that brought the extinction of an entire stable.” Steele informed gravely, instantly dampening Scratch’s demeanor. “Poor mare, she tried to stop the deaths after her husband's murder, but they wouldn’t let her get away with it.” Iron Weld recounted, shaking his head in remembrance of bitter memories. “Wait a second; you’re the mechanic aren’t you!?” Hermes remembered, pointing an accusing hoof at the distraught stallion. “You’re the one that left a warning message at the stable entrance.” “I had to find some way to tell ponies to stay away.” Iron Weld answered, eyeing Steele with bitter accusation. “Sorry, I forgot to invest in a pipbuck when I last went shopping.” Steele answered scornfully. “Either way, leave me alone. I came here to leave that nightmare; I have no desire to discuss it. Bother the Followers upstairs and leave me alone!’’ Iron Weld concluded, turning to leave the trio’s questions unanswered. “Gladly.” Steele remarked, shouldering his saddlebag and fixing his hat. “Night’s still young and there’s work to do, let’s get a move on.” He commanded. “You sure you’re ok after he drugged you with Celestia knows what?” Scratch asked. “Not the best way to get introduced into drugs, but I don’t think I’ll be doing them anytime soon.” Steele answered sharply. Steele led the trio up the aged staircase using his horn to provide a dim light source; Hermes’s horn added another, blue sparkle and together they illuminated their ascent into the other hidden secrets of the church. A short climb later and the trio found their path blocked by a heavy wood door that dared not show signs of life or light behind it; a small rusted rectangle acted as a sliding peephole. Without hesitation Steele knocked three times and waited for the deep echoes to call attention to his odd little group. Once the echoes died, silence followed, but before Steele could grudgingly knock again the peephole slid open with a heavy thunk and a set of judging yellow eyes appeared. “What do you want?” Their owner inquired harshly. “We’re here to find a guy named-” “Never heard of him. Leave.” The rude stranger responded, slamming the peephole shut and silencing Hermes. Irate and unwilling to cope with anymore bullshit, Steele bucked the door, hard, sending ages old dust into the air. The peephole opened up quickly and the same pony now eyed the intruders with worry. “I don’t believe you were done hearing us out.” Steele said, venom in his tone.” “Look, I don’t want any trouble. If you have no business with the Followers then leave; we have nothing to offer.” The yellow-eyed pony responded; he began to slide the peephole shut, but was stopped by Steele’s magic. “We just want some information and we’ll get out of your way.” Steele bargained. “A lot of ponies that come this way want information, but you won’t find it here. Good day.” The mysterious stallion tried once more to close the peephole, but Steele held it in place with his magic. “I see you’re in a hurry, so let’s make this quick. Info for info.” Steele offered in a bittersweet tone. He opened his saddlebag and retrieved a neat stack of old logs; he slid the pile through the narrow opening and waited as the yellow pair of eyes fell silent while they read. “You’re just full of surprises aren’t you?” Scratch remarked, crossing her arms and cocking a brow at Steele as the trio waited for a response from the now mute pony halting their quest. “I like keeping you guys on your feet.” Steele smirked. “Keeps things interesting.” “What did you give him anyway? More letters from the Stable?” Hermes questioned, rather irked at being kept in the dark when it came to Steele’s affairs. “Research logs that belonged to a pair of Followers; found it with their remains.” Steele glumly informed. Hermes fell silent again, contemplating whether it is best to let Steele’s affairs remain unknown. “Hey, don’t fall asleep on me in there!” Steele shouted, knocking on the door a few times to remind the stallion of their presence. The familiar pair of eyes returned to the narrow opening. “Do you think they suffered?” They asked in a defeated tone, catching Steele off guard with the sudden presence of sincerity and humanity in the deep voice. “I can’t say for certain, but it wasn’t the rats that did them in.” Steele answered heavily. “I see.” The yellow eyes dropped their gaze to the floor and everyone shared a quiet, dreary moment of silence. “Please, come inside.” The stallion said. He unbolted the heavy door and slid it open to welcome his guests into the well-lit sanctuary that was the Followers of the Apocalypse’s home. The trio entered, drawing the unified attention of all the working Followers; they paused for a brief moment; their expressions ranged from worry, to disgust, to fear, but soon they were all working again. The Follower’s home could be summed up in three words: spacious, clean, and efficient. Like bees in a hive each member fulfilled their role to the point. Books lined old, yet well maintained hardwood shelves, medical and scientific equipment either rested on sanitized steel tables, or were under the careful operation of a focused scientist, and the makeshift coffee and water containers that littered the workplace were set aside neatly so as not to hinder progress. A heavy thud, followed by the clink of a bolt drew the trio’s attention to their host just as he closed the door behind them. “How did you find us?” Questioned the sullen yellow-eyed stallion. He wore a white lab coat that held a pair of thick-rimmed glasses over his light blue coat; it did little to conceal the large form of its owner. “The lunatics that run the church below. We passed their little drug test and they sent us upstairs for answers.” Steele answered venomously. “Good to know they’re doing their job then, albeit they might have been a bit excessive given… recent events.” The scientist said; he retrieved his glasses and put them on now that he felt a bit more comfortable with his odd guests. “Their job!?” Steele demanded, stepping menacingly toward the startled Follower. “Good to know you have ponies fuck with you before they see you.” He added accusingly, unwilling to forgive the fact that everything he felt only moments ago was part of some bullshit plan. “Forgive me.” The Follower said nervously; he backed up a bit and gave a reassuring glance to his worried companions before returning his attention to the steaming mercenary before him. “The ponies below only offer to protect us from dangerous folk who threaten our work, but they also run the church below of their own free will. We trust them to do as they please and pass judgment on their own accord. Their actions, no matter how unorthodox, are theirs alone; we simply share a home.” “And who are you lot to require such protection and secrecy? Don’t you have some saintly code of helping all who need it?” Scratch questioned. Or some other bullshit like that. She thought; she wondered what a small team of selective scientists could do for people like her. Steele backed off and simmered down. If what the Follower was saying was true, then perhaps the psycho and his lacky below were on to something; not that he believed them anyway. He brought his head back into his current situation, curious to find out just who these secretive scientists really were. “My apologies, I suppose introductions are in order now that familiarities are out of the way.” The scientist answered, glaring accusingly at Steele while he straightened his lab coat. “My name is Gizmo, and I’m the Head Engineer of the Followers of the Apocalypse.” Gizmo’s introduction was met with unamusement, and he decided to elaborate further. “We are the Followers of the Apocalypse.” He restated, walking to stand in front of his colleagues so that they were seen working busily behind him. “Keepers of knowledge in the Mojave, we follow the shadow of the apocalypse, gathering whatever information from the old world we can to help aid the restoration of life, after the end.” Steele smirked. “Bold quest, but if you’re as saintly as you claim, what has you all stashed away and unwilling to face the public you say you wish to help?” He questioned; he took note of the Gizmo’s sudden loss of face. “We weren’t always like this.” The flustered pony tried to refute. “Really, we’ve helped a few settlements start a life by sharing knowledge on proper farming techniques, provided medical expertise and knowledge to doctors across the Mojave, and gave advice on defenses against the dangerous mutants of the Mojave. We even have an active refugee camp run by our lead medic not far from Las Pegasus!” Gizmo defended, trying not to seem hurt by the smudge on his group's reputation. “But?” Hermes insisted. “With great knowledge comes great danger. Not all ponies out there seek to use the tools of power for the good of others. Some, namely the Brotherhood.” He paused for a moment to let the sour taste of that name fade. “Would go as far as to deem everyone undeserving of such a basic necessity.” “I thought the Brotherhood cared only about pre-war technology. What would they have against survival knowledge?” Hermes wondered aloud. “Don’t be stupid, the brotherhood could care less about the instruction manual on how to water your plants.” Scratch commented sarcastically. “You nosy lot have your fair share of pre-war documents and tech. Don’t you?” She accused. Gizmo adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat nervously. “Well, you wouldn’t be wrong to think so… but, that’s because we can’t afford to let the old world’s mistakes be repeated by greedy, selfless, and power hungry bastards that would cut each other’s throats to get any edge they can! It would be stupid to assume that our ancestor’s actions during wartime were the peaceful, kind-hearted endeavors that our children’s stories portray. They weren’t the saints our history books make them out to be, and the weapons they build out of pure hatred were left behind as symbols of their mistakes. After all, the weapons survived when they didn’t.” Gizmo ended his heated justification and simmered down. Steele’s friends might have begun to understand, but he was having none of the self righteous crap he heard so many times before. “And what gives you the right to decide the fate of everyone else and the uses of our tools of destruction?” He demanded, threatening to remove the pedestal of righteousness that Gizmo had put himself upon. “Well you see.” Gizmo stuttered. His mind raced for an answer, but Steele’s judging glare kept scattering his attention; his face had just begun to turn a light shade of red before another scientist stepped in. “The fact that we’re not using our knowledge to bring more suffering into the world.” The small-framed unicorn explained. She approached the trio wearing a tired frown and placed herself in front of her speechless colleague. “The wasteland ponies will find ways to kill and maim each other without needing to use weapons that won’t distinguish the innocent from the guilty.” “Oh, and what makes someone innocent in this hell hole?” Steele rebutted. “Or is that for the guilty to decide?” He suggested. The grey coated mare’s scowl intensified, but she remained speechless for a moment. “If it is, then don’t you suppose it’s best not to give them the means to decide for others?” “I suppose.” Steele concluded hesitantly. He had successfully given the Followers a chance to re-think their saintliness, and took that as a personal victory. “Good, now you three have made enough noise in your short visit. I assume you came here for more than to just berate us on philosophical ideologies, so what do you want?” The mare challenged blatantly. “We’re after a guy named Lucky Star, and we followed him here.” Scratch looked past the short mare and took a good look at her jumpy companions. “By the looks of it you’ve probably met him.” “The asshole in his fancy checkered suit?” She recalled bitterly; her clear, strong voice now held a bitter undertone. “Yea, he came here and demanded any information we might have on some stupid trinket he had. He never showed us the damn thing, and when we told him we didn’t have a clue as to what he was talking about, he threatened us and threw around our research until we forced him to back off. The cocky bastard told us to fuck off and left for Las Pegasus; told us he’d get that information from us one way or another.” The mare explained. She smirked at the trio’s satisfied looks. “You’re on a manhunt and you question our ideals; ironic isn’t it?” “The bastard stole from us; we’re just going to go get back what’s rightfully ours.” Hermes explained. “I doubt he stole something you didn’t already take from someone else, so who’s to say it was yours in the first place?” The mare closed her eyes and shrugged, deciding it’s best to not start another conversation. “But as you said, it’s the guilty that decide who the innocent are.” She resolved, silencing Hermes. “Thanks for the information.” Steele exclaimed, eager to ditch these nerds already. “Let’s go.” He commanded, aiming for the door. “Good luck on your manhunt.” The mare called after him. “I thought you disapproved of it.” Steele said. He looked back and raising a brow before exiting. “He was as much trouble for us as he is for you.” Gizmo justified; the color in his face back to its normal hue. “Some saints.” Scratch smirked before she followed Steele out. “No-one’s a saint in the Mojave. Some ponies are just better than others.” The mare responded, ending the conversation by closing and bolting the heavy door shut after Hermes stepped out; plunging the trio back into darkness. A familiar set of lights relit, pushing the shadows back and gave the trio time to plan their next move. “It’s late.” Hermes complained; he let out a long, tired yawn to help prove his point. “But if you feel like getting closer to Las Pegasus, I’m not complaining.” “To hell with that. Las Pegasus is half a days away, we’ll only begin to see the top of the city in a couple hours of walking.” She turned to Steele for support. “I sure as hell won’t go into that town without a good night’s rest. I need my beauty sleep.” She joked, running a claw through the short feathery mohawk as she closed her eyes. She opened an eye to look at her unimpressed companions. “Luna knows you two need it way more than I do.” “Hey I know mirrors aren’t too common around here, and I hate to break it to you, but they don’t seem to be working all that well. It’s best to move on now, when it’s too dark too see you two with me.” Hermes quipped; a goofy smile threatened to overtake his face at any moment. “You’re right, seeing us with you would be rather embarrassing; we should stay so you can get as much beauty sleep as possible.” Scratch retorted, grinning at Hermes’s spiteful squinting at her. “We’ll need to settle down for the night. Lucky could have a number of assets in the city, and I’d rather not take on a city of thieves at night.” Steele instructed, dampening Hermes’s spirits before he could protest. “But we aren’t sleeping here.” He added, crushing Scratch’s triumphant demeanor as well. “This is the best place around! I’m not sleeping out in the open.” Scratch complained. “There’s a sarsaparilla factory not too far from here. It’s close enough to Las Pegasus to let us get there before the sun’s overhead. We can make it there in an hour if you two stop discussing your looks and get moving.” “Fine with me.” Hermes said, eager to get as close to his target as possible. “Place better be warm.” Scratch mumbled. Steele turned to begin his descent. “Not like I expect you two to not be jealous with me around.” He commented casually; he hid a grin underneath his hat at the sound of his friend’s complaints. *** A full moon pierced the shade of midnight and illuminated the abandoned concrete and glass monument. The Sarsaparilla factory stood desolate and alone at the top of a steep hill; the weather-beaten building was only accompanied by a faded billboard that used a happy, pink ministry mare as its mascot. Be sure to drink lots of Sarsaparilla, it gives you extra sass! It advertised, using bold yellow letters on what used to be a cheerful orange background; perhaps its most unusual quality was the mare’s bright, unworn smile. It alone survived the harsh trials of time, and for a reason only disclosed to it, shone brightly in its dreary environment. A trio of misfits followed a lone slim, winding road to the heavy blue iron doors of the factory; they stopped to catch their breath for only a moment. “Hell of a walk. You could have mentioned it was on top of a hill.” Hermes complained.” “I thought you were the one who wanted to keep moving?” Scratched jabbed. “I don’t have wings like you!” He complained. Scratch landed beside him. “Don’t be such a wuss.” She said, rolling her eyes while Hermes caught his breath. “Shut up, both of you.” Steele barked. He levitated Ratslayer to Scratch. “We don’t know if this place is empty; keep your weapons close, your eyes peeled, and most importantly your mouths shut.” “What’s the gun for?” Scratch asked. “The facility has a high ceiling on the bottom floor, where the assembly line is, but every level above that is a tightly packed office; there’s no room to fly above that, so you might want a gun.” Scratch pushed the gun away. “I’ll take my chances. I’m intimidating enough up close, and any mutant that could have wandered into there could be dealt with my sword.” “Have it your way.” Steele shrugged. He shouldered the rifle and drew his revolvers. “Ready?” He asked. “Right behind you.” Hermes notified, his plasma rifle at the ready and eyes lit with a familiar, gentle green glow. Scratch grabbed the hilt of her large bumper sword and nodded reassuringly, signaling her readiness. “Right. After me.” Steele said. He let loose a calming sigh and pushed himself against the set of heavy metal doors. A loud, rusty creak broke the eerie silence within the facility and the open door let in a few rays of light that illuminated the assembly level of the factory; Steele scanned the area with his guns and his friends followed closely, closing the door and waiting for directions. The high ceiling echoed every movement the trio made, but otherwise the facility seemed quiet. Steele made eye contact with his friends and motioned them to follow. Together they made slow progress navigating through the endless rows of dusty bottles that littered the conveyor belts; every direction they looked, their vision was obstructed by another line of abandoned and forgotten bottles that threatened to hide a number of dangers behind them. A single, huge rectangle window that covered most of one side of the facility let in the moonlight that illuminated their path. “Looksss like we have wandered into the wrong nessst.” A voice whispered, breaking the silence. “Shut up, Hermes.” Steele hissed, still on high alert and not in the mood for stupid jokes or cowardice. “That... wasn’t me.” Hermes mustered. Surprised, Steele glanced back to find the courier shaken and searching fruitlessly for the perpetrator using his pipbuck. “Gotten lossst, have we?” The voice asked in its snakish tone. Its owner was nearly untraceable with the echo, and the trio had their backs to each other, searching for the source of their assailant. “Come out!” Steele commanded. This isn’t good. He realized, knowing that they were in no position to give the commands. The source of the mysterious voice was now moving about by using the conveyer belts as cover; Steele could only guess that the hissing sounds were the attacker giggling with amusement. “Ssso brave.” It laughed. “The mice wander into the viper’sss nest and demand authority.” “Steele!” Scratch said, egging him for a command before they end up prey. “Who are you!?” Steele screamed, racking his brain for a solution. You’re going to die here if you don’t act now. He thought for a moment, but forced himself to focus. “Tell me, prey.” The voice paused along with the eerie hoof-steps. “Will you fight or flee?” It asked. The party of three tensed, realizing that the silence was a timer to their deaths if they did not act now. Ten, nine,... Steele began to count; think dammit. He told himself. Five, four… Time was running out when a lone, green reptilian eye was magnified by an empty bottle. “Scratch!” Steele motioned, cocking his revolvers. Scratch wasted no time reacting. The pony with green reptilian eyes made the mistake of bringing his neck above the conveyor belt, and Scratch’s claw tightened around the hilt of her sword. Not a second later the sharp blade was cutting through bottles until it reached flesh, it tore through that too and pressurized crimson liquid stained the nearby glass and rubber red. Steele made eye contact with the still-smug expression on the green mohawked head as it traveled a while and hit the floor with a sickening, wet smack. “They’re everywhere!” Hermes alerted nervously; his vision was being clouded with little red triangles encircling his position. Steele had no time to dwell on the gruesome decapitation, and kicked his brain into gear. “Scratch, fly!” He commanded; he turned to run into the courier once he heard the flap of wings and slammed himself into Hermes, forcing the anxious pony to run with him. “Get to cover!” He ordered, pushing Hermes toward a thick concrete support pillar and branching off in the other direction with the conveyor belts as his cover. The fighting had started with a single bullet shattering a bottle near Steele. The factory was now filled with the deafening sound of gunfire and glass shattering; the sound reverberated off the walls and rang in Steele’s ears, deafening him to the world around him. Glass shrapnel exploded behind Steele as he ran to a large stack of boxes he hoped would act as cover from the son of bitch using a carbine to send a hail of bullets at him. Pieces of glass bounced off his armored garb and he slid the last few feet to his cover. “Shit!” He cursed, the sound of his complaint lost and unheard by even him in the deafening storm of gunfire. Steele checked his leg to find that he slid across a piece of glass, effectively cutting his unprotected leg. Angry, deaf, and with a leg throbbing in pain, Steele peaked from his cover and returned fire in the direction of his attacker, forcing him to seek cover. The gunfire had died down slightly as their attackers were forced to reload, and Steele used the time to hobble over to a neighboring support beam while he reloaded. Once he got there he opened fire on two unsuspecting unicorns and successfully buried his bullets in their chests, ignoring the thin layer of leather they called armor. Thank Celestia for .44 rounds. He thought with a smirk, sinking down behind his cover to reload as the rest of the gangsters sawed thin the concrete protecting him. In the small breaks of fire Steel could hear the steady fwomp, fwomp, fwomp of a plasma weapon; the bright green flashes reflected from the shards of glass near him proved his assumptions of Hermes being alive to be true. A loud, spine chilling scream pierced and halted the gunfire. Steele peaked his cover to see a pony glow a burning red and orange as the poor mare was liquefied and turned into nothing more than a steaming, glowing pile of goo. Her companions, mortified by the sudden transformation, had halted their gunfire to watch in awe, but now turned with renewed hatred to engage a reloading courier as he hid behind his battered column. Three angry gang members were now making steady progress, suppressing the courier while they advanced. Luna dammit. Steele holstered his revolvers and withdrew Ratslayer; he lay down at his pillar’s corner and aimed the rifle. Three trigger squeezes sent silenced shots toward the assailants; he tore a hole in one of their heads and knocked the wind out of another as the bullet made a thick dent in his steel armor. Hermes respond by emerging from his cover and effortlessly ending the confused final gangster and stealing the last breath from the other pony before he could take it. Satisfied with himself Steele holstered the rifle in time to find a smug looking mare with a bladed gauntlet towering above him. She brought down her hoof quickly, and Steele’s instinct took over. He rolled onto his back, allowing her to shred some of his garb and the flesh behind it, eliciting a scream of pain from him. The mare stepped closer, using her nonbladed hoof to hold him down while she prepared to strike again; she did, but Steele grabbed the underside of her hoof and used his rear legs to keep some distance between them. He was stuck in his little dance, each partner struggling and shifting to try and gain the upper hoof. Steele gazed into his attacker’s blue eyes, hating her shiny, silver lip piercing as she ran a snakish tongue over it and her lips. Like a mouse in a viper’s gaze, Steele couldn’t find his strength, and the rusty twelve inch blades neared the precious life carrying veins in his neck with every moment. At last, Steele found his window of opportunity; he brought his bleeding rear leg up to the unsuspecting mare’s chest and delivered a firm kick, wincing from the pain. The mare backed off, but collected herself quickly and pounced at Steele again as he drew a revolver toward her skull. Inches before her head could connect with the barrel of Steele’s revolver, blood flew from the mare’s neck as the tips of sharp yellow talons protruded the front of her throat. Steele looked past the panicked blue eyes of a young, blood stained mare and saw Scratch heave the pony in front of her; her claws never withdrew from the back of the gangster’s neck and a sickening gurgling sound escaped the living corpse. The griffon used the mare as a meat-shield and dropped the corpse before once more disappearing into the shadows of the high ceiling. She was an easy kill, Steele. Get it together! Steele regained his footing and found that Hermes had moved and once more stole most of the attention from the remaining gangsters. He watched the wood splinter from the stack of boxes Hermes commandeered and took a deep breath to collect his thoughts in the ear-splitting noise that was the firefight. The conveyor belts could act as sight breaks, and he could use them to mask his movements. Steele readied his revolvers and bolted out of his cover, keeping low to hide his head behind the bottles. He fired at and downed a few gangsters before ducking low behind one of the belts. Shit. He cursed, realizing that he was sandwiched between Hermes’s attackers and his own. He peaked for a moment to unload on the gangsters attacking Hermes, but was forced down when they opened fire. Luckily, Hermes took the moment to liquefy the gangsters and Steele vaulted the belt to gain better cover; he cursed as he landed on some glass. How could I not, the whole damn floor is covered in it! He reloaded his revolvers and waited for the gunfire to stop and allow him to advance. By now, both sides were running low on ammo, and some of the cleverer unicorn gangsters were hurling glass shards at the trio in an attempt to conserve ammo. Steele was forced to wait, glancing up to see parts of his bloodied reflection in the wall of glass above him. Once they stopped, Steele moved again. Firing, waiting, moving; Steele played this little game of patience until the gangster numbers were dwindled down and he and his friends owned the majority of the ground floor. Another pass of glass stopped and Steele emerged again. He brought up a revolver to return fire, but was stopped by a bullet slamming into his thick breastplate. He fell, sucking for air after it had been forced out of him. Helpless, he lay exposed and gasping like a fish out of water. Get up, get up! He kept telling himself, unable to follow his orders because every time he tried to stand he was forced down by a hail of glass just barely missing him. Steele could have sworn he heard screaming, it wouldn’t be surprising considering the only thing he heard in the past twenty or so minutes was either screaming or gunfire. His head rang, but with enough coaxing, air once more found its way into his lungs. The screaming he heard was closer now, and he realized there was a crouching figure next to him, pulling his body behind cover. The darkness around his vision cleared, and Steele recognized Hermes returning fire next to him. “He’s hit! He’s hit!” The courier screamed. “I’m alright.” Steele replied in vain, his response out-shouted by the fighting. Steele regained his footing in time to charge another melee fighter behind Hermes’s back, thrusting his whole weight into the poor bastard and knocking him onto his back; he punched the attacker until he drew blood, and ended the fight with a strong final blow to the neck, leaving the pony to choke on his own blood. He returned his attention to the courier when a small glint from the corner of his eye caught his attention; he looked up to find it came from on top of a sheet metal housing that used to be some kind of office, and realized the high level threat. Hermes! Hopped up on a wavering supply of adrenaline, Steele backtracked to the courier, praying he would make it in time. Hermes had taken down yet another gangster with the help of his trusty pipbuck and checked his back in time to see Steele’s chest smother him and pin him to the ground; he heard a muffled bang follow afterwards. “Sniper!” Steele explained, backing off to allow Hermes to regain his footing. To the duo’s relief a sharp cry signaled the end of the sniper as Scratch’s blood-coated blade tore its way into another victim. The few remaining gangsters saw their chance to flee and tried to make a break for the door; Steele gladly spent ammo on disposing them as they fled. “Silence.” Steele confirmed happily, as he slid down to rest against the conveyor belt. “What?” Hermes asked, itching an ear in a vain attempt to clear the ringing. Steele laughed and rested his aching head against the cool metal for a moment. Hermes grabbed a seat next to him and together they waited for Scratch to find them; it didn’t take long. “That was a hell of a lot of ammo. Collect anything that we can use. We’re too weak to carry more than we need to for tomorrow's journey. Grab some carbines though, they’re worth some medical supplies.” Steele instructed. He rose and helped his friends scavenge. Together the trio collected silently, embracing the welcoming silence of dead gangsters. Once done, they met up at the staircase to the upper floors. “Who the hell are where these guys? Just some gangsters?” Hermes asked bitterly. Steele couldn’t stifle his laugh; he brought a hoof around the courier’s neck as he laughed. “You alright, Steele?” Hermes asked, fearing his friend had finally lost it. “Hermes, we just killed a whole team of one of the most dangerous raider-tribes in the whole Mojave.” He explained, withdrawing his hoof. “If the reptile eyes and snake emblems didn’t give it away, they’re called the Vipers.” As Steele explained he motioned his friends to follow him upstairs. “These religious zealots worship snakes for whatever reason, and their initiation process is incredibly difficult to survive; almost as hard the Goth’s actually, but while the Goth’s is a physical challenge, these crazy fuckers poison each other and recruit whoever survives.” “Explains why the bastards needed a few bullets to take them down.” Hermes groaned, struggling to climb up the steps. “They weren’t that bad.” Scratch remarked jokingly. Although not as battered as her companions, she too was covered with nicks and wounds that painted her body red. “Tell that to their other friends.” Steele answered. “You mean there’s more!?” Hermes asked fearfully, looking alert and anxious again. “Doubt there’s any here now, but let’s just hope that no other group comes in for a checkup.” The trio finally reached the top floor and found it mostly barren; another large rectangular window provided a great view of the night, the quiet Mojave below, and the top, cloudy layer of Las Pegasus in the distance. “Let’s set up camp here.” Steele suggested, dumping his gear and loot against a wall near the window. “I left a warm, insane church for this.” Scratch complained, only half-joking. Steele left his friends to manage their haul while he limped around searching for anything useful. He didn’t find anything, but a broken, grimy mirror resting on its side. Out of curiosity, he faced it toward himself and smirked at the reflection. Cuts, gashes, and sear marks from bullets that barely missed littered his skin and garb; a few glass shards were still embedded into the dark material. Where flesh was not covered by a red outer layer, it was covered by dirt. Only his face was spared; well… mostly. There was a long gash running horizontally along his cheek where glass had left its mark. Steele’s attention was caught by his rear leg, instinctively he had raised it without paying much mind, but now he could see the bloody mess he had to tug along. He brought his attention back to his reflection and sighed; he searched for something meaningful. He was exhausted, wounded heavily, psychologically tormented, and worst of all part of a quest he was never too enthusiastic about undertaking. He smiled. But I’m alive. He reminded himself. And I’m not alone. That’s what the most important part was. He had two unlikely companions with whom he just conquered certain death with, and no amount of damage could outweigh how much better it was than being in good health and alone. It was odd to say it, but he was a hella glad to have the courier fighting alongside him today, and Scratch played an irreplaceable role as well. “Steele!” A voice called for him. Steele gave a last look at himself and sighed again. He was different now, and only time would tell whether that was a good thing; for now, it was, and he turned to leave. “I’m here.” He announced, returning to his little band of misfits. “We were just about to assume you got lost.” Hermes said. “Pass me our meds.” Steele commanded. “You lot look like hell.” Scratch wasn’t off too bad, she had escaped most of the fire by flying, but she too had her fair share of wounds. Hermes on the other hoof was cut up pretty bad; his white coat red with his own blood, but his armored vault suit seemed to do its job otherwise. “You don’t look better yourself, “mister lady-killer”.” Scratch replied sarcastically. “Who died and made you doctor anyway.” She asked. “I had a combat medic buddy when I worked for the N.L.R.” He taught me enough to get by with more than just the “suck it up and deal with it” medical expertise that Legion goes by.” “Then patch me up, doc.” Hermes joked. Steele got to work, cleaning cuts and digging out glass shrapnel with his magic; he applied magic bandages accordingly and gave each patient a bottle of healing portion to top it off. "Sloppy, but it'll do." He commented. He looked at his bloodied hooves and decided to leave them be. “You’re not going to make a comment on wasting supplies?” Hermes remarked. He was mummified, but for the most part alright. “Shrapnel must have pierced his skull.” Scratch remarked, looking no better with her blood stained bandages. "Again." “You two are going to have to drag me around tomorrow, so I rather get there in once piece.” Steele answered bitterly. He began to pack up their meager supply of meds before he was stopped by Scratch. “You’re the one that’s going to hold him down, right?” She asked Hermes. “You know more than me.” He confirmed. “What the hell are you two talking about.” Steele asked, backing up on three legs. “Returning the favor.” Hermes answered; he pushed Steele onto his back and used his magic and weight to hold him down. Scratch grabbed the remaining medical supplies and took her position at Steele’s wounded leg. “This is going to hurt like hell, so keep him still.” She warned. “Fuck off, both of you.” Steele protested; he tried to fight back, but as soon as Scratch grabbed his leg he was immobilized with pain. "Try not to break your teeth." Scratch advised, shoving a wooden stick into Steele's mouth; he protested with a muffled growl, but Hermes kept him in place. Unable to decline the sudden medical procedure, Steele regretfully accepted his fate. An hour of him attempting to scream, curse, and make death threats passed, and he was covered leg to neck in the group’s last bandages; small, bloodied glass shards lay stacked in a pile next to him. “That was a hell of a lot of glass.” Scratch said, wiping the sweat off her forehead. “Least you’re not the only one with some medical know how.” “Thanks.” Steele answered sarcastically, throbbing in pain after the sudden surgery. Hermes yawned loudly. “That's enough excitement for one day.” He suggested; he plopped down next to the large window and stared at the bright city in the distance. “More than I asked for.” Scratch replied, yawning as well. She grabbed a section next to the wall and collapsed on a makeshift pillow. Steele hobbled over to his mummified companion and took a seat. Las Pegasus, as the name suggests, was a safe haven for all pegasi looking to flee their army’s oppression after the Great War. Dashites, loners, refugees, and any other form of survivor fled to the great city and rebuilt it when it was spared the mega-spell bombing of the war. From here, Steele and Hermes could only see the top layer of the city, or rather the thick clouds that hid the tall buildings inside from view; what lay above them only the pegasi knew. The clouds kept the important tall buildings out of view from any invaders, namely the Lucky 38 weather control tower/casino that was rumored to be the home of the infamous Mr. House. Rumors claimed it was the reason behind the immobility of the clouds. From here the duo could see the faint glow of a city that never slept, just barely visible behind the thick clouds. “We’ll get there, rest up, and kill that son of a bitch.” Steele assured, tapping Hermes on the back reassuringly before choosing to retire for the night. Hermes stole another glance at the city, and took his spot near his friends. Tired, battered, yet alive Steele and his misfits enjoyed a deep sleep. Author's Note First time linking from google docs.(Still can't believe I've spent all those hours re-italicizing everything.) Let me know if anything seems off. Chapter OneIt was hot, smelled like shit, and an aggravating ringing sounded through the room. A black hoof sent the rusty pre-war alarm clock flying; the wall it hit silenced it. Just another shitty morning in the Mojave Desert for Steele, another miserable unicorn trying to survive. "It's so dam hot I must have finally gone to hell." He mumbled, still groggy from an uncomfortable night spent on a pre-war mattress. The dark coated figure got out of his bed and scratched his back while leisurely staring out of a nearby window. Outside promised nothing more than heat and misery. "Yup. Still in the Mojave, still in hell." He groaned, dragging his groggy self toward where he suspected the bathroom would be. Upon entering, Steele was met with an intact toilet, sink, and bathtub; luxuries that he didn't take for granted considering he smelled as bad the 200 year old abandoned house he spent the night in. He took a moment to examine himself in the cracked mirror above the sink. Through the dirt and grime, a blue eyed pony and his roughly cut grey mane stared back. Steele smiled, revealing a surprisingly intact set of teeth, another miracle considering the amount of abuse his face gets on average. Once done examining himself, he pondered as to whether or not it was safe to turn on the faucet and use the potentially radiated water. He sighed, regretting not having one of them fancy schmancy pipbucks the "Stable Dwellers" had. That Geiger counter would sure as hell come in handy right about now. But no, he was just a fatherless bastard born to a gypsy on the surface. While stable folk pranced around blissfully ignorant and safe in their steel caskets, his childhood was a constant fight for survival as he traveled with his mother's caravan. It was rough, unpleasant, and ended on the night he woke up to smoke and flames choking his lungs while the shrieking of his fellow travelers stung his ears. Steele ran out of his tent and was met with the sight of burning bodies and screaming ponies, who were gunned down as they tried to flee. Some nights he could still smell the smoke and feel the heat of the flames as his tears blinded him, blurring the memories of his mother's lifeless corpse as he begged her to flee with him. The voice of the bandit leader robbing his caravan was forever imprinted in his mind, along with his sadistic pleasure as he leaned in close to Steele’s shivering, tear-stained face and whispered: "Run kid." Laughing maniacally with the rest of his crew as Steele scrambled for his life. Steele ran. He ran until his legs gave out and his tears ran dry. He became a Stallion that night, and he never looked back. He learned to survive, to shoot, and to never forgive. Over the years the Mojave had made him many things; a prospector, a mercenary, a heartless bastard, but above all he was a survivor. And he intended to keep it that way. "Fuck it." He exclaimed, concluding that he'd rather use radaway than smell like a corpse. Once clean, bathed, and possibly irradiated, he returned to the living room and took a large swig of a radaway pack. He coughed a few times and reached for a half empty Apple Whiskey bottle to help wash down the bitter taste. "Much better." He said, wiping his mouth and tossing the empty bottle toward the floor. What did he care, not his house anyway. Morning routine complete, Steele donned his signature outfit, a black leather trench coat that had armored plates sewn into it, and a vintage black cowboy hat he had bargained for a long time ago. Next came his worn saddle bag, whose contents consisted of nothing more than 300 caps, a few medical supplies, and spare ammunition for his twin .44 magnums affectionately named Mustang and Sally. Not much, but he never did have a lot of possessions to begin with. Lastly he re-holstered his two prized pistols; he had found them on a dead prospector’s body and used them to save his life countless times over. The old door to the outside groaned and refused to open under Steel’s magic and began to agitate him. It wasn’t long until a few heads turned, alerted by the loud crack of splintering wood. Steele stood in the barren doorway, his hat covering his eyes, and began to quietly walk toward the bar, past an aged and broken wood door. Goodsprings was a quiet ghost town, and none of the few residents wanted to question Steele’s actions. He didn't look like someone you wanted to mess with, especially not after their multitude of problems with coyotes, mutated lizards, and a local gang by the name of The Powder Gangers. They had enough to deal with, and so long as this guy didn't cause any real trouble and paid his tab, no one cared what he did. Steele made his way up the old wooden steps of the “Prospector Saloon”, the letters of its weathered neon sign consisted of various separate parts. Upon opening the door Steele was nearly knocked into by a fast unicorn with a bandaged head; the crazy bastard paid Steele no mind and instead headed straight toward gas station up ahead. He looked determined, and Steele immediately noticed the stable suit complemented by the glowing pipbuck on his left arm. Steele opened his mouth to say something, but instead just shook his head and walked toward the bar. No need to cause unnecessary trouble, especially not with any stable dwellers. He told himself. Once he cleared the door an aggravated stallion wearing a Powder Ganger prison outfit stormed out. Steele ignored him as well, knowing better than to mess with the easily angered imbeciles. He took an empty seat in the corner of the bar and waited for Sandy Shake, the cheery, red haired bartender with a southern accent. “What’s his problem?” Steele asked, nodding his head toward the exit. "Damn bastard." Sandy began, waving her cleaning cloth as she spoke to help emphasize her point. "Wants to kill some traveler we hid in the gas station. He's just mad cause we refused to tell him where the poor guy is hiding." She took a moment to simmer down and returned to wiping a mug. "I'm just worried he might be back and cause some trouble." Sandy Shake finished, obviously flustered. Seems like she had been the one to talk to him. "Not the Powder Ganger; those idiots are always looking for trouble. I'm asking about the stable dweller, idiot nearly knocked into me on the way out, didn’t utter a word either." Steele said. “Oh, him. Poor fellow." Sandy Shake began, a calmer tone in her voice. "He’d just been shot in the head, and wouldn't’ ya know it Doc Mellowgrass patched him right up after that Victor fellow dug him up." "Shot it the head huh? Whoever it was must have been a lousy shot." Steele answered, taking a sip of his whiskey. "Guess so. Lucky him though, he seems like a nice guy. He wants to help some crazy wanderer named Rango, who's been running from the Powder Gangers; we let him hide in the gas station uptown." Sandy Shake answered, absentmindedly wiping an already clean mug. "So what's he bugging you for?" Steele asked, mildly curious about this new do-gooder who had just escaped death. "Well, he wants Goodsprings to help, and since I'm the mayor he came to me. It sure broke my heart having to let down such a sweetheart-- especially after he just fixed my radio--, but I'm afraid it's too darn dangerous to confront them head on. I can't risk everyone’s life like that." "So he actually wants to die." Steele answered coldly. "Well, as far I know he's a courier, and they're pretty tough considering they have to carry all those important packages across the wasteland. Heck, if you ask me. I reckon his ordeal had to do with a package he was carrying. The trio that shot him took off soon as they got what they wanted." A courier? So, chances are he did have a death wish. Steele thought, taking another sip of his rust colored drink. Few couriers live long enough to retire, and most die trying to deliver their precious packages. Whoever this new guy was, he must have been carrying something valuable to get a hit squad on him. Steele processed the idea of following him considering if he was going to go get his package back, then there might be a good deal of caps involved. "And this Victor guy you mentioned. Who's he?" Steele questioned, forgetting about his drink and listening intently for any useful information than might lead to profit. "That's the strangest part." Sandy exclaimed, finally putting down her mug and reaching for a dirtier one. "Victor’s a securitron. Now what he's doing this far out of Las Pegasus is a mystery. He rolled along one night, and dug up the courier soon as his attackers left. Why he took particular interest in him sure beats me, but whoever he is has to be important to get that kind of attention." That settled it. Steele wasn’t going anywhere near this "courier". If he had House's bots on him, then he was a nothing but a hazard. The mysterious head honcho of Las Pegasus was never involved in what didn’t particularly interest him, and if something did, then whatever stood in his way would be thoroughly removed. No-one ever saw him, but everyone but the NLR and Solar Legion feared him. Locked away along with the secrets of the Lucky 38 tower, House controlled Las Pegasus and its three strongest families via his securitron robots. He was a force to be reckoned with, and even the NLR who had been stationed at Las Pegasus tried to avoid causing him problems. If this courier had beef, or worse, business with Mr. House, that was his problem and Steele wasn’t about to get involved. "Say, you look like a hardened traveler. I'm guessing the Mojave hasn’t been kind on you, has it?" Sandy Shake asked, lowering her overly clean mug and bursting Steele's thought bubble. "More than you'd like to know." Steele answered gruffly, his icy shield coming down to protect him from his painful past. He was reminded of his drink and proceeded to tend to it. "I see. Don’t suppose you'd be willing to help him out. I mean, if you don’t have any nice relations with the Powder Gangers that is." Steele winced underneath his hat. Being accused of affiliation with those heartless bandits and rapists hurt, especially with his past. Sandy Shake had pushed the wrong button, and the look on her face showed she regretted doing so. She began to apologize, but Steele cut her off. "I learned to not risk my tail where I don’t need to." He answered, silencing Sandy. She didn’t look pleased, but apparently she had decided to not cause any more damage and remained silent. Steele ordered some squirrel stew, paid his tab, and left without uttering another word. Once outside he stretched for a bit and considered his path. Nipton seemed like the town to go to. Always filled with thugs, whores, booze, and most importantly, jobs. Many weren't pretty, but this was the Mojave. Nothing was pretty. His direction marked, Steele began to leave, but couldn’t help but notice the courier leaning behind some cover; a worn out varmint rifle floating beside him. He shot Steele a quick glance, but not finding anything that might convince him of striking up a conversation, he returned to inspecting his measly gear. Poor fool. Steele thought. Going against someone even as poorly equipped as the Powder Gangers was a bad idea with his gear, but whatever; he wanted to play hero and that was his business. Steele smirked and set out toward Nipton. A few hundred meters past town and Steele ran into a group of Powder Gangers. By their appearance he could tell they were the group going to assault the town in hopes of finding their target. Knowing them, they’d probably burn the place down looking for him. There were six total. No real armor, but they were all equipped with guns, enabling even the most dim-witted bandit to be dangerous. Their leader, a unicorn, led the group; his varmint rifle floating beside to him, he didn't look like the kind of pony you want to start a problem with. Out of his men he looked like the only relatively sane one. Out of his pitiful brigade, three of his men were armed with rusty single shot shotguns that they held in their mouths; Steele caught the sour stench of drugs and realized they were high on jet, their movements twitchy, fast, and unpredictable. The other two were equipped with no more than machetes and appeared to be the least stable of the group. They paid Steele no mind. He looked like someone who could put up a fight, and he didn’t seem interested in them so he could be ignored. His hat covering his eyes, Steele navigated around them. An able unicorn and 5 earth ponies; a sizable threat considering their enemy had nothing more than a stable suit and a rusty rodent gun. Steele stopped. The years had taught him better than to try and play hero --the small scar on his lower chin reminded him of that--, but he wasn't one to like watching good ponies die. The Mojave took many lives every day and death was just an unpleasant inconvenience in the Mojave; it had stopped fazing Steele a long time ago, but watching good ponies die brought back a painfully familiar grief. No way in hell was he beginning to consider risking his life for some wannabe hero with a deathwish. Steele stole another quick glance at the bandits from under his hat in time to catch the gang members spreading out. Not long until bullets would start to fly, he should get a move on before ending up the victim of a stray bullet. He was getting eager to move on, but a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach stopped him; Steele knew all too well the feeling meant he was about do something he considered to be very stupid. He forced himself to look forward and continue walking, but froze shortly as gunshot rang through the air, the blood-curling scream stole his attention. Steele’s gaze darted back in time to see a machete wielding gangster fall, blood leaking from a chest wound. The courier had apparently shot first and successfully landed an effective shot. He had dropped the machete wielder quickly enough to shock everyone but the group leader, who nonchalantly swung his rifle and returned fire. "Well you morons, shoot him!" He ordered, sending more lead the courier's way; it wasn't long before they were keeping the courier pinned under a hail of bullets. Steele swallowed hard as his mind began to race. He was actually nervous, and it drove him insane. Common it’s just another stupid kid that isn’t cut out for the Mojave. Leave him; he won’t make it out there anyway, might as well let them put him out of his misery. Steele reasoned. Another scream filled the air, and Steele snapped back to reality. He quickly scanned the scene to found that the scream came from the courier; It appeared that he tried to peek out of his cover to return fire and ended up with a bullet in his shoulder. The gangsters were closing in on his position quickly, but the lone machete wielder was what troubled Steele more than he liked. While his gang mates slowly made progress from the Courier’s right, the sly bastard had made quiet progress around the couriers flank and gripped his machete tightly with exited anticipation; his eyes boldly radiated his eagerness to kill. Fuck. Steele would regret this later, but he had to act now or that courier was going to end up back in the grave he just so narrowly escaped. Moving swiftly, Steele drew his revolvers in one well rehearsed, fluid motion. The hammers had been pulled back by his magic in the process of drawing the weapons, and Steele had nothing left to do but aim. He fired twice, sending red hot lead into the back of the machete wielder. Silence followed as the gangster dropped a mere few inches behind a surprised courier; crimson leaking from the two pronounced holes in his back. The gunshots ceased as the remaining gangsters assessed their new threat. “What are you imbeciles waiting for!? Kill him!” Shrieked their leader; he had finished reloading his rifle and began to shoot at Steele. “Nice going Steele.” He muttered, sprinting to a large boulder for cover. Steele hid, counting the number of bullets his attacker had left. One...two....three....four, just one more left. He counted. Steele waited for the metallic clink of an empty magazine and stepped out of cover, his two magnums floating in front of him. He might not have had the assistive aim a pipbuck provided, but years of learning to conserve his ammo made him a crack shot and he didn’t need it. He managed to bury three shots into the leader’s body, tearing flesh and breaking bone before one of the three remaining shotgun wielders pelted him with shrapnel. Shit that hurts! Steele cursed, gritting his teeth as his armor absorbed the shrapnel and let the kinetic energy bombard his body with pain. His magic never wavering, Steele scowled at his attacker, an earth pony who’s fear leaked through his high state; Steele cut his reload short with lead. The last two had turned to confront Steele, leaving the courier to cower behind the boxes he sought cover from. Steele hid once more, cursing the pain coursing through his body and the equally painful reload time for his magnums. As he fished out more ammo from his saddlebag his attackers drew nearer, unnerving Steele with the sound of their bullets hitting his small cover. Why the fuck did I have to help that damned courier? He wondered. By the time he finished reloading sweat had accumulated on his forehead, but thankfully his nerves remained intact. He could hear his attackers getting closer, but without the help of a pipbuck’s detection system he couldn't pinpoint their exact location. He set his mind on diving out of cover and fire at the first thing he saw, but to his relief a foreign rifle shot filled the air with the sickening sound of grey matter painting Steele’s cover. The last gangster had dropped his gun and began to run away, but Steele dove out of cover and pelted him with lead. Looks like the courier wasn’t completely useless after all. Steele smirked. Steele reloaded and re-holstered his magnums, checked his armor for any serious damage, and applied a magically enhanced bandage to his forelimb upon finding shrapnel that penetrated an unreinforced piece of armor. Once more Steele regretted his lack of a pipbuck and its medical expertise. Nonetheless he referred back to his old rule of “If you can feel it, you’re fine.” He began to loot the Powder Ganger corpses, salvaging ammo, weapons, and medical supplies for keep or salvage. The courier, apparently surprised that this mysterious figure had the heart to help --and with good reason-- just watched him from his cover, holding his bleeding shoulder. Once finished with salvaging for gear, Steele made another kind decision that he knew he would kick himself for later. He approached the courier and removed a healing potion and a bandage from his bag, dropping them and the unicorn gangster’s well maintained varmint rifle at the courier’s hooves. “Take them.” He instructed coldly. What the hell is wrong with me? Steele thought. Why in the name of the goddesses was I wasting supplies and risking my life for this stupid traveler? A piece of shrapnel must have penetrated my skull and hit my brain because there was no reason I should be this kind. To Steele the courier had nothing to offer, and that made him worthless. “You’re lucky I forgot to get some water.” Steele lied, reverting back to his old heartless self. “Th... thanks.” The courier replied, probably as scared of Steele as he was thankful. “Who are you?” He asked, wanting to at least know the name of his savior. “Don’t push it.” Was the reply. Steele walked into the bar for the second time that day. A few residents futilely tried to hide the fact that they had been staring out the window and began to loudly whisper amongst each other, pausing only to momentarily steel a glance at Steele. They were beginning to agitate Steele. The word of you being a do-gooder gets out, and you just might have a hit squad called on you. In the Mojave, no one liked to have their dirty business threatened by some goody two shoes, and murder was a popular solution. He took his seat and ordered a bottle of whiskey and some water to go. Sandy Shake’s beaming smile drove Steele to hide deeper under his hat. “Don’t worry these are on the house. We all kindly appreciate what you did out there." She said, placing Steele's goods in front of him. "Thanks to you Goodsprings won't have any Powder Ganger trouble for a while.” “Thanks.” Steele answered, taking three water bottles and his whiskey; he sure as hell needed a drink right now. He left without another word and sold his salvage to the Goodsprings General Shop. When he left he caught another glimpse of the white, light beige haired unicorn he knew as the courier returning from the gas station; a relieved, scruffy looking traveler was behind him. The courier smiled as he neared Steele. His shoulder was bandaged and he seemed to have full use of it again. His new varmint rifle was neatly secured on his saddlebag; no doubt the work of his pipbuck’s inventory manager. Steele snickered and paid him no mind. He set off toward Nipton once more. He had wasted enough time and resources on this guy, and hated him already. *** Steele took another swig of water and levitated the bottle back into his bag. What I wouldn’t do for a nuclear winter. He bargained, cursing the Mojave's never ending, relentless heat. Steele had made steady progress toward Nipton, but as he neared heavy smoke filled the air and seemed to arise from the town's center. Steele drew his weapons. Nipton was a shithole, but it could sure as hell keep its ground against random bandits. Unless they were having a pleasant BBQ, then whatever was burning the town meant business. Steele considered just leaving the town, but he came there looking for a paycheck and whatever this mystery force was just might provide one through salvage. The town was now within reach and the air was thick with the smell of burning flesh and death. With no walls to contain them, an occasional scream and gunshot was heard through the empty streets. This doesn't look good. Steele thought, slowly creeping along the wall of someone’s home, pistols floating readily nearby. He peeked around the corner to catch a sickening sight; a Solar Legion decanus was calling out names, and once called, the poor pony stepped forward only to be executed via quick decapitation by the all too eager Legion recruits. There were nine total. Two recruits, three prime legionaries, three veterans, and finally an all too familiar decanus leading it all. A sizable group that was extremely dangerous. It was no surprise that they were able to take the town without a fight. Steele slid back into cover behind his wall. As another scream filled the air, followed by the sound of crimson painting the floor, Steele drifted into remembrance. The Solar Legion was the largest force from east. Having survived the bombing from the great war, the survivors of the badlands resorted to a brutal way of life following that of ancient zebra tribes. Knowing of the zebra’s success with using brutality, physical strength, ruthless military tactics, and the most powerful weapon of all, fear, the Solar Legion had ravaged the west, conquering surviving civilizations and seeking more land and power. Their military had been slightly adjusted after the model of pre-war royal guards of the Solar Empire, and their existence thrived on slaves, terrorism, fear, aggression, and mercilessness. It was from them that Steele had learned to never forgive. Back when he was just a lonely colt the Legion saw potential in his pain and anger, and took him under their protection. Here Steele learned how to suppress emotions, survive the wasteland, and most importantly, hate the Solar Legion. This phase of Steele’s life consisted of brutal training and torture. Like all recruits of the Solar Legion he had two choices: become a slave, or survive long enough to become a soldier. He chose to survive, but a few years of hell and being treated like a piece of shit, set his mind on desertion, branding him a traitor. He was lucky though, his performance during his training gave him a positive image in the eyes of Celestia, the heartless bitch with a glare colder than her non-existent heart. Of course Celestia wasn't her real name, but anyone who would question the self proclaimed princess would suffer a fate far more gruesome than the standard decapitation. Steele’s melee training and adaptation to pain helped him kill his competitors in his rise through the ranks, but in the end it was his good nature that pushed him out of the testosterone filled hell known as the Solar Legion. His good standing with the princess was what had kept a bounty off his head, but now that he was older his Legion relations were questionable. The fact that he had worked jobs against them only made things worse. The Solar Legion often patrolled the Mojave in hopes of gaining territory from the NLR so that they could more easily attack the Las Pegasus dam, a vital source of power both figuratively and literally. Their actions mainly consisted of spreading terror and fear, and spying on the NLR. Occasionally a skirmish would break out between the two mortal enemies, but no large battles have been fought since the first great battle for the dam. Since the NLR victory, Celestia has been collecting forces and preparing to strike again, and the NLR have been on the defensive ever since. Now what Legion could want from such a worthless town was the real question. It held no useful resources, and was too far away from Las Pegasus to be of much strategic use. All Steele knew was that Nipton was a viable source for dirty jobs, and served both the NLR and Legion. Could Legion have caught onto this and now wanted to make an example of this town? He wondered, remembering the Legion's passion in making bloody examples out of others. “Knew I saw something.” Said a Legion veteran, causing Steele to aim his revolvers at the veteran's face. “WE GOT AN INTRUDER HERE!” he yelled, alerting his brethren. “Shit.” Steele muttered. Legion soldiers were focused primarily on melee combat and had some pretty tough armor. Steele could probably hold them off at a distance, but there were too many of them to consider an actual attack. The Legionaries now turned to face Steele as he holstered his weapons and came out of his hiding spot, his spotter following proudly. Steele kept his hat down, mostly to avoid having to watch the fear-stricken citizens. He eventually stopped in front of the unicorn decanus whose earth-pony subordinates lined up behind him. “Well, if it isn’t the traitor known as Steele.” He said, his voice eerily calm, too calm for a ruthless murderer. The familiarity of the calmness however, was the most unsettling part for Steele, and he looked up to meet his captor’s eyes. “Glad you still remember me after all this time Vulpes. I’m guessing you still aren’t one for pleasantries, are you?” “Right now, pleasantries are the thing keeping you in my presence and not in line with the rest of the garbage.” He answered, motioning toward the Nipton citizens behind him as if they couldn't hear him. He maintained his unsettlingly calm voice. “Well shit, consider me lucky then.” Steele answered, spitting onto the ground. He took caution as to not spit near Vulpes’s feet. He needed to remain tough, but make it clear he wasn't here for a fight. Any disrespect would be a death sentence. “You thought you could escape this judgment?” Vulpes asked. “The fuck are you talking about? I just got here wanting to grab some water and move on. I saw smoke and wanted to make sure I could still get what I needed and go.” Steele answered. He knew he was lying, but whatever the Nipton folk were being punished for suggested that he did not want to be a part of it. Vulpes leaned in close, his brown muzzle nearly touching Steele’s, and maintained eye contact. It was an attempt to intimidate him, and oddly enough it was slightly working. “Why were you hiding then? Are you sure you weren’t spying?” He pressed. “When I got close enough I heard gunshots and screaming.” Steele answered, backing away and straightening his neck. “I guess it was wrong of me to not immediately assume Legion. Anyway, I hid behind that house because last I remember you and I aren't exactly friends, and by your standards that apparently makes us enemies.” “Oh, Steele it’s quite the opposite with you. If we were enemies as you suggested, then one of these recruits would have had the opportunity to bring down a dangerous traitor.” He answered, keeping his calm voice. He was beginning to unnerve Steele more than ever, but being on friendly terms did mean he might get to live, so he tried his luck and pressed further. “Oh, and what in your opinion makes me friends with a monster like you?” Vulpes laughed an uneasy laugh. One that had no emotion behind it at all. Such an action from a man like him was truly terrifying as high ranking Legionaries only laughed when they had just finished ruthlessly decimating their opponents, and that meant Steele wasn’t exactly on safe ground just yet. The uneasiness of Vulpes’s men behind him suggested the same as seeing their emotionless leader fake a laugh must have been utterly horrifying. “I have a lot to thank you for Steele. If you had not run off to become the traitorous scum you are now, then I would never have been able to surpass you in training. I have my position thanks to you, and intend to return the favor of sparing your life in return. The next time we do battle, I can rightfully spare you no mercy.” Vulpes answered, a mad eagerness in his tone replaced the eerie calmness. Steele cleared his throat. He knew what Vulpes was talking about. Back in his days as a Legion soldier Vulpes was a fellow competitor and an actual friend. They shared food and stories, but eventually became nothing more than competitors for better ranks in the army. He had ranked up equally with Vulpes and was supposed to fight him to the death for a higher position, but left before he could compete. Steele was far more ruthless back then, and would have easily killed Vulpes if given no other choice. His larger build would have ensured that, but with him gone Vulpes easily took care of his equal and progressed through the ranks, gaining body mass in the process. With further legion training, Vulpes now possessed a bulkier, more earth pony like build and posed a serious threat Steele if he decided to strike now. “Well alright then. Glad I could help an old buddy out. Now, if you excuse me.” Steele said, turning to get the hell out of there. “Not so fast. You have earned my mercy, but not the mercy of my subordinates.” Vulpes said, his eerie calmness once more present in his voice. Shit. Steele knew this wasn't going to be that easy. He turned to face Vulpes once more. “You say you do not know why this town deserves its punishment, and that you have no part of it. If so, then you will not mind taking part in the execution of justice. This town was full of thugs and criminals. Its residents whored themselves out to all, even Legion soldiers. This town deserves to be punished for its sins, and it will be made an example of the chaos and evil that the Solar Legion will not tolerate.” Damn, he should have known this was part of the Legion’s terrorist campaign. Steele couldn’t lie, Nipton was full of a lot of assholes and thieves, but even they did not deserve such punishment. “What do you want me to do?” Steele questioned. Anything that Legion would want him to do couldn't be good. “I have designed a lottery. Based on their numbers, the players will be rewarded with a different fate. Those with a certain set of numbers will be given swift deaths, others will be crucified, some will have the honor of becoming Legion slaves, and the winners will live. All I ask is that you show your support to Legion’s movements toward peace, and give one of these sinners the fate that they deserve.” “So you have me do your dirty work again, fine. I’ll bite, but only cause I see some of these bastards are Powder Gangers and deserve what they’re getting.” Steele lied; in truth he felt uneasy and bare in front of the doomed citizens. Vulpes smiled and motioned toward a recruit. He had brought him a bag of random paper clippings. Each was numbered, and Vulpes used his magic to select a random paper. “Looks like we have a winner.” He announced, sending a desperate wave of hope through the pitiful citizens. “Number five hundred forty two.” “That’s me!” yelled a Powder Ganger. He was waving his ticket around, but was soon restricted by two legionaries and brought forth before Steele; Vulpes watched gleefully behind him. “Hey what gives? I thought you said I won?” He complained, squirming in his captor’s tight hold. “Yes, you did win. You won second place. And the prize for second is you get to live.” Vulpes began. “Then let me go!” The Ganger begged. “You won second place, than means you get to live, but we certainly can’t have you running around committing crimes anymore. You weren’t that lucky.” Vulpes teased, not showing the sick pleasure he was getting from watching the color drain from the unfortunate pony's face. “What are you going to do to me!?” He panicked, earning a strong punch to his head from one of the legionaries restricting him. “As I said, we can't have you running around anymore." Vulpes paused, boring an icy stare at his victim. "So we break your legs.” He finished, taking a sickening satisfaction in dealing out the fate of the gangster. A legion veteran dropped a large hammer at Steele’s feet and grunted. Steele grasped it with his magic and glared at Vulpes. “This is sick.” He said. “This is justice.” Vulpes answered. Steele returned his attention to the scared gangster; he felt sick. “No man, no. Please man, you’re not one of them man. You can’t do this, please I beg you. YOU CAN’T DO THIS!” He pleaded. This was the sickening behavior that forced Steele out of the Legion ranks to begin with, but this was also his ticket to freedom. He sighed, raising the hammer higher, this guy was a monster and deserved death, and although he might not deserve this cruel of a punishment, he stood between Steele and survival, and that was a bad place to be for a Powder Ganger. The hammer came down quickly, and the sound of bones shattering was masked by the agonizing screams of the gangster as he struggled to break free. A few more strikes, and the gangster had passed out from pain, his body carelessly tossed to the side by the Legionaries. Steele dropped the hammer and glared at Vulpes for a moment before taking off. “Spread the word of the Solar Legion Steele; let the people know their liberation approaches.” Vulpes shouted after him. Fucking bastard. Steele thought. He had crippled a man, and left a whole town to die. The nagging sickness in his stomach finally got to him, and he vomited once out of the town’s borders. He was going to make Vulpes pay one day, but for now he did what he had to in order to survive. Unlike the stable dweller, he knew when not to play hero. Jobless, no destination in mind, and night approaching quickly, Steele decided to hunker down at some ranch shack. The owner seemed to be missing, and the bed was more than just a mattress, so this was more that what Steele could have asked for. He plopped down onto the mattress, sending dust everywhere, and fished out his old beat up alarm clock. The dam thing wasn’t worth half of what the old gem powering it was, but it was better than nothing. Steele placed it on the drawer next to him and forced his eyes shut. He just wanted today to end.
Chapter TwoThe calm snoring of a worn out traveler was cut short as two strong earth ponies burst through the door of the old ranch shed. Steele woke up abruptly only to be punched in the face and restrained. His head spinning and vision fading, he only managed to catch the distinguishable armor of his attackers; it resembled that of the old royal guards, and Steele knew he was in deep shit. A few more moments of being dragged along the ground, and his captors dropped his body at the feet of his favorite decanus. “Steele. I thought a clever snake like you would know better than to hide right under the sun’s rays.” Spoke the unnervingly calm voice. “What.... what are you going to do to me?” Steele asked. This was no time to act macho. Genuine fear replaced bravado, and to Vulpes’s amusement Steele groveled like every other weakling in the Mojave. “Execute Justice.” Vulpes answered. “You broke a man’s legs without him wronging you in any way. You deserve to suffer like he did. An eye for an eye. His legs for yours.” Vulpes explained, waving his hoof around as if to explain a trivial matter. “No! You can’t! You forced me to do that!” Steele yelled, but it was all in vain. He was restrained again, and his legs were held in place the same way the Powder Ganger’s legs were. Steele looked up to meet Vulpes’s smile as a Legion veteran swung a large bloody hammer onto Steele’s right knee. “No!” Steele screamed. The sound of bone shattering was mind-numbing, and pain washed over Steele, seeping into every crack as it drowned him in burning agony. He writhed in the throbbing pain, enduring wave after wave of rhythmic torture. Steele screamed and violently recoiled into reality. His alarm had been going off for a few minutes now, and he magically silenced it to prevent it from giving away his position. “Just a bad dream.” He realized, taking a deep breath and wiping the cold sweat off his face. The Mojave finds ways to get under your skin. It haunts you, grinds away at your body, and batters your mind until you wear away like the sand that stretches as far as the eye can see. You could act as tough as you wanted to, but the guilt death entails never escapes the mind, not even for ponies as cold as Steele. Steele took a few moments to calm down. It felt like there was someone in his head, beating the inside of his forehead with a hammer, demanding freedom from the dark confines of his mind. He finished his second to last water bottle, and angrily shook the empty apple whiskey bottle, damning it for not containing the liquid cure to his headache and guilt. He put on his hat, checked his gear, and left his stupid alarm clock to rust. Steele was hungry, really hungry, and food took priority as he pondered as to where he might satisfy his ravaging hunger. He couldn't go back to Nipton, that place was off limits at the moment, so the only place left was wherever this endless desert led him to. He picked a direction and began to walk, hunger motivating him to press onward. His path brought him to nothing more than steep hills and rocks. He was about to pick another direction, but the rocky cliff to his right seemed like it had an opening, and his curiosity and empty stomach led him to find that there was an old weather damaged wood door. Anything could lay behind it, either death or profitable goods would be found. Such a decision was usually made on a full stomach, but with it growling in protest Steele convinced himself he had no other choice other than raid whatever was behind that door. He swung it open and stepped into a dark cave; a few gem powered lanterns provided the only illumination in the form of dim, green flame. I'm going to regret this. Steele thought before descending further into what seemed like an endlessly winding cave. A few moments of travel and he started to feel sick. Either the emptiness of his stomach was getting to him, or something was not right with this cave. As Steele’s hooves clicked against the rocky floor, sending echoes throughout the cave, he noticed that the only life here came from green glowing mushrooms; no doubt the result of radioactivity. Once the idea of this cave being nothing more than a radioactive stone casket for some unlucky traveler clicked, Steele began to turn back, but stopped in his tracks when a barely audible hissing noise caught his attention. Steam? Here? There aren't any pipes around here, how could there be steam? He pondered. Unfortunately, the realization hit him harder than the over-sized mutated rat that had dug its teeth into his armor. He screamed as its hardened teeth bit into one of his armor’s plates, crushing the forearm underneath. Steele drew Mustang and Sally in time to tear a hole in his attacker’s head, but the screaming and gunshots had attracted a lot more rats, calling them to the source of their potential meal. “May the goddesses forgive me for what I’ve done!” He yelled, being forced deeper into the cave. Strangely enough, he felt that if he was going to die then he might as well ask for forgiveness, because wherever he was going wasn't going to be pretty. Steele ran through the cave, firing into the swarm of rats behind him and leaping over radioactive barrels. “That explains the Celestia damned rats.” He thought out loud. With each time he looked back a new surge of adrenaline coursed through his body. The swarm was so thick that the thin hallways could not support them all, and many were jumping and tripping over one another to get at the tasty new meal running away from them. “Luna fuck me with her horn!” Steele screamed, counting his blessings as he magically swung the heavy metal door, and once behind it, slammed his whole weight into it. The rat swarm behind him squealed in protest, and a few rats managed to squeeze their heads through the door. Steele shot them, and to his relief, his magic and body weight were enough to close the door despite the protest of its rusty hinges. Steele slide against the door, revolvers drawn, and took a moment to have the adrenaline wear off. This was more excitement than he asked for, and now it seems like he was trapped and left to die. He was never a religious pony, the Goddesses and their glory were only colt tales to him, but despite the bastardizations of their perfection from the NLR and Solar Legion, Steele had to admit that he was a bit more than just lucky, and thanked the Goddesses for his safety. All those stories couldn't be made up, could they? He hoped. The nights by his mother and the fireplace had to mean something. She had often told him that Equestria used to be lush and beautiful, that death and destruction were non-existent. Often he would find comfort in his mother’s soothing voice as she sung stories of beautiful princesses capable of love and tolerance. Steele drifted back into reality and stood up, shaking the bullshit out of his head. The radiation was getting to him, and the Mojave was far from a children’s tale of wonders and peace. Steele examined his soon to be grave, and found an old desk. A few very old, intact notes and a busted stabletech terminal sat on top of it. He read began to read the first note, noticing that the lightly written words appeared to be the work of a unicorn mare. Research Log # 32: It’s Dr.Livingworth again. I’m still mad at the other followers of the apocalypse for forcing Bill and I to study this radiation filled shithole. Nothings changed in the last few weeks. The rats keep getting bigger and more aggressive. Today Bill had to take out four of them as they attacked our lab; they've never had the nerve to do that before, but it seems that the lack of food and added radiation are making them more desperate. Honestly I don't know how I would have ever survived had Bill not been here to save me. I mean Luna dam does he look good when he uses that gun of his. He’s the only reason I still haven't left this place; I would never want to make myself look bad in front of him. He was saved by the followers, and is really devoted to help them. I just can't abandon this project, he’d just hate me if I did. Oh I wish I knew how he feels about me, if he’d ever forgive me if I gave up this stupid task. I hope he never reads these, but a part of me still wants him to, just to see how he would react. Oh well, back to eating canned food and studying the radioactive rat corpses Bill patiently salvages for me. Bill’s Diary: I’m getting tired of sitting here. I appreciate what the followers did for me, but sometimes I think they aren’t the best example of “knowledge keepers”. I probably would have left had it not been for the doctor. She’s so kind and pretty, I don't know how I would have ever lasted had it not been for her medical expertise. She’s so modest too; when she was patching up my leg after a rat bite, she blushed and turned away when I told her how great of a doctor she was; her cute little glasses nearly fell off. I don’t know how much longer we have to stay here, but I promise to keep her safe. I guess she’s just worth living for. Dear Celestia I hope she doesn't read these. If she found out I made that joke, she’d kill me. The rats have been getting more vicious. I’m afraid my trusty old Ratslayer might not be enough. Either way, I’ll stay here as long as the doctor needs to, I’d never let her down. Steele stopped reading; he hated to get into the dead’s affairs. There were enough things to trouble his conscience, but he couldn't help but read the last note. After all, it might contain info on how to get the hell out of here. To his dismay the last note was stained with darkened circles; either blood or tears. Steele tried to reconsider, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him. Unlike Bill’s heavy magic-writing, the words were light and smooth, Dr. Livingworth’s work. Dr.Livingworth’s Note: To whoever reads this, I left behind the diaries of my co worker Bill and I. We have run out of food, and the rats have become completely feral. We are currently trapped by a hungry swarm outside the lab and are out of ideas. Bill wants to run out there and sacrifice himself so that I can run, but I just can't let him. Oddly enough, I was right about him liking me. I regret not telling him how I felt from the beginning. Maybe then we wouldn’t have to die. When Bill will fall asleep, I'll sneak out and use the few explosives we have on the rats. Bill is strong; he can take care of the few rats left behind. To whoever reads this, please give this to the Followers of the Apocalypse. And if you are reading this Bill, then please don’t be mad. I just wanted you to live and move on. I’m just a stupid, weak little mare who the Mojave will forget, but you are strong stallion who can make a difference. I love you Bill. Please don’t hate me. Steele stopped reading; he had read enough. Oddly enough he now felt like he needed to do something. He had invaded on the privacy of the dead, and in doing so needed to make it up to them by fulfilling their request. He carefully rolled up the notes and placed them in his saddlebag. No hints on how to get out, but maybe there was something left behind that could be used to help him. Steele looked around the room and noticed a small makeshift lab first. He salvaged the few healing potions and was grateful for the 5 new packs of radaway he now owned. Upon further inspection he found a few crates filled with food cans, but to the dismay of his upset stomach, they were all empty. Steele moved on the corner of the lab to find a makeshift bunk bed. There was a unicorn corpse on the bottom bunk, and judging by the gun it held, Steele knew this was Bill. Poor bastard must have found the notes and decided that he didn't want to live without the doctor. Looting corpses was a must for survival, and this case was no different, but knowing the history behind a lifeless body really made taking from it an uncomfortable process. Steele slowly levitated the beautiful rifle out from under the corpse and stepped back to examine it. He let out a low whistle once he got a better look. Normally he would sell any gun he came across since he didn't want the extra weight, and his gun’s ammo was expensive, but this was something else. The semi-automatic rifle had a black composite body, making it extremely light. It was also equipped with a 6x night scope, a silencer, and an extended magazine. This was truly a nice find, and the common 5.56 ammo for it would really go easy on Steele’s wallet. Upon further inspection it had a while rat skull painted on the side, and there was a set of tally marks above the name “Ratslayer”. Steele counted sixty nine total tallies, and shouldered the gun. This was his rifle now, and luckily the ammo crate by the bed gave him enough ammo to make his new toy useful. Steele's attention drifted to a vomit-green duffle bag under the bed, and upon further inspection he found what he had been looking for; three shiny metallic apples stared back at him from the dark interior of the bag. Steele levitated the grenades and asked the Goddesses for support before pulling the metal leaves and throwing the grenades behind the door. The cave shook as the grenades exploded, filling it with ear-shattering screeching. Steele reopened the heavy steel door, and the nasty stench of fried mutated rat organs strewn about hit his muzzle hard. He nearly dropped Ratslayer, but pushed forward. The explosions were enough to take care of most of the rats, and Steele had no trouble picking off the few that blocked his escape. Once outside Steele gasped for the fresh warm air, willing it to replace the horrid taste of roasted rat. Steele downed three radaways, and actually embraced the bitter taste. His moment of freedom and survival was short lived however, when his stomach reminded him of its presence. Steele downed his remaining water and traveled forward. To his relief he caught a campfire smoke trail not too far from the cave he just escaped. He used one of the hills to get a look at the potential food source; a Legion raid camp. Great.He thought sarcastically, smirking behind the scope of his rifle. There were four Legionaries total. Three prime, and one recruit; they appeared to be part of the Nipton raid considering there were two tied up Powder Gangers in the middle of the camp. No doubt they would be sold into slavery soon, but that didn't trouble Steele right now. A camp meant food, and this was an easy camp to take. It was the perfect plan, but as always something had to go to shit. To Steele’s dismay a familiar beige maned, white unicorn was taking aim at the Legionaries from another hill. He might have had a superior aiming advantage thanks to his pipbuck, but unfortunately it didn't make up for his terrible hiding skills. The Legionaries immediately started to attack him, spreading out and closing in on him quickly. The courier put up a good fight, killing the recruit and wounding a prime Legionary immediately, but there were too many of them for his slow firing gun to handle. Luckily, Steele was hungry, and therefore in the mood to help him. He positioned Ratslayer and began to silently take out the Legionaries. He only needed to fire three bullets. Once clear, he reloaded the magazine and shouldered his gun, regretting not waiting long enough to let the Legionaries kill his annoying problem. The courier was smiling and waving him over. Dam kid. Steele smirked. “Hey, thanks for the save again. Since you killed most of them and saved me, you deserve most of the loot.” He said. His genuine friendliness was a nice sight to see, but kindness was rare in these parts, and it only raised Steele’s suspicion. “What are you doing here?” Steele questioned bluntly as he eyed this courier of his. This was no time for being nice. He was hungry, and for all he knew, so was this courier. “Hey relax man. I don't know what your problem is, but I’m thanking you for saving me twice; you don’t have to be an asshole about it.” The courier answered, his easygoing nature was starting to rub off on Steele, and he reconsidered his hostilities. “Sorry. Near death and hunger tend to make a man impatient.” He explained. “Alright, that’s a start." The courier began, eyeing Steele with one of his eyebrows raised; for some odd reason he was curious about his mysterious hero. "I don't have any food, but there’s a supply tent here. We could split the goods soon as I let these guys go." He added, motioning at the tied up Gangers who eyed them nervously. "I talked to some poor guy in the nearby town. Poor bastard had his damn legs broken by these Legion assholes, and told me about these two. I mean I just don't know how the Legion could possibly use the Goddess's name like that. It’s sick.” He ranted, proceeding to untie the two Gangers, who thanked them and ran off. He returned his attention to Steele. “So, I answered your question, now I think you should answer mine. What’s your name?” This courier seemed like a nice guy, a bit too chatty and innocent for Steele’s taste, but his kindness was genuine. He actually risked his life for the two low life Powder Gangers without expecting a reward. Either he was some sort of saint, or that bullet must have done a number on his brain. Whatever. He was kind, and that earned Steele’s kindness as well. “Steele.” Was the reply. “Cool, that wasn't so hard now was it? My names Hermes, but I’m sure you could care less about that right now. Let’s eat first, then if you still want to, I could answer any questions you have. Deal?” He asked, offering his hoof and a warm smile. “I like you more already.” Steele answered, returning the gesture. This courier might have been smarter than he looked. The day soon became night and the two worn travelers took comfort in the warm glow of the campfire. With his stomach content, Steele decided to take Hermes up on his offer. “So mister Stable dweller, what stable did you escape?” He questioned. “Stable?" Hermes asked. "Oh right, the pipbuck and suit. Not mine actually. Doctor Mellowgrass gave them to me. I’m a courier, born and raised in the Mojave.” “Really? You're using that fancy pipbuck like you were born with it, and for a Mojave dweller you sure act like an oblivious stable dweller. I’ve never seen any Mojave survivor this oblivious of his surroundings and this bad at survival.” Steele answered. Hermes was visibly offended, but knowing Steele's harsh nature, he didn't let it get to him. “Not from this part of the Mojave." He answered bitterly. "I’ve never been this far west until I got my latest package, which wasn’t even mine to begin with. Some other courier died, and I got responsibility for his package. As for the survival part, well. Being a desert mail stallion doesn't mean you get to kill shit on a daily basis like you mister macho." He explained, pushing an accusing hoof at Steele's chest before laying down and staring up at the night sky. "Hell I only do well because I got this fancy computer strapped to my arm.” He finished. Steele noticed Hermes had a terrible poker face, and his easy going nature did a poor job of hiding his hurt feelings. “Whoa relax. Just thought you’d rather hear it from me before thinking you can play hero whenever you want. The Mojave isn't a place for nice guys, and your heroism is just going to get you killed.” “Well why can’t it be a place for good ponies?" Hermes exclaimed, turning to his side and facing Steele. "I mean if everyone wants to be a selfish asshole like you, then obviously nice guys won’t last long. You've gotta start somewhere. I might not be the survivor badass you are, but my profession at least taught me that kindness goes a long way.” Steele stared the courier down. He sure had a lot of guts insulting Steele so openly, and that caught his attention. “Ok kid, I see your point. Hell I used to play hero too." Steele yielded, his attention drifting to the past. "Didn't get me far though. A saint in hell won't last long. Feel free to keep trying to make the Mojave a better place, just don't go on dragging me into it.” Hermes might have been an ignorant fool, but so was Steele a few years back. Who knows? Maybe the stories of Equestria thriving on peace and kindness were true. Maybe Hermes could make a difference, or maybe Steele’s brain was still irradiated from that cave and it was making him irrationally kind. “You used to be kind? See, I was starting to lose hope in miracles, but that... that sure is something." Hermes chuckled. “Can it smart ass.” Steele laughed. It felt good to stretch those muscles again. “Holy shit! He’s laughing now! Luna strike me dead, he’s gone insane.” Hermes responded, laughing as well. “Alright that’s enough.” Steele said, breaking the light mood as fast as it had come. “And he’s back.” Hermes answered gloomily as he rolled his eyes and sighed. Steele was a tougher bastard to crack than he thought. “This package of yours. What is it, and why the hell did you decide Mr. House was a good client?” Steele asked, getting back to the idea of profit. “I have no idea. It’s just a trinket to me. I had no idea it belonged to Mr. House until I was digging my own grave. Some whack job named Lucky Star and his two goons took it from me; he seemed to give it more value than I would have ever thought it deserved. Hell, the pay check was good, and the package was light. At the time it didn't seem like a big deal, but apparently I was damn wrong.” "Trinket?" Steele pressed. "Yea, a little silver lightning bolt. Must have belonged to a necklace or something, I don't know. Lucky Star seemed to give it more credit then it deserved, least he was willing to kill me over it." Hermes explained, scratching the back of his head. “Welcome to the Mojave. Either way, what do you plan to do about it now?” Steele asked, taking a sip from his new bottle of apple whiskey. Hermes plopped down onto his back again and stared into the night sky, letting his mind drift for a bit. “Right now I plan to find that Lucky Star bastard, kill him, and take what's mine. What I’d do from there? I have no idea.” Hermes finally answered. “Not as soft as I thought kid. I can respect that. You keep that attitude and you just might survive this shit hole.” Steele complimented, taking a swig of his whiskey and gazing into the distance. “Say, what are you doing here? I mean, I don't have any family to go back to, but you might.” Hermes asked, never breaking eye contact with the sky. Steele sighed and leaned back to look at the sky as well. He often asked himself that question, but never came up with a definite answer. “Surviving. Just like everypony else.” He answered gravely. “And you never get bored of that? You never think, “Hey, I want something more; to do something no one will ever forget.” To be someone that makes Equestria better?” Hermes asked, swinging his hoof in the air as he explained. “I don't think I’m cut out for that kid. I’m no saint. There are far better ponies out there than me.” “Oh come on, you’re a badass. You can kill stuff without needing a computer like mine, and you seem pretty smart for someone who doesn't talk much.” “I appreciate the flattery, but I’m not convinced just yet.” Steele answered. This kid was spewing way too much mushy bullshit for Steele's taste, but being called something other than an asshole was nice. “Say, why don't you come with me? I could use your help, and you might want the company and support.” Hermes asked, leaning on one arm and staring at Steele through the fire. Steele laughed, making Hermes frown. “Look kid, I don't exactly call you safe to be around. Sure you could hold your ground, but you aren’t exactly survival hardened.” “Exactly!” Hermes exclaimed, sitting upright. I need someone to help keep me alive. Right about now you’re the only friend I have. I know I’m not the toughest out there, but take this as the first step in doing something kind. Everyone has to start somewhere, so why don't you start with helping me?” It scared Steele as to how much he wanted to take Hermes up on his offer. The kid was oblivious, too nice, and way too chatty. But there was something about him. Something that made Steele want to go back to the good old days of being a good samaritan and make the Mojave the children’s tale he so often heard about. He looked away from Hermes and stared off into the distance. "Well?" Hermes asked. He was silenced when Steele raised a hoof. I'm going to regret this. Steele thought. He sighed and lowered his hoof. “Kid, if you want me to follow you then there are going to have to be some rules.” Hermes’s grin couldn’t fit his face, and it sickened Steele. “Ok, number one is I’m the boss. My word is final. I’m not going to get myself killed because you thought that being a hero is the right thing to do. Two, resources are under my control. I don't want to see a single cap spent without me knowing it. Rule number three is I get to change and make up more rules as I go. I don't want to focus on leadership just because I have a smart ass following me around; deal?” Steele asked, extending his hoof. Having a companion was... nice. Yep, it's definitely the radiation. Hermes smiled and shook Steele’s hoof. “Deal.” He said. “Alright, then my first order is go to sleep. It’s late, and I don't want to wake up to Legion soldiers selling me into slavery because I overslept in their camp.” “Yes, sir!” Hermes answered excitedly, getting up to get to one of the faded green Legion tents. Steele grabbed a tent. He knew he was crazy, but right now he was glad he was. Trust wasn't earned so easily in the Mojave, and a friend was a valuable thing to have. His colt tales told him that friendship was magic; who knows? Maybe, just maybe they were onto something. Either way, another pair of eyes that had a targeting computer at their disposal might come in handy. Hermes wasn’t perfect, but then again neither was Steele. He might come in handy, but that was a problem for another day and Steele fell asleep.
Chapter ThreeSteele woke to the quiet sound of wind and Hermes’s snoring. He left his tent and observed his surroundings. There weren't any Legion patrols yet, but they would be expecting a news report soon and would come running if they failed to get one. Steele glanced over to Hermes’s tent. He was still sound asleep and didn't show signs of waking soon. Last night’s promises hit Steele hard, and regret settled in. That radiation sure did a number on his brain. Steele sighed. He could just leave his new problem and responsibility behind. Leave and never return, but that wasn't who he was. He made a promise, and he intended to keep it. “Wake up. Legion’s going to get here soon and I rather not risk our lives for nothing.” Steele commanded, kicking Hermes and instantly waking him up. “Huh? What? Oh, sup boss. What do you need me to do?” Hermes asked, rubbing his eyes and leisurely stretching. Hermes’s laid back attitude really got to Steele, but he took a deep breath and kept his cool. “Can you cook? I’m the better shot and could keep watch, but I want to know our resources are being used properly.” “Uhh, yea I can cook. My childhood was either learning to cook, or die of starvation.” Hermes answered. He was stretching now, and seemed too carefree for Steele’s liking. “Good. You’re in charge of breakfast. I’ll keep watch, but you better keep your gun near you. Legion is smarter than they look when it comes to killing.” Steele commanded, magically tossing their saddlebags at Hermes’s feet. “You got it boss man.” Hermes answered. He began to whistle as he unpacked the bags and retrieved cooking supplies. Boss man? I like that. Steele thought as he positioned himself and Ratslayer on a nearby hill. It was definitely better than all the other things he got called. After a few minutes of sitting motionless, the smell of food caught the attention of Steele’s empty stomach and he asked Hermes on his progress. “Breakfast’s ready. Any sign of Legion?" “No. We’re in the clear for now, but we better eat fast.” Steele answered, sliding down from his hill and trotting over to the campfire. He took a seat across from Hermes. “Credit’s due where credit’s due, and I have to say this looks pretty good.” Steele complimented, rubbing his hoofs together as he glanced over the warm squirrel stew and gecko steak. “Wow an actual compliment. I feel like we are getting along already.” Hermes answered, magically raising his bowl and taking a sip. “Hey, I call things how I see them. If you earn my praise, I’ll let you know.” Steele dug in, and quietly savored the rich flavor. “I’ll keep that in mind. Now where do you think we should go after this?” Hermes asked, noting Steele's satisfaction. “I was going to ask you the same thing. You’re the one who was supposed to be searching for this Lucky Star guy. You should know where he was headed.” “Then that means we head to some town called Novac. Last I heard, he passed by it and someone there might know where he went. Do you know where that is?” “Yea. It’s a small town. Used to be a place where carriages can stop and rest before heading to Las Pegasus. Before the Great War it served as a busy refueling station for the Pegasus army vehicles, but now it’s just a sad little town that has nothing more than a few farms and a giant fabricated manticore called Marty.” Steele answered, finishing his soup and moving onto his steak. “Manticore statue? Why the hell would they have a manticore statue for an attraction, not to mention call it Marty? They do know there are stories of those things ripping ponies apart further east, right?” Hermes asked, his bowl paused in mid-air as he struggled to comprehend the reasoning behind the old world’s actions. “Tourists. Legend has it the town was a huge manticore spot in the past, and the thing was built as a tourist attraction. No need to worry now though, any manticores that might have been there before are long gone. All that’s left is a pathetic little town and its distrusting population. I think it still has a few farms, and a store or two; nothing special. Hopefully the residents would be willing to tell us what we need and be done with us.” “Hopefully. Say, you’ve ever been to Las Pegasus?” Hermes asked, catching Steele mid-bite. “No. Place is too big and grand for me, the entire place is thieving shit-hole anyway. The NLR controls half of it while the other half is controlled by Mister House. There’s a large fee to get into it, and once you do you have to watch your back for cut-throats and pickpockets. The locals stationed there are usually intoxicated and easy to manipulate.” “Sounds like a fun city. Either way, you don’t seem to like the NLR. Why not? They seem like a decent power, and do what they can to protect those under their control. It feels peaceful with them around.” Hermes asked, raising an eyebrow as Steele lowered his Steak “Peaceful? The NLR? Ha, kid for your sake I hope you're joking! Those bastards only care about their interests and their interests alone. They say they will protect those under their control, but they always bite off more than they can chew and end up with poorly coordinated pockets of power. The damn bastards fake a military like control, but their soldiers look forward to nothing more than getting drunk and carefree at the end of their shifts. They’re a bunch of useless bastards that use their vast resources to bully their way to the top, and realize that the top brings too many responsibilities for them to handle. At Least Legion won’t try and be something they’re not, the New Lunar Republic will lie to you, steal from you, and effortlessly toss you away when you lose value! ” Steele was standing now. He had gotten worked up, and upon seeing Hermes’s worry, settling back down and continued to work on his steak. “That’s quite a description.” Hermes started, breaking the awkward silence. “Call it a guess, but I think you have some personal issues with them as well.” “You can say that.” Steele answered gruffly, finishing his steak and refusing to give away more information. “You wanna tell me what it is?” Hermes pressed. Steele wasn’t the kind you wanted to push, but then again he didn't seem like the kind to accept having a companion. Steele sighed. Revealing his past was not something he was comfortable doing, but he passed a lot of his comfort zones as it was. “When I ran away from Legion I was on my own for a while. I ran a few bodyguard jobs here and there, but eventually I ended up working for the NLR. The military feel, honest pay, and a general feeling of authority and control felt good. It felt like my superiors knew what they were doing, and actually cared about us and the people we needed to protect. The fact that they overlooked my Legion background was more than enough to win my loyalty. Things were pretty sweet for a while, but nothing good ever lasts with those bastards." Steele snickered, sickened by the sheer thought of the good for nothing bullies. "One night the patrol I was assigned to was tasked with regaining control over a town Legion took from us. Everything seemed normal at the time. Go in, kill some Legion bastards terrorizing the town, and regain the town’s support. Easy right? But when we got to the town there were no Legion soldiers. Sure there was a Legion flag, but the only ones there were the sad-faced and abused citizens that had enough problems of their own to deal with. Our orders were simple: take all their supplies and kill anyone who refused to hand them over. When questioned, the answer was that the supplies already belonged to the NLR, and they were just taking them back." "What kind of supplies?" Hermes asked. He knew he was treading on fragile ground. Steele looked up and got edged closer to Hermes. "They were looting innocent civilians! Stallions and mares alike were all gunned down if they refused to give away what little they had. The worst part is no one questioned it, no one cared. Orders were orders, and everything they did had a “higher” purpose; to serve the moon and her supporters. I just stood there, unable to understand how such a "powerful, honored, respectable army could so heartlessly raid the very citizens they swore to protect." Steele explained, spiting venom as he described the NLR with utter hatred. "I stood up to the others as they asked a poor farmer to hand over his crop. They called me a lousy Legion mongrel and the patrol leader, a large earth stallion, punched me hard enough to send me into the arms of the farmer I was trying to protect. Not even those I had called friends stood up for me. I was mad, and Legion instinct kicked in. I was stupid enough to strike back. Broke his nose, but the bastard took out his knife. Missed my eye and caught my chin; hell I screamed, but pain wasn't going to stop me this time either. I drew my guns and put them against his stupid fat head. Only then did he know I meant business. NLR training had improved my marksmanship, and I was one of the best shots in our squad. If I took out my guns, especially after my melee training, then I meant business, we all knew that. To top it off my so called friends aimed at my head as my former “superior” and I glared at each other." "Was he scared?" Hermes asked. "Those NLR guys can get pretty big, and I've never seen one of em give up a fight before." Steele laughed, unnerving Hermes slightly. "Yeah if they know they've got the adventage they'll hunt you down, but soon as their precious little lives are in danger their duty and heroism gets tucked in between their legs, just like their tail as they run away." "So he was scared, right?" "Don't know, he had the numbers, if he wanted to, he knew that if shit hit the fan I wouldn't be walking out of there alive; problem was, he knew I didn't care. Eventually he dropped his knife and called me an ungrateful piece of shit. I had done enough favors for the NLR to earn my freedom, and they all left. They swore that if they ever saw me again, then they’d kill me. From then on I had this scar to remind me to not risk my neck for others, and to never trust the NLR. They do things for themselves and themselves alone. I didn’t need to be any different.” Steele finished. He touched his scar and sighed. “I’m sorry to hear that.” Hermes said. He was at a loss for words. He had never heard of this side of the NLR before, and in this light they seemed just as bad as Legion. “I can’t say they’re all bad though. There are some pretty tough and level headed soldiers out there. They do a pretty good job of keeping their word, but if command has their heads in their asses, it doesn't matter. Either way it’s best to leave them alone all together. They are well trained, and usually well equipped. Messing with them isn’t the smartest idea.” “I can agree with that much.” Hermes replied. The duo packed their gear and under Steele’s direction began to travel toward Novac. *** “So this is Novac?” Hermes asked, obviously disappointed by the small and boring town. The manticore statue had begun to wear away, and its colors were long since faded. The town seemed quiet and judging; its citizens eyed the two new travelers with suspicion. A small tent made up a food store, while another served as the medical tent. A small hotel nearby the manticore shop completed the town. Depression and sadness came to mind. “It’s a quiet town. Try and keep your head down, and we won’t have any problems with the citizens." Steele explained. He stopped and faced Hermes. "How good are you with bargaining? Can I trust you won’t get ripped off?” “Hey. I’m a courier, managing the price and value of things is something I had a lot of practice doing.” Hermes bragged, taking offence at the lack of Steele’s trust. “Alright. Get us as much ammo as you reasonably can, enough medical supplies to last us both a week, and food for three days. Most importantly do it without spending 300 caps. You have our Legion salvage, that’s good gear so use it well.” Steele instructed. He reinforced his instructions with a cold stare. This was the first time he was letting someone manage his money, and the courier didn't exactly look like a cutthroat merchant. “Yea, yea. I got it boss man. Just remember the guy’s name is Lucky Star.” Hermes answered, rolling his eyes and setting off toward the manticore shop. Steele was certain Hermes only heard “buy some souvenirs from the shop” and regretted his decision already, but if he was going to travel with this guy, then he better learn to trust him. He looked around and found that most of the residents were eyeing him. Under the cover of his hat he began to look for answers at the medical tent. There he met the local town’s doctor; Straus, a perky earth pony that seemed to be a few tools short of a set. She was in her tent, taking notes as her two bodyguards hesitantly let Steele in to see her. “Excuse me.” Steele began. “Oh Hey! A new face in town. Say you wouldn't have any sterile medical supplies would ya?” She interrupted. Steele shook off the immediate shock, and continued more hesitantly. This pony looked like she might be the one needing medical attention, not giving it. “I can’t say I do. Anyway I’m looking for a pony in a fancy suit by the name of Lucky Star. He passed by here not too long ago, and I was wondering if you know where he went.” Straus's mood immediate dropped and she ignored Steele to return to her notes. “Look I’m really busy and if you don’t have any medical supplies you are willing to sell, then please leave.” Straus answered, scribbling something down and mumbling to herself. She was beginning to unnerve Steele. He didn’t like being courteous only to get cast aside by some ragtag doctor. He approached her desk, magically moved away her notes, and plopped his hoofs on her desk aggressively. “Maybe I wasn’t clear the first time. I’m looking for a unicorn stallion named Lucky Star. Have you seen him?” Steele demanded, a rising authority in his voice. He noticed the guards were beginning to get antsy and marked their position in case he needed to strike back. “Look I have no idea who the hell you are looking for, and even if I did I certainly wouldn’t tell a random crazy stranger like you. Now if you don’t need my services, then I’d like to ask you to leave.” Strause answered nervously. There was a strain in her voice, and Steele knew he had frightened her. He considered pressing her further, but decided against it. Her guards might cause trouble, and if he was hurt, then getting on the doctors good side was a better idea. Steele let out a low growl that resembled a thanks, and to the relief of the guards, stormed out without saying another word. It was no use. This town hated strangers, and his appearance and encounter with the doctor only made things worse. He was about to give up and find Hermes, but was stopped when he heard the crazy ramblings of a homeless earth pony. “Ha ha, new guy’s looking for the fancy man. Old No-bark knows where he went. Yes he does, ha ha.” He rambled, laughing and snickering to himself. “You know where Lucky Star went?” Steele asked, scaring No-bark. Apparently the crazy pony thought no one could hear him and Steele just read his mind. “How did you know? You some kind of mind reader or something? Ol No-bark is on to you mind reader, yes he his.” He demanded, leaning uncomfortably close to Steele. “Look. Can you please tell me where he went?” Steele asked. This guy reeked, and the sooner Steele could leave, the sooner he could find some place to hurl. “No-bark doesn’t negotiate with crazies and strangers.” “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Steele said. “Oh no. No-bark ain’t no joker. Ponies call me No-bark cause my barks got some bite to em. I’m no joker.” Steele sighed. This stupid quest was already beginning to give him a headache. He looked over No-bark who just stood there, watching him silently, judging him. This guy was absolutely crazy, but he was the only one willing to give up any information. “Okay. What do you want me to do to prove myself?” “Well at night Ol’ No-bark sees glowing green ghosts running around the at the old Ministry of Awesome building. Sometimes they catch a pony or two, and other times they eat our brahmin. I say it’s old zebras that don’t know they’re dead and want to steal our rockets so they can fly to the moon and paint their king’s face on it.” He explained rapidly, a wicked smile on his lips that bled insanity. Steele backed up cautiously. “Okay. So let me get this straight. You want me to go and kill these,uh, zebra ghosts, and then you’ll tell me where Lucky Star went?” “Ol’ No-bark would sure appreciate it.” Steele face-hoofed and reconsidered his intelligence. “Fine. I’ll go take care of these “ghosts” and when I get back you better be ready to tell me where Lucky Star went.” Steele answered. He turned to leave, unable to believe he was going to go risk his life and supplies on some task that may not even reward him. If this was what being a good pony was, it sure sucked. He thought, nodding his head in disapproval. Hermes came back with two full saddlebags, and levitated Steele’s bag to him. “What’s up boss man? You look angry.” He asked. “Getting information has just been going swimmingly, and now we have to go kill some zebra ghosts or else some crazy hobo won’t tell us where Lucky Star went.” “Zebra ghosts?! Do those really exist?” Steele gave Hermes a questioning look, but shrugged it off. Seems like I'm going to be dealing with two idiots today. He concluded. “Fuck if I know. I doubt it, but the Mojave likes to throw surprises at you every so often." He answered sarcastically. "Anyway, we need to head out to the old Ministry of Awesome building up west. That’s where No-bark says the ghosts are coming from.” “All...alright.” Hermes said. There was a noticeable hesitance in his voice. “Don't be stupid." Steele snickered. Ghosts aren't real, but the dangers in an abandoned ministry building are, so stay on guard and for the love of Celestia don’t do anything stupid.” Hermes might have looked smart, but sometimes he acted like a complete idiot. “What do you know of all these Ministry buildings?” Hermes questioned, hoping to change the subject. “Not much. All I know is that the Ministry of Awesome was working with the Ministry of Wartime technology to develop weapons that could be effectively used in altitudes higher than that of any pegasus’s reach. Maybe even something that could be used in space. Either way, if that place has any pre-war security from the Ministry of Awesome, then we are going to be in a heap of trouble. So keep you head down, your eyes wide, and your ears clear for my instructions.” “Good old Steele. No matter what, he is never supportive, over-confident, and always criticizing.” Hermes mumbled, looking down as he walked. “Good old Steele kept you and himself alive. I think good old Steele deserves some respect.” Steele replied, sharing a light laugh with Hermes. Contrary to Steele’s previous beliefs, Hermes wasn’t absolutely terrible. Once the tip of the square building came into view the duo stopped simultaneously and drew their weapons. “Get low. Do you hear that?” Steel asked. “Four hostiles. Two down the road, one to the left, and the last one is moving around on the right.” Hermes responded. His seriousness both surprised and impressed Steele. “Get out of the road and follow me.” Steele commanded, trotting up to a hill overlooking the center road. Once on top the duo surveyed their surroundings. Their path was a winding road that curved sharply right and led to the main entrance of the testing facility. On either side of the road were steep hills, creating a valley like passage. Below them moved around four pony-like figures. “Fuck.” Steele cursed, looking through the sight of Ratslayer. “What? I can see the ponies, but it’s too dark to see who they belong to.” “Ghouls. Looks like we are going to have to be fighting a bunch of fucking zombies.” “Zombies?!” Hermes exclaimed. He had never had to deal with anything like that before, and the idea of the dead still trying to kill him was terrifying. “Yea. Don’t worry though. They’re fast and have good hearing, but are stupid and weak. Aim for the head and you’ll be fine." He instructed, re-aiming Ratslayer and observing the ghoul's position. "I’ll take out the two standing side by side. Can you take out the one further left? Once I’m done I’ll help you take out the roamer down right.” “Yea... yea I can do that.” Hermes reassured himself. He brought up his varmint rifle, and there was a faint glow in his eyes as his pipbuck’s targeting computer picked up critical points on the ghouls. Steele sighed and lowered his rifle. “Hermes, take a deep breath. I know first ghoul encounters are a pretty off putting but I need you to focus with me. Can you do that for me?” Steele asked, scanning Hermes for a confirmation. “Hell, getting reassuring words from you means it must be my lucky day. Yea, I can focus... thanks.” Hermes responded, smiling as he restarted his targeting computer. “I better not have a ghoul eat me from behind cause you ran away.” Steele added, using his magic to slowly squeeze the trigger. A pegasus ghoul was idly standing in the middle of the road. A shot rang out and bounced off the sidewalk next to her, causing her to turn and open her decaying mouth and wings in an attempt to scream. Her deflated lungs squeezed out a raspy shriek that was cut short as a bullet tore its way through her skull. Another boom, and her fellow ghoul’s body fell next to hers, lifeless once more to embrace the sweet finality of death. “Wasted a fucking bullet.” Steele cursed. Wasting no time, the courier easily popped the heads of the remaining ghouls with the help of his pipbuck; he rose and looked around. “I’m not detecting any more nearby, but it looks like there might be a few more up ahead.” “We got a few armored ones and possibly a glowing one up ahead. Stay on high ground. We can use our magic to get us down since taking them head on is too risky.” Steele answered, looking through his night sights. “Glowing ones?” Hermes asked, reloading his rifle. “Ghouls that are so irradiated they glow. The radiation heals them, and makes them harder to kill. It also lets them emit a blinding radioactive pulse, so if you see one of them begin to glow; cover your eyes.” “Will do.” Hermes answered nervously. The duo got to work and using the higher elevation and ranged weapons, they made quick work of the few wandering ghouls and were soon standing outside the ominous facility. “Some of these things are already dead and wearing cloaks.” Hermes observed. “Yea. I noticed that too, and it seems they are packing good gear too.” Steele said, levitating a worn out plasma rifle to Hermes. “I don’t use these fancy things, but you might. It’s faster than your gun, and more effective too.” Hermes accepted the gift hesitantly. “I only had a bit of practice, but thanks. These things go for quite a bit." He informed, looking over the rifle. "You sure you don’t want me to sell it later?” Hermes asked, eyeing his new prized possession. “I rather have effective backup than a few more bits weighing me down. Besides, I got all I need right here.” Steele said, drawing his prized pistols. “It’s going to be crowded in there, so check your ammo and scavenge quickly. That thing might be effective, but it’s worn and might jam.” “I’ll keep an eye on it.” Hermes confirmed. “But right about now I rather get this over with.” “You and me both.” Steele added, magically opening the door and swinging his pistols left to right. “Clear.” Hermes followed suit and gulped loudly as the door behind them creaked to a close. “What the hell is that?!” Hermes jumped. “Sh!” Steele silenced him. “Just a nightkin.” “That's some kind of monstrosity!” Hermes whispered loudly. “No, it’s a mutated earth pony that is junked up on stealth bucks.” “I know what the hell a super mutant is! But this... thing is bigger and blue.” “Like I said, nightkin. Elite super mutants junked up on stealth bucks. The poor bastards have all developed a dependence on them and are all insane now. Problem is, if they are around here we have much bigger problems than ghouls.” Steele explained, inspecting the barren room. It looked like a battle zone. A few ghouls lay strewn about, their corpses pulverized and deformed. Some were cloaked and armed with guns, but all were dead. Oddly enough next to some lay either a pile of glowing dust, or an oversized blue earth pony known as a nightkin. Steele didn’t know much about them other than the fact that they were extremely aggressive, dangerous, and worst of all invisible due to the stealth bucks. They stood twice as tall as any earth pony like a super mutant, but were more easily killed thanks to the side effects of prolonged stealth buck use. “Loot the dead ones for more ammo. I’ll keep-” “You there. Come to the upper level.” Interrupted an intercom voice. “What the?” Steele asked, returning Hermes’s confusion. A ghoul shrieked, and the duo immediately raised their weapons. “Should we trust them?” Hermes asked, quickly gathering microfusion cells from the dead ghouls. “We don’t have much of a choice right about now. Heads up!” Steele answered. Mustang and Sally roared, sending the attacking ghoul’s brains all over the wall. “We got a lot of them incoming!” Hermes panicked, his eyes lighting up with a bunch of little moving arrows. “Follow me!” Steele commanded. He sprinted down the hallway the ghoul came from and Hermes followed closely, shooting the ghouls following them. They navigated the twisting hallways with Steele taking lead and clearing the way with lead. A few dead ends, collapsed floors, locked doors, and curses later; and Steele knocked open a door leading to the room that contained the stairs ascending to the second level. “This way!” Steele yelled, taking off. “Comi- ahh, shit!” Hermes yelled, having tripped over one of the glowing piles of dust. He began to scramble for his rifle, having forgotten about his magic in his panic, but his advance was cut short as a hungry ghoul towered over him. Hermes stared straight into those dark, lifeless eyes; he fearfully watched the creature salivate with excitement over its prey. He was paralyzed with fear, and helpless to stop the decaying excuse for a pony open its mouth and dive for his face. A scream escaped his lungs as he only had enough time to bring up his hooves in defense before feeling a crimson liquid stain his white coat. The ghoul collapsed on him, lifeless once more, and Hermes scrambled backwards. “Get up. I got you covered.” Steele commanded, aiming down the doorway and firing at anything that came through. “Thanks.” Hermes mustered, still shell shocked. Steele followed, and the duo were stopped by a metal door and an intercom. “It’s open.” Informed the mysterious voice. Hermes glanced at Steele, who only shrugged and pointed forward in response. Hermes cleared the door and Steele followed closely. “Ew. Smoothskin...disgusting.” Greeted a unicorn dressed in a lab coat. He turned his muzzle away from the duo, seemingly disgusted by their mere presence. “Excuse me?” Answered Steele. “Hex, stop pestering our guests.” Commanded a soft and knowing voice.” Steele and Hermes directed their attention to the source of the voice and raised their weapons immediately. “Hex, stay back.” Hermes commanded. He put himself between Hex and the glowing ghoul who approached them. “Relax friend. We are the Bright brotherhood, there is no danger within these walls." The ghoul said, ignoring the weapons and knowingly looking over his guests. "I am Glowing Blight, and I asked Tech Hex here to summon you all.” He finished. "I think you forgot to inform your friends downstairs of your no danger policy." Steele smirked, keeping his weapons aimed at the ghoul. "While you're at it you might want to teach them how to talk too." A talking ghoul! Maybe I am going insane. Steele contemplated, eyeing the freak before him with caution. “What are you?” Hermes began before being pulled into a secluded corner out of earshot of Blight and Hex. “What the hell do you make of this?” Steele asked, hoping he wasn't on the verge of losing it. “Me? Hell this is the first time I’m killing ghouls, not to mention the first time one of them talks like a normal pony.” Hermes protested. He stole a glance at his hosts and caught them staring at the duo curiously. “I don’t trust these flesh eaters. I say we take care of our problem and leave. We’ll get what we need and Novac won’t have to deal with ghouls.” Steele suggested, nodding toward his guns. “Steele! These guys are asking for our help. It would do good to ask what they want first. Maybe they’ll leave.” Hermes answered, pushing Steele away in disgust before being pulled back. “Look. Do I need to remind you that one of those things just tried to eat you?" Steele asked. Hermes looked away, toward the floor. "I’m just saying we have one too many things to deal with as it is. I’ll leave the talking to you this time, but I sure as hell am tired of wasting ammo and endangering us for nothing.” Steele finished, taking a step back and eyeing Hermes as he mulled over what Steele had said. “It’s not always easy being a good pony.” Hermes said, walking away from Steele and confronting Blight once more. “Hello. My name is Hermes and this is Steele.” He started, motioning toward Steele who was now leaning against a wall and eyeing them from under his hat. “We came here because the town was having problems with ghouls. I’m sorry to say we have taken out your other followers, but we had no choice.” “I understand child. But worry not for those were not our brethren." Blight explained. He paused for a moment, and Hermes guessed it was a respectful gesture. "Poor children were lost and went mad; there was nothing we could do to help them, so we let them be." Steele snickered and Blight stopped to face him." I apologize, we understand they might have caused the neighboring town some trouble, but please understand that we simply couldn't leave without endangering ourselves." He pleaded, looking to Hermes for sympathy. "We have been using this facility to try and escape the harsh treatment of the Mojave and flee to the promised land, but a group of demons invaded us and chased us up here. We lost many of our flock, and the ones left behind have gone insane, but that is why we need your help. The demons have retreated to the basement, where our escape lies, and threaten to kill us if we ever come out.” “The sacred land?” Hermes asked, still mulling over the idea of a talking society of ghouls, not to mention one capable of scientific research. “The land in my visions." Blight stated obviously, almost as if Hermes was a fool for not knowing something so trivial. "The brotherhood and I have been working toward finding a way to get there. It is a land where my ghouls and I can escape the hatred and danger of the Mojave and live in peace. Of course without Hex’s help we would never have been able to make as much progress as we did.” Blight added. “Uh, huh. And Hex here is...?” “None of your business smooth skin.” Hex answered. “Hex, please help the others upstairs.” Blight commanded. Hex growled, but obediently went upstairs to do as he was told. “As I was saying. Hex here is a blessing bestowed onto us by the creator. He came to us one day, convinced he was a ghoul and wouldn’t believe us when we told him otherwise. Rather than sending him off, we accepted his help and he has been a vital key in our ascension to the sacred land.” "The creator, you mean the goddesses?" Hermes pressed. "Oh no your gods have forsaken us long ago, but the creator came to our aid and promised us safety and refuge in the sacred land." Blight explained. He seemed to take offence at being associated with the goddesses and Hermes didn't press further; he began to see the ghoul as the religious nut-job he was. “And the demons?” Steele asked. “Absolute monsters. They came in one day demanding stealth bucks, but when we told them that we had none to offer they went mad. They began to attack us, and forced us up here. My flock fought bravely, but even with our rifles we were no match. They made the basement their home, and now we cannot complete our journey after working so tirelessly and nearly finishing preparations.” Blight answered, his normally calm and knowing voice now seething with hatred. “So let me get this straight. We clear out your... “demons”, and you leave to complete your journey?” Steele asked, still skeptical as to how a band of ghouls would suddenly disappear. He concluded it was better to not know the details to this madness. “Simply put, we would appreciate it. I believe the creator has sent you two...ponies to make up for the sins your kind have brought onto ours.” “Ok then. We deal with the demons, and you leave.” Steele concluded. He opened the door and left without another word. “Wait for me!” Hermes shouted, rushing after him. “Thank you strangers!” Blight called after them. "You're really going to help these guys, huh Steele?" Hermes beamed. “I sure as hell ain’t going against any nightkin for those brainwashed religious zealots.” Steele replied gravely. Hermes stopped walking an stared at Steele, unable to understand his cold heartlessness. “But they said they’d leave." He claimed in protest. "They don’t look mean, and helping them out will solve everyone’s problems.” Hermes pleaded. “I can’t do this alone.” “Do you even know what a nightkin is?!” Steele screamed; he brought a hoof to his temple to restrain himself. He soon lowered it and glared at Hermes like he was mad. “No, but-" “No buts!" Steele interrupted, making Hermes wince and fold his ears. "I didn’t come here to die, and if you still want me to be in charge of you, then I’m not letting you get killed with our supplies. These crazy bastards can find another pair of lackeys to do their dirty work.” He turned to leave, unwilling to waste his time on the matter any longer. “Think of the salvage. A place from the Ministry of Awesome must have valuable salvage, and if the basement has all the equipment, then that’s where we must go.” Hermes bargained. “I rather live a poorer stallion than die a rich bastard for someone like me to come along and take it.” Steele answered solemnly. He had had enough of this bullshit. Risking their lives and ammo on this stupid journey was crazy, and going against nightkin was a deathwish. Maybe joining the courier was a mistake. He thought bitterly. “Look, you said you wanted to be a good pony. Then why start now!” Hermes yelled. He was angry now, and dealing with Steele’s shitty attitude was getting to him. “Being good means sacrificing. It doesn’t always work out in your favor, but that’s why you try again! Good things don’t come on their own, you earn them. That’s what we did before the war, and that’s what we need to do now. No one said this was going to be easy, but I’m no quitter Steele. If you are... then go ahead, leave; I thought you were better than that Steele. I thought someone who had seen what living through cruelty and misery would know that it is no way to live. If Equestria is to ever better itself, then it needs to start somewhere. If that means it must start with us then so be it. I’m going to do the right thing. I might die, but I’m going to die anyway, so I'd rather die knowing I did good and influenced others, than die the stallion you want to be.” Steele stopped and looked back. "I never said I wanted to be anything kid." Hermes shot him a disgusted glare and pushed his way past him; he slammed the door to the basement. Steele stood there for a moment, considering whether or not to feel guilty; he decided against it and moved on. He wasn’t going to be a hero. No, that wasn't who he was. He was going to survive like he always did. Once outside Steele took a deep breath. He knew the courier was most likely dead now. Whatever. The Mojave took many wannabe heroes every day. Steele looked up toward the sky and thought of Hermes’s words once more; he groaned. Maybe, just maybe the Mojave might not take one today. The courier closed the door behind him and levitated his rifle. He had no idea what he was up against, but his computer told him there were a few enemies moving about. The words “KEEP OUT” painted messily in a dried crimson liquid didn’t really help either. He began to slowly walk toward one of the dots, keeping his rifle trained in its general direction. Once close, he hid behind a corner and checked his gun. One enemy... one demon just around this corner. Peek out, target him, and shoot. Easy right? He asked himself. He took a deep breath and quickly stepped out, his eyes glowing from the targeting system. To his surprise the hall was empty, and he nervously scanned his surroundings. His pipbuck told him it had locked onto the head of some attacker, but his eyes told him nothing was there. He blinked a few times, but to no avail. What the hell was going on here?! The hallway was empty, but the dot was now moving toward Hermes at an alarming rate. Loud hoofsteps reverberated, and the vibrations ran all the way up Hermes’s spine. “I HAVE YOU NOW!” Screamed the invisible demon, raising his cement club over his head as he rose to tower over Hermes on his hind legs. In a panic Hermes fired under the instructions of his pipbuck. He had missed the first shot, but once the nightkin had gotten close enough to uncloak, the second plasma shot had hit him in the face, liquefying him and leaving him yet another glowing pile of ash. Hermes shook slightly as the giant tower of a pony screamed and turned to a pile of glowing dust, his club hitting the metal floor of the basement loudly and alerting the other nightkin of their new guest. Hermes didn’t have time to react as another nightkin, alerted by the noise, was now sprinting at him at full speed. Each step he took shook the walls, and the loud clanking of his hooves echoed through the twisting hallways. Hermes took a few shots, but the nightkin had shrugged them off and forced Hermes to run. Scared out of his mind, and out of ideas Hermes fled, blindly following the twisting hallways to wherever they lead. The targeting computer had missed its shots, and now needed to cool down. He was helpless, terrified, and had a blue hulking mass of destruction charging after him. Why the hay did the Ministry of Arcane Sciences think it was a good idea to try and make magically enhanced super soldiers?! He asked cursed. Unfortunately for him, his running attracted more nightkin, and he was now at a dead end. He turned around and aimed his gun in a last attempt to resist imminent death. His fear bled into his magic as his gun trembled in its beige aura. "For fucks sake!" Hermes screamed as he shut his eyes. He began to fire blindly, killing his first pursuer and scoring a lucky critical hit on another, but now he had three angry nightkin cornering him, and an empty gun. He opened his eyes to stare accusingly at his rifle, but knowing it was all over he closed his eyes hard and braced for the pain. “DIE!” A nightkin commanded as he ran toward the courier. The familiar bang from a chrome revolver sent his brain matter all over the walls. The courier opened his eyes as the massive corpse landed with a heavy thud; the other nightkin turned in time to see smoke rise from the barrel of one of two chrome .44 magnums surrounded in a light blue aura, behind them stood a lone unicorn wearing a cold stare. “RAAAH!” A nighkin protested, screaming madly as he charged Steele. The nightkin absorbed three shots, but had the fourth stopped his charge; the fifth shot had ended him. The last two nightkin charged, but were met with a wave of lead that dropped them both. Steele reloaded his revolvers and nonchalantly scavenged a few stealthbucks off the dead nightkin. “Someone had to knock you off your pedestal.” Steele explained without directly acknowledging Hermes. “Glad that someone was you boss man. I was in deep shit man, thanks.” “Not a-” “ANTLER TOLD ME YOU KILLED MY FLOCK!” Screamed a nightkin. He was cloaked, and now had charged into Steele, pinning him to the wall by the throat. Steele choked and kicked as his body struggled with the pain from a lack of oxygen and force from the impact, which had knocked the air out of his lungs, and disrupted his magic, causing his guns to clank uselessly against the floor. He tried using the wall behind him to kick his attacker, but the mountain of a pony didn’t budge. “I’LL KILL YOU!” The mutant screamed. Steele’s vision was fading, and the pain in his chest indicated a broken bone or two. So this is how I die? He asked himself, his hoofs stopping to his sides as his body became limp. Before it went all black he heard a faint: “No!” as Hermes changed his mag, raised his gun, and spammed his pipbuck’s targeting system with the command of locking onto the mutants head. He fired his gun and liquefied the nightkin; his huge bumper sword clanked against the metal floor as Steele's body plopped down onto the ground and began to cough blood. “Are you ok?” Hermes asked. He dropped his gun and ran to Steele’s side. He just watched helplessly as Steele coughed and struggled to respond. “Here, I got a few of these for the Legion armor.” Hermes said, levitating a hydra potion. Steele leaned away from the offer and waved a hoof in protest. “A hydra?" He chocked. "Are you...*cough* kidding me? Tha...*cough* that’s too expensive.” Steele protested, leaning further away from the courier. “It’s obvious you have some broken bones, and we have two more. We can’t get to a doctor right now. Just drink it!” Hermes commanded, taking the magical seal off the bottle and shoving it in Steele’s face. “Do you know how rare that thing is?” “Do you know how rare replacement bones are?” Hermes pressed. Steele considering it, and grudgingly downed the potion. The pain began to melt away and he could feel movement in his chest. “Better?” Hermes asked, relieved to have the ordeal behind him. “Poorer.” Steele replied, earning an eye roll from Hermes. “Lets get down to business. I think it’s clear, but lets check for salvage. Grab the sword, and I think I saw a key in that ash pile.” He instructed. He rose and shook off the lingering pain. “Alright boss man.” Hermes replied. The duo salvaged some food, ammo, and a good number of stealth bucks before coming to a stop at the last unchecked door. “Locked.” Hermes said upon the door refusing to open under his magic. “Lets hope this key leads to something valuable.” Steele said. He unlocked the door and stepped back to watch the door hiss and creak as its old hydraulic pumps struggled to move the heavy metal. Upon opening Steele hit the floor hard as something tackled him with astonishing speed and power. Whatever it was, the mass towered over him and after using his body as a sled to slid to a stop, rested on top of him. Unfortunately for Steele's assailant, he was used to being knocked onto his back --in a strictly platonic way--, and used the ground to roll backwards and regain the upper ground over his opponent; he drew his guns as his vision focused on his attacker. The initial trauma gone, Steele was shocked to find himself on top of a female griffon. They were locked in eye contact, and Steele noticed a prominent scar running along one of her purple eyes as her sharpened pupils bore a hole into his. More importantly, Steele soon noticed a razor sharp claw at his throat, threatening to slice his veins at the slightest movement. The couple remained motionless, caught in their little staring contest, and soon Hermes had lowered his plasma rifle and interrupted their little game. “You sure have a way with ladies Steele. Hell you practically sweep them off their feet.” He laughed. “Can it.” Steele commanded, never breaking eye contact. “Since you’re not a nightkin, mind helping a lady onto her feet?” The griffon asked sarcastically. She had a rough, deep voice, and although her body held a number of battle related scars, she still kept a distinct feminine beauty to her. Steele got off her, and held out a hoof that was promptly ignored. She brushed herself off, and stared at the oddly paired duo as her eyes refocused to pose a less threatening demeanor. “You treat all your guests this way?” Steele asked, holstering his gun. “I do when a bunch of them try to kill me and force me into a room for days.” She answered venomously. “Fair enough." Steele replied, using the same poisonous tone. "Mind telling us what a griffon is doing this close to Las pegasus? Not to mention in a religious ghoul infested facility. Last I heard griffons and pegasi don’t see eye to eye.” Steele pressed. “You sure want an awful lot for free stranger.” She said. “It’s a small favor considering we just rescued you from a locked room, and cleared out the nightkin that held you hostage.” Steele answered. Hermes remained silent, choosing instead to watch the exchange of bravado; it was amazing. Steele had just met someone seemingly as tough and bitter as him, and the way the two of them were talking down to each other was a sight to see. For a moment Hermes wondered if Steele had met his match, but quickly decided against it. This was Steele he was talking about; no one could out tough him. “Fair enough. The name’s Scratch. I’m actually working for the ghouls as a bodyguard. They accept me, treat me well, and pay me handsomely. Everyone’s happy, least they were until those blue freaks came in. I fought a lot of them off and ran to the basement to protect the others that ran this way, but the nightkin killed them and forced me to... tactically retreat into this room. I set up a nice kill zone and some traps, and then you came along.” Scratch finished. "So you're a mercenary then, bit out of place if you're looking for work round these parts." Scratch opened her beak to speak, but caught herself. "Not by choice." She informed coolly. “You on the other hand must be Legion." She started, choosing to change the subject quickly. "Only a Legion unicorn would be stupid, brave, or strong enough to roll a griffon no their back; I know.” She extended one of her white wings to show its mangled lower feathers. “I’ve dealt with them personally.” She tucked her wing back. “So what, Celestia sent you here to finish me off after I told her I wasn’t going to do her dirty work anymore, huh?” She asked, turning her neck to glare accusingly at the duo with one eye. “I’m ex-Legion." Steele affirmed boldly. "I’ve hated those bastards for a very, very long time. You won’t find them being too friendly with me either, especially Celestia’s personal guards.” Steele answered. “You’re free to go. Your employers will be leaving now anyway, but any salvage left behind is ours.” He turned away from a curious Scratch and faced Hermes. “Stay down here. I’ll go get the religious nuts, and then we can get our shit and go; I’m tired of this place already.” “Yes, sir boss man.” Hermes answered, taking a seat exactly where he stood. “Boss man?” Scratch asked in a puzzled manner; her tone hinted her desire to laugh. Steele left without another word and went to inform Blight that their task was complete. “Oh wonderful. Thank you so much!” Blight exclaimed before running off with the others in tow. Steele followed shortly, but once he returned he was met with the unfortunate sight of Hermes giggling and conversing with Scratch. “You’re still here?” Steele asked coldly. “Relax boss man. Scratch teased. “Your pal here told me all about you.” “Define everything.” Steele growled, giving an intensely cold stare at Hermes. “Enough for someone like you to want to kill him.” Scratch chuckled. “But before you kill him he also gave me a pretty nice offer.” “Oh, he did, did he?” Steele asked, edging closer to a cowering Hermes. “Yea. Now that I don’t have any employers and will most likely not find anyone out there who would hire me, you two might hire me.” “Hire, you? By that you mean spend caps and food on someone who would be doing what we are already capable of?” Steele answered bitterly. “Look, I’ll be honest, you seem like someone who is more than capable of surviving on her own. Steele returned his attention to Hermes. "And like someone who knows to keep your business to yourself." He said accusingly. He returned his attention to the griffon eyeing him judgmentally. “But honestly we really can’t afford that luxury and extra responsibility.” “Steele, please." Hermes exclaimed, much like a child asking their parent to keep some mutt they found on the road. "I've talked to her and she’d be a huge asset to us. She knows about this part of the Mojave better than you do, and with someone as experienced as her in survival, she'd be able to take care of herself." He argued. Steele turned to leave, but Hermes blocked his path. "Like you she’s too proud to admit it, but she knows what it's like to travel alone and be hated by everyone." Steele looked up to meet Hermes's eyes and wondered what kind of nerve he had to bring up Steele's past like that. Hermes put a hoof on Steele's shoulder. "Common Steele, you of all ponies should know that traveling alone with a heavy past is no way to live. Think about it, she’d provide invaluable combat assistance and knowledge, and most importantly she’d help you take care of me, your biggest liability.” He reasoned. “Oh, you’re my biggest liability alright.” Steele smirked, shaking off Hermes's hoof and pressing forward. "He's starting to be my biggest liability too." Scratch commented, cracking her talons as she angrily stared at Hermes for blurting out all that information. “See you two are getting along already!” Hermes remarked, laughing at his own stupid joke. “Piece of shit.” Steele laughed, unable to withhold his laughter any longer. Scratch joined him shortly. “Taking advice from this bastard nearly killed me, but to hell with it. I can’t lie, if I'm going to be trudging through the Mojave with this bastard in tow." Steele began, kicking Hermes. "Then I'd rather have someone as capable as you to cover my back. However if you want to join us there are going to have to be a few rules." "Oh here we go." Hermes commented lightheartedly, earning him another kick from Steele. "One, what I say is final. Two, all resources are controlled by me. And three, I can make up the rules as I go since I have this smart ass following me around.” Steele said, once more kicking Hermes lightly, who was still giggling to himself. He returned his attention to Scratch. “Deal?” He asked, offering a hoof. “Huh, a softy leading me?” “Don’t mistake me for him. I’m no saint.” Steele growled, leaning into Scratch. “Take it easy there. You might just regret it.” Scratch answered, pointing one of her sharp claws at Steele. “Whoa, take it easy you two. Don’t kiss on me now.” Hermes remarked, breaking into another uncontrollable fit of laughter as he rolled on the floor, unable to contain himself. The two glared at him with stares as cold as ice, but eventually broke down and laughed as well. “You know what. It takes someone with a lot of nerve to deal with that bastard, and no softy I know of dealt with, and came out of Legion and the NLR alive. Yea, I think can use a tough bastard to back me up, especially if we are going to Las Pegasus to earn some caps." Scratch considered, rubbing her chin as she looked over Steele's imposing presence. "Deal.” She concluded, offering her claw. “You know we won’t be paying you, but rather sharing supplies right?” Steele asked, accepting the hoof to claw shake. “Free food, protection, and a right to any supplies I earn seems like a good job to me.” Scratch said. “By the way, can you still fly with-” Steele nodded at her mangled wing. “Better than most Pegasi, so if you have any trouble with those leave em to me.” She answered confidently. “Perfect.” Steele grinned. Their moment was cut short as the intercom came on and asked for their presence. “Not them again.” Steele sighed. The trio reluctantly found their way to a launch room where they were met with quite the sight. “Ah, our saviors." Blight welcomed, a large grin covering the majority of his green glowing, rotten skinned face. "Thank you again for your help, but if you want us to truly finish our journey, we must ask for your assistance once more.” “Oh you’ve got to-” “Let him finish.” Hermes interrupted. “What you need?” “Talk to Hex. He will tell you the part what's missing.” Blight answered, opening a hatch and walking out onto the platform that contained the rest of the ghouls and three large rockets; the whole site was irradiated enough to fry an egg. “The launch is almost complete smoothskin. Those rockets will get us to the sacred land, but we require a special compound known as atomic fuel to contain the gem used to power the thrusters. Without it, it will overheat and explode.” Hex explained, dumping yet another pointless mission on the trio. “So where do we find this fuel? I mean, apparently it is pre-war tech so you don’t expect us to just walk out of here and find it do you?” Steele asked. These zombies and their confused enthusiast were taking up way too much of his precious time. “I’m afraid that I actually have no idea. As you said, they are pre-war tech. All I know is that some employees had rocket models with the fluid in them, but when we checked the building there were none to be found. Maybe the headquarters Ministry building might still have a few lying around.” “You want us to go all the way to-” “Wait! A model rocket? You mean something like this?” Hermes asked, levitating a model rocket similar to that of the giant ones the ghouls were waiting for; a mysterious glowing green liquid swirled around inside. “Yes! That’s it!” exclaimed Hex. “Where did you? Wait. You got that at the manticore shop didn’t you? I thought I told you[/i-]” “Quiet both of you!” Scratch yelled, silencing them both. “He got what we need. Let’s just get this over with, and the two of you can deal with your marital issues on the road.” Scratch grabbed the rocket and tossed it to Hex, who caught it with his magic. Steele was boiling at this point, but decided to keep his cool. “Whatever. Grab the few medical potions lying around and the rad suits on the table. We’re leaving.” Steele growled. He began to leave, but was stopped once more by Hermes. “He doesn’t know he’s not coming with them.” He whispered. “The poor bastard thinks he’s one of them, so what of it?” Steele asked. “Look. Can you let me stay behind and convince him otherwise? Please. I mean even you know it’s the right thing to do.” Hermes pleaded. “Whatever. If you come out last you’re carrying most of the salvage.” He answered, shoving his way past him; Hermes had caused enough trouble for today. If Steele let him do what he wanted, then they might just get this over with faster. “You’re not as bad as I thought smoothskin. Thank you for your help. All that we need now is for you to push the launch button on the observation deck.” Hex said, eyeing the rocket and it’s green glowing interior. Having stripped the room of its valuables, Hermes stayed behind to talk to Hex while Steele and Scratch left the room to strip the rest of the facility of anything profitable. Once clear of the door the intercom came on and Blight began another one of his religious speeches. “Rah! Scratch can you please go push that damn button? I’m tired of hearing this lunatic’s ramblings. I’ll gather as much salvage as I can, and Hermes and I will meet you outside.” “With pleasure.” Scratch responded, spreading her wings and taking off through the halls. Wow. To Steele’s surprise he was actually glad to have her on his side. At Least he could count on her to stay quiet and out of his way. Steele made quick work of raiding the building. He fit all he could into his saddlebags, but without the inventory management of a pipbuck he was forced to use his magic to carry the rest. Unfortunately Blight had enough time to finish his speech and thank the trio for their help before the whole building shook and rang with warning alarms. They're finally gone. Steele realized, sighing with relief. Thankful and eager to make a profit out of this stupid quest, he went outside and appreciated the warm midnight air. “Got everything?” Scratch asked. She had landed in front of Steele and eyed their haul. “I mean, it doesn’t look like much.” She added, disappointed that only a few laser rifles and stealth bucks made up the most valuable pieces of their reward. “Yea. It’s not too bad. Enough to give us all food, ammo, a place to sleep, and medical supplies to patch you up; some of those injuries look fresh.” He noticed, eyeing the wounds with concern. “I didn’t know you cared.” Scratch replied sarcastically, a mocking grin on her face as she took her share of the load. Steele gave her a stern look and answered: “I care about my squad and my squad alone. I made a promise to protect and be responsible for you two. If I cannot keep my word, then how can I expect you to honor yours when you say you will watch over me? I’m no monster. The Mojave has hardened me, but it still left a tiny stone of a heart.” Steele said. He took his share of the load, and left the majority of it for Hermes. “Hmph. I can respect that, but to be honest, I wasn’t expecting it. Ponies and griffons don’t exactly get along now, and since our relationship is strictly business, I didn’t expect my employer to provide healthcare in the apocalypse.” Scratch explained. She might not have shown it, but Steele had left quite an impression. She had enough experience braving the Mojave, and it felt like it couldn’t possibly surprise her anymore. Being attacked first, and neglected throughout the majority of her time at the Mojave she had begun to lose hope for making nice with ponies. To her surprise and confusion, she found kindness and acceptance from the least likely stallion in all the Mojave. Apparently the Mojave still had surprised to offer. “Business? Ha. You think that I’m stupid enough to bring along a griffon into Las Pegasus, associate myself with her, and claim to be willing to protect her if necessary for business?!" Steele laughed. Scratch frowned and began to reconsider her positive opinions. "I’m honestly not that stupid. Hermes had once called me something that I never thought I’d hear in the Mojave. That sly bastard managed to convince me that maybe the old world’s morals were onto something, and I guess I’m stupid enough to actually pursue the colt’s tales I so often dreamed of. I’d never put up with Hermes if he was a business partner, no, I’m afraid the sly bastard fooled me into a friendship, and that’s what I assumed our relation would be too. Otherwise I would never have agreed to have you travel with us.” Steele finished. He knew couldn’t lie to himself for too long. Hermes had made him a little bit softer, and Steele hated him for that, but this softness had earned him some caps and some protection. Not bad for a softy. He thought smugly. “Sheesh you two. I’m gone for two minutes and you two are at it again.” Hermes said, interrupting Scratch before she could respond, and enraging the both of them. “Uh, guys. I’m your friend remember? You don’t hurt friends.” He reminded, folding his ears and backing up slowly at the sight of Steele and Scratch looming over him. “Normally I’d call you an ignorant fool, but if you managed to keep yourself alive by calling him a friend, then you might be onto something.” Scratch said, turning to leave. “It’s late. Lets sell this stuff and call it a night. If we’re going to track down this Lucky Star guy then I’d rather we do it in broad daylight.” “Good idea.” Steele answered. He glared at Hermes. “As promised, you get the privilege of carrying this stuff for you two friends.” He smiled briefly as he dumped their salvage in front of Hermes. “Oh, goody.” He replied sarcastically, but Steele had already left to catch up to Scratch. “By the way. Before we sell any of this stuff you might want to pick out a gun.” Steele suggested. “Nah. I don’t really like the small toys you ponies play around with. Nothing there is big enough for me to use comfortably. Besides, I got these babies to protect me.” Scratch said, opening a claw to show it was sharp to perfection. “I prefer to take on my prey head on anyway; nothing scares a pony like a griffon with razor sharp claws in their face.” “Hey guys. Wait up!” Hermes yelled behind them. He was struggling to carry the heavy gear, and relied mostly on his magic to do the heavy lifting. Ignoring him Scratch continued. “The bumper sword might be pretty rad, though it would go for quite a bit. Not sure you want to let me have it.” “I gave a plasma rifle, to Hermes.” Steele retorted. Scratch laughed. “Good point.” “Besides, I rather miss a few caps than waste them on medical supplies later.” Steele explained. “Sounds fair. You know what Steele, you’re not as bad as I thought. If this is what sticking with you two is going to be like, then maybe this friendship thing isn’t a load of crap after all.” “I try to convince myself that every time I deal with that.” Steele replied, nodding toward Hermes who was lagging behind and muttering insults to himself. The trio made their back to Novac without any difficulty and decided that renting two motel rooms from the shocked town mayor would be a smart choice. They could sell their haul in the morning, and begin their quest first thing in the morning. “I think I’ll get the other room. Besides, you two probably want me to get out of your way for the night anyway.” Hermes remarked, slyly edging toward a vacant room; his joke earned him a powerful smack on the back of the head from Steele. “Hey! Relax boss man.” He said, rubbing the back of his head. "Just a joke." “Oh no. You two friends are going to give the lady her privacy and take the other room for yourselves.” Scratch argued, having entered an empty hotel room while the other two were distracted. “Oh no I’m in charge and I have to deal with the both of-” Steele began, but his sentence was once more cut short when Scratch slammed and locked the door behind her. "Night." She called through the door. “Women.” Hermes said, cowering from Steele who had raised his hoof threateningly. Steele couldn’t believe he had to share a room with this idiot, but whatever. As Hermes pointed out, friends required sacrifices. As much as he hated to admit it, the two were invaluable assets to his survival. Scratch’s knowledge of the wasteland and her wings were a huge benefit, and Hermes’s pipbuck and smooth talking made up for his annoying self. Friendship might not have been as magical as it was in his colt tales, but it was better than nothing. He just had to convince himself it was worth not strangling Hermes for his insufferable snoring.
Chapter Four“Oh what’s the point?” Steele mumbled, tossing his pillow to the side and sitting upright. He ran a hoof through his ruffled mane, and directed his attention the loudly snoring courier across the room. The combination of Hermes’s snoring and Steele’s nagging conscience made sleep impossible. Steele wiped the sweat off his brow, and brought a single revolver with him as he left a loudly snoring Hermes and all their gear alone, a decision that normally he would never consider; and that was the problem. What is wrong with me He wondered? He’d gone from the lone badass wanderer of the Mojave, to the baby sitter of a domestic courier and a griffon that was a long way from home. Steele crept away from the hotel and came to sit by Marty, the manticore; the massive presence of the pre-war attraction was oddly comforting and Steele unwound. The silence and vast emptiness of the Mojave desert brought a welcome sense of tranquility to Steele’s chaotic thoughts. It was just him, the calming silence, and his past scars no longer concealed by his signature garb. “Not a bad night to think eh, Marty?” Steele asked the giant fading attraction. He chuckled for a bit. Maybe talking to a giant fake manticore wasn’t the best way to try and convince himself he wasn’t going crazy. He was getting soft, and the scars that his jet black coat tried to hide reminded him that was not a good thing. What was friendship in a place like the Mojave? A place where survival took priority, and things got done by either spilling blood or manipulating others to do it for you. What can friendship do for me? For anyone? He wondered. Why did he even begin to consider what Hermes told him? He knew it would get them nowhere, and yet he listened anyway. Was he really that naive? No, If he was then he would not have survived to bear the scars of his past. Still, there was something that made him reconsider. Something that Steel knew had made him do things he considered stupid. Hope. Although the Mojave can often make you confuse that word with desperation, this was different; this was hope. Steele wanted to believe Hermes. He hoped that what Hermes had told him was true. Hoped that friendship was the solution to his worries. Hoped that friends would take away the pain of his past. Steele played with the sand under his hooves. He was tired of running; of fearing everyday to a point where the next was met with desperate aggression in an attempt to survive it. He was tired of not dying, he wanted to live, to experience life the way his colt tales painted it. Maybe that’s why he listened, because of how badly he wanted it to be true. A quiet flap sent Steele into action. He levitated his revolver and scanned his moonlit surroundings for the intruder. It wasn’t uncommon for a pegasus bandit to roam the skies at night in these parts, and Steele scanned the skies. Another thump behind him, and he turned to greet his potential attacker with the barrel of his gun. “Can’t sleep either?” Scratch asked. She ignored the gun and looked straight ahead, toward the night sky. “No Hermes’s snoring is keeping me up.” Steele answered, grabbing a seat next to his newest companion. “That’s not the only thing, is it?” Scratch asked. There was something in her voice that suggested she knew more about what Steele was going through then she let onto. “Same thing that’s probably keeping you up too I suppose.” Steele answered. He didn’t know what Scratch had meant, nor how much she knew, so he decided to play this game a little longer and hope to not have to say more than he needed to. “If by that you mean this whole friendship thing… then yea. I just can’t get around to it you know?” Scratch sighed and clawed at the sand. Steele could tell she wasn’t one to like sharing her problems either. “I’ve been places Steele. I’ve been further east, but all I saw there were griffon mercenaries and a strong prejudice from the fascist Pegasus Army. That was years ago, but by the looks of things it would take nothing short of a miracle to change that.” “And it seems that nowadays the world is awfully short on those, huh?” Steele asked. Getting this kind of information from a toughie like scratch was rare, and he was glad Scratch felt safe enough share. After all, it was something even he didn’t think he’d be strong enough to do. Scratch nodded and continued with her story. “I fled west, thinking that maybe there was something else out there. A place where I wouldn’t have to claw for survival and equal treatment. I thought that after the world went to shit, who you were before and what your forefathers had done would not matter. I was wrong." Scratch sighed and began to trace circles in the sand. "All my life I had to deal with ponies mocking me, doing everything they can to make my life harder, and even trying to kill me for what I was. No matter what I’d do I’d either have to intimidate my way to fair treatment, or fight for my right to live." She explained bitterly, crushing her traces with her claw. "I gave up on you ponies a long time ago, but now I get compassion from one hell of a weird duo: a saint and his hardhearted mercenary companion." Scratch giggled. "It all just feels like some kind of bad joke." She said skeptically. "Hermes is the companion." Steele sternly corrected. The odd pair shared a quick laugh. "See I just don't get it." Scratch began; she poked a claw at Steele's chest. "The last time I met someone like you I had barely escaped alive.” Scratch leaned back onto her arms. “I don’t know if I can buy this friendship crap, but from what Hermes tells me, I don't think a stallion with your past can either. So what gives? Why the hell is someone with the scars from a life of hell with someone like Hermes? Are you in it for the caps, the adventure, to get to Las Pegasus? What gives, Steele? I wanna know.” That was one hell of a good question, and Steele took a moment to think of what to say, but coming up short on an answer he gave up and sighed. “Honestly… I don’t know either. I ask myself why I continue to do what I do everyday, but I always come up short when I get to the answer. I guess the reason I’m with the annoying bastard is because I want to believe him. You and I both know the Mojave sucks when you’re alone, and I’m tired of it. Everyday it’s just survive, but what about living!? What about having motivation other than making it to tomorrow? I don’t know if this friendship thing is going to solve all my problems, and it probably never is, but it sure as hell beats having to wallow through this shit-hole alone. I can’t lie it is really hard to take in, considering everything I’ve been through suggests otherwise, but what other choice do I have? I may have gotten softer, but It earned me some caps, an annoying bastard with a targeting computer strapped to his eyes, and a griffon that can back me up in a fight.” Steele turned to Scratch to find that she had been watching him the whole time. “I have a lot of regrets, following through with this stupid quest is one of them, but you two aren’t.” He finished. “Thanks, Steele.” Was her only reply,but Steele knew that it meant more than what she would let on. “What are friends for.” “Hey you guys, if you wanted time alone this badly you could have just shared a room you know.” Hermes interrupted. He was still rubbing his eyes and yawning when he walked up to his friends. “Hey what gives!?” He yelped when he was pulled down by the neck and head-locked by Scratch, who began to give him one hell of a noogie. “Ow, ouch, stop it!” He squirmed. “Are you going to knock it off?” Scratch asked. “Yea I will, just knock it off!” He pleaded. Scratch released him, and Steele punched his shoulder. "We're even now." He said. “Jeez! It’s only been half a day, and you two are already working in tangent against me.” Hermes complained, rubbing his sore head and shoulder. “Hey, I had to get my revenge in there somewhere.” Steele laughed; he was shortly joined by Scratch. “Very funny you two." Hermes complained, looking sour. What the hell are you guys doing out here anyway?” He asked. This was weird, too weird. The two toughest characters he knew where joking around and being playfully mean to him. Something was up. “Suffering from insomnia.” Steele explained. "He means his ears are still ringing from your snoring." Scratch added, eliciting a laugh from Steele. “Okay, I’m dreaming. You two are getting along way too well, and oddly enough are nicer to me than usual. I’m going back to bed, and pretending this never happened.” Hermes answered, leaving Scratch and Steele to laugh for a bit before settling down for the rest of the night. For once Steele felt alive. Having a funny moment with your friends for the first time does that to a guy, and he fell asleep content. He wasn’t going to have trouble sleeping this night. *** “Hey, boss man! Wake up!” penetrated Steele’s slumber. Hermes was getting dressed and completing his morning routine as he called for Steele’s attention. “You’re the one that gives orders, and Scratch and I are already up, so, where do you want us?” Hermes asked. He had slept well, and was determined to make Lucky Star pay for what he had done. “Uhh psh, yea take Scratch to doc Straus.” Steele answered groggily. He wiped the remaining slumber from his eyes and jumped out of bed. “Have Straus patch her up, but stay with her. I didn’t exactly make a great impression, and I want to make sure she still gets proper medical care.” “Alright boss.” Hermes answered, opening the hotel door to leave. “Oh and Hermes!” “Yea?” He asked, pausing the door with his magic. “Be aggressive this time. Tell her I’ll have a word with her if something happens.”Steele added, looking back at the old grimy mirror and beginning to brush his teeth. Good thing Hermes found some toothpaste at the shop; it was one hell of a luxury. Hermes rolled his eyes and nodded his head as he closed the door behind him. With his morning routine complete, Steele gathered his belongings and yesterday’s salvage, and set off toward the manticore shop. The steps into the giant fabrication were old and groaned under Steele’s weight, but once inside he was surprised to find a well maintained, orderly, little store. At the counter sat a yellow earth stallion with a green mane and white cowboy hat. “Welcome! Names Risky Gambit, I own the place.” He introduced himself. “Brought some goods to trade.” Steele answered, plopping down a large assortment of laser rifles and melee weapons. “Don’t suppose you want store credit, do ya?” Risky asked, looking over the pile he obviously couldn’t afford. “Not exactly what I had in mind, no.” Steele answered, looking around the small shop. There were two wooden cases lining the shop, and each displayed goods and souvenirs of all kinds. Judging by the large number of manticore plushies, fake rockets, and salvaged pre-war toys, Steele concluded this shop was still mainly used as a souvenir shop for tourists. “Got anything more exciting than this?” Steele asked, waving a hoof around the shop. “Sorry, the last guy that was in here bought most of the ammo I had left.” Risky answered. “But I can see what I have left!” He added when Steele had begun to pack up his gear. Risky disappeared behind an old door to the left of his counter, and came back with a heavy metal box. “It’s all I got left.” He said, opening the box to show Steele an assortment of ammo, only half of which was actually useful to him. Steele sighed. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll take all the ammo I need, any healing potions and caps you got left, and some information. Deal?” “I’m listening.” Risky answered, leaning over the counter. “I’m looking for a guy named Lucky Star. Passed by town with some guys not too long ago. You know where he went?” Steele asked. “Well, I don’t know what he did, but I’ll tell you what I told the last guy who asked me. I have no idea who you’re talking about.” Risky answered. “So, we still got a deal?” He added nervously. Steele sighed and brought his hoof down from his face. “Yea, whatever.” He answered to Risky’s delight. There was no point in carrying a bunch of useless gear anyway, and at least he could use the ammo and caps. “Thanks for stopping by!” Risky yelled after Steele, who had left in a disappointed hurry. Steele worked his way around town to meet Hermes standing outside the medical tent. “What’s going on?” He asked. “Nothing much. Scratch didn’t want to come here, but she has a few injuries that are being tended to by the doctor now.” Hermes chuckled a bit before continuing. “Straus didn’t want to work on a griffon till I mentioned your name. Heh, looked like you made one hell of an impression.” “I always do.” Steele chuckled. “Anyways I sold our salvage, wanna go and help me squeeze some information from No-Bark?” “You mean make sure you don’t do anything stupid?” “That too.” “Alright.” The duo found No-Bark mumbling to himself outside outside the mayor’s office. “Hey No-Bark! We solved your ghost problem.” Steele said, interruption the crazy stallion’s thoughts. “Oh, Ol No-Bark knows. He always knows. I really appreciate it, yes I do.” He answered, giving a big, nearly toothless grin to them both. “So I believe you need to tell me where Lucky Star went.” Steele added. It was obvious he was going to need to push No-Bark for answers. “Ol righty. No-Bark remembers...but No-Bark is too thirsty to explain.” “Too… thirsty?” Steele began, his agitation rising. “Yup.” “*Sigh* Hermes can you please get him some water from the food tent?” “No!” No-Bark interrupted. “No-Bark doesn’t want any of that filthy water. He used to be a doctor, he knows it’s bad for you. No-Bark wants clean water.” He protested, sending a few droplets of saliva onto Steele's face. Steele’s eye twitched and his anger was beginning to rise; Hermes put a hoof on his shoulder to calm him down. “Look boss man, this town has to have a water purifier right? I’ll just get some clean water, and we’ll be done with it.” Hermes offered. “We ain’t got no clean water! O’ else No-Bark wouldn’t be thirsty!” No-bark retorted, scowling at Hermes. Steele lost it. He drew a revolver and pushed No-bark to the back of the mayor’s building and pinned him by the throat. “Now listen here you piece of shit. We nearly died for your information, and now you are going to tell us what we want.” Steele whispered. “Understand!” He screamed, shoving the gun’s barrel deeper into No-Bark’s throat. “Steele maybe we should-” “This is no time for your kindness, Hermes!” Steele interrupted, glaring at No-Bark who had begun to tear up and shake; he was terrified. “You there, please stop!” Demanded a loud, yet submissive voice. Steele and Hermes turned their attention to what appeared to be the town mayor, a yellow maned, light orange Pegasus. Her freckled face was curved into a frown, and her red eyes threatened to bore a hole through them both. Despite her small, shaking stature, she seemed determined to stand up for No-Bark. Steele shot one final glare at No-Bark and reluctantly dropped him. “Watch him, Hermes.” He ordered, sliding his gun back into his armored garb and approaching the shaken mare. She was shorter than Steele, and seemed to fear him, but stayed her ground; Steele noted her bravery. “I don’t know who you are, nor-” “Relax ma’am." Steele interrupted, raising a hoof for silence. "We're only here to claim the information promised to us in return for solving your ghoul problem. We'll get it, and leave without another word." Steele explained, turning to return to his interrogation. He was halted by the mayor. “Well we appreciate what you have done, but I still can’t have you terrorizing our townsfolk, no matter what they have done." She relaxed and looked Steele over. "But, I can try and see if we can reward you some other way.” She suggested, smiling warmly. “Look ma’am-” “Sunny Aurora.” “Sunny Aurora, we just need this information.” Steele answered. “Then, will you please come inside and talk it over. Perhaps I can help more than the town crazy.” Sunny said, walking into her office and pausing at the door to wave Steele in. Steele looked to Hermes for support. “Go. I’ll watch him, besides maybe she knows about Lucky.” Hermes assured. “Alright. Make sure he doesn’t go anywhere.” Steele ordered. He gave No-Bark a cold stare, and left him shivering in fright. Steele followed the mayor to find that her office was dimly lit, and her desk was littered by papers and work. Further into the building stood an old water purification setup that made up the majority of the building; it seemed to be missing a water purification crystal, but all in all was in working shape. “Busy, huh?” Steele observed, looking over the giant contraption that was the water purifier. “Yea.” She sighed, dropping into her seat. “Small town that’s got big problems.” She glanced at her work, then moved it aside and pulled out some apple whiskey and two shot glasses. “Sometimes I need a little something to calm me down at the end of a busy day, and you look thirsty. Fancy a drink while we talk over our problem?” She asked, sliding a glass toward Steele. Steele returned her smile. “You know how to talk to a stallion, I’ll give you that.” He answered, taking his seat opposite of the major. The two clinked glasses and downed their drinks before continuing. “So what brings you to my town?” Sunny started. “Came here looking for a guy named Lucky Star. He stole something very dear to us, and passed by here not too long ago.” “I see, so what are you harassing No-Bark for? The old guy is absolutely crazy. You’ll never get anything good out of him.” Sunny explained, resting her head on her hooves. “We asked around town, and nobody but No-Bark seems to know where he went. He asked us to get rid of your ghoul problem in exchange for information. And we did, nearly losing our lives in the process, and now he isn’t giving us what he owes us. Bastard wants us to go and find a water purifier crystal so he can get a “clean” drink.” “Hmph." Sunny raised her head and traced the desk with her hoof. "Now see, I thank you for getting rid of those ghouls, really I do, but I want a water purifier crystal too.” She said, pouring them both another round. Steele took a sip of his drink and continued. “I understand, but those things don’t just drop out of the sky you know. Finding something like that in the Mojave is nearly impossible, and only the really big places like Las Pegasus get their hooves on those. I don’t really see how I can help you here, at least not without risking a lot to do so. So, if you don’t mind. I’ll just go get my information, and leave.” Steele finished. He downed his glass and got up to leave; he didn’t have the time nor patience to be this mayor’s lackey. “You can go, but you’ll never get anything out of him. No-Bark only trusts me, and he’ll most likely die before telling anyone else anything." Sunny called. Steele stopped and glanced back at her as she leaned back into her chair with a smug grin. "You need me, Steele. Like it or not, you’re getting this town a water purifier if you want that information.” She brought her attention to her drink, leaving Steele option-less and angry. For someone so small and frail looking, she sure is a cunning bitch. Steele thought. “I think you’re underestimating how persuasive I am.” Steele said. This ungrateful mayor was demanding one of the most rare and profitable items in all the Mojave; for a cheap price too! “Oh really? I’ve seen how “persuasive” you are.” Sunny answered, sitting upright. “You think you, your little saint over there, or your griffon freak are going to get something out of him? Ha. You want that information, I want a purifier crystal, simple as that.” Steele weighed his options. He could go outside and continue trying to persuade a crazy pony, or he could risk life and limb for a small profit. No, neither would do. He’d have to make going on another pointless quest worthwhile. Steele fixed his hat, and to the surprise of the mayor, returned to her desk with a devious smile. “You want a purifier crystal?” Steele leaned in and gripped the apple whiskey bottle. “You gotta make it worth my time. We can find Lucky by chance, but I want you to show me how many able prospectors this town has to offer. Better yet, show me a trading caravan that has one of those crystals. You need me more than I need you." Steele explained, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. "If you want my services, make it worthwhile.” He finished. Steele took his seat and downed his glass; he set it down, and savored the look of hatred on the major's face. It seemed that he was one of few who actually had a leg up on the mayor during her "agreements"." Sunny’s brows furrowed as she leaned into her crossed hooves. Who the hell did this guy think he was anyway? Every dead beat that wandered up in her small town was easily persuaded, or bought out cheap for their services, but this guy was something else. It didn’t look like she was going to get out cheap this time. She quietly poured herself another glass and took a sip. Once the tension in her head cleared up, she continued. “This isn’t Las Pegasus, we don’t have a ton of caps to throw around. You know that, so what are you aiming for here?” She raised an eyebrow. Steele took a moment to think his answer through. Sure this town didn’t have a lot of caps, but Steele could use a lot more than caps in the Mojave. “A thousand caps, a discount at every store and service, 2 permanent rooms in the hotel, and a few favors on behalf of the whole town to the trio that solved their ghoul problem, and gave them clean water.” Steele answered, waiting for the inevitable outburst. He was asking for a lot, but so was Sunny. Although not exactly a high-paying job, a permanent place to stay and a whole town at his disposal seemed like a pretty good deal for a wanderer like himself. “Are you crazy!?" Sunny exclaimed, rising sharply and sending her chair rolling backwards. "You want me to fork over a thousand caps, give you two whole rooms for your own personal use, and you want the whole town to owe you some dirty work?” Sunny yelled, banging the desk with her hoof. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" She demanded, pushing Steele's chest and rolling him and his chair backwards slightly. Steele remained silent as he calmly rolled himself back to the seething major's desk, and kept eye contact while he poured himself the last drops of the apple whiskey bottle; he smiled as he shook the last drops into his glass. “You want something like a purifier crystal, you have to pay for one. Look around you, Sunny. This town is dying, and the pressure of trying to save an imminent failure is tying a noose around your neck. The few residents here are getting sick of the lack of resources, and it won't be long till that noose of yours gets too tight. No one here would even consider, not to mention be capable of finding and bringing back a bounty like that. You want a crystal, I want a place to stay; simple as that.” Steele finished coolly. Sunny's wings unfurled in frustration as she bit her bottom lip. She weighed her options. A thousand caps was a small sum, and the shops didn’t have that many things to sell. Without a clean water source, the hotel rooms would remain tourist-less. This guy was just some mercenary, what could he possibly ask of a small town like this anyway? Sunny ran a hoof across her neck as she glanced over Steele again. She sighed heavily, and retrieved her chair; she tore her gaze away from Steele. Celestia how she hated his smug grin. “Deal.” She said, collapsing into her chair and waving Steele off. “Happy to be of service ma’am.” Steele answered, tipping his hat and turning to leave. “How’d it go?” Hermes greeted. Steele looked content, something that was still odd to him. “Hope you know where to find a water purifier crystal.” Steele answered gravely. “A what!?” Scratch yelled. She had returned from the medical tent bearing a few healing bandages in time to hear Steele. “A water purifier crystal! Do you know how much those things cost!?” “Easy there patches. I’ll explain everything in the food tent, I’m not an idiot.” Steele eased. “Could have fooled me.” Scratch mumbled, grudgingly deciding to withhold her anger. “Uh, Steele what do I do with him?” Hermes asked, pointing at No-Bark who had been quietly cowering away from Steele. Hermes managed to calm him down, but the sight of Steele had gotten him shaking again. “Leave him, we’ll get what we want once we finish this job.” *** “So where the hell do you plan on finding a water crystal mister “negotiator.” Scratch asked, swallowing a roasted squirrel whole. “Yea I mean the perks seem nice, but I hear those things are rare even toward Canterlot; and they had a bunch of stables and tech over there.” Hermes added, wiping some left over stew off his muzzle. The trio had grabbed a sizable breakfast while Steele managed to explain himself and what had happened. “I was actually going to ask Scratch that.” He answered. “Me!? You’re the one who made the deal. You figure it out" She said, pointing an empty wooden skewer at Steele. "Cause I have no idea.” “Well you do know this part of the Mojave better than I do. Know of any nearby stables? I’m guessing that they would probably remain unraided since Las Pegasus already had a working stable in it.” Scratch tossed the skewer, and leaned on her folder arms.“The only stable I know of is stable eleven, and I don’t know anything about it other than the fact the no pony goes there.” Scratch offered. “Well why not? Stables have some pretty salvageable stuff inside, provided you can survive the security or anyone one else trying to raid one.” Hermes asked. “Beats me, but there has to be a good reason to keep ponies out. Radiation maybe.” Scratch guessed. “Sounds perfect if you ask me.” Steele said. “What do you mean perfect?” Hermes asked, puzzled. Steele looked like he had another crazy idea in mind, and Hermes didn’t like it. “Well, no raiders means no danger right? If that’s the case then there might still be a purifier crystal down there, and nothing stopping us from taking it.” Steele explained, taking a sip of his water. “Unless you guys got any other ideas that is.” He added. “Your call boss man.” Hermes regrettingly submitted, returning his attention to his soup as it grew ever colder from neglect. “I’m not going anywhere till I know for sure what we’re up against. Rumors have it the Steele rangers might have a group here, and I don’t want to walk in there to be blown to pieces cause we were between them and some useless pre-war doohickey.” Scratch said. “Fair enough.” Steele answered, getting up and leaving. “Hey where are you going!” She called after Steele. “To call in a favor, and see what we’re up against!” Steele yelled back. Risky was just finishing cleaning the last laser rifle when the last face he wanted to see walked in. “You’re not back for a refund, are you?” He nervously asked Steele. “No, I’m here for that info you promised me. What can you tell be about stable eleven?” “Stable eleven? What the hell did you lose in that abandoned shit hole?” Risky questioned; he eyed Steele with utmost curiosity. “You seem too worked up about a shit hole.” Steele observed. “Alright, you got me." Risky said, holding his hooves up. "If you really want to know, then I’d advise you to stay the hell away from stable eleven. The few that make it back return pale as a ghost, and never talk about that place again. When asked, they just keep real quiet. Whatever it is down there, not even the crazy fiends and bandits dare raid that place. It’s got some real bad mojo or something.” Risky answered, eyeing Steele nervously; he didn’t like his smile. “So no bandits, and no fiends right.” “Yea…” Risky answered slowly. “Thanks, Risky.” Steele said. “Consider your debt paid.” Steele left without another word. “Poor bastard.” Risky mumbled, returning to cleaning his new rifles. “So?” Hermes asked upon Steele’s return. “The local shop owner says the place is empty. Not even raiders and fiends go there. Said something about bad mojo and ghosts or something. Either Way it looks like the only way we’re going to get a purifier crystal.” Steele answered, packing up his gear. “So you guys in or what?” Steele asked again. “I really don’t like messing with the dead Steele. If ponies keep away, maybe we should too.” Hermes objected. “I’m kinda with Hermes on this one Steele, but I don’t see any other way around it so I’m in.” Scratch said. She adjusted her new bumper sword and its holster, glad that Hermes had the time to help her make one while Steele slept. “Fine guys. I'm gonna do it, but I ain’t going to like it.” Hermes sighed, rising and securing his two rifles with the help of his pipbuck’s inventory manager. The trio, under Scratch’s guidance, traveled north and soon arrived at the rocky overhang that held the stable’s outer door. The door itself was made of wood, and severely weather damaged, but still held onto its rocky wall via its rusted metal hinges; a noticeable stale odor was emanating through the cracks. “Smells like death.” Hermes commented, covering his muzzle in disgust. “Yea I’m not sure that place has enough fresh air for us to breath. I mean if the place has been abandoned for a few decades, then the ventilation system probably shut down from neglect.” Scratch added, leaning away from the pungent smell as well. Steele rolled his eyes and pressed forward; he regretted the decision as soon as he found himself fighting his gag reflex. The bitter stench attacked Steele's bravado, but he kept firm and pressed onward. Sunlight poured into the once dark tunnel, and came to rest upon the massive steel door; it eerily cut off at the very entrance of the stable, whose door stood slightly ajar and provided enough space for a pony to squeeze through. “Odd.” Steele thought aloud. “Don’t stable doors have a backup power source to close and open in emergency situations?” Hermes asked, continuing Steele’s train of thought. He and Scratch followed Steele once the air freshened, and now the trio stood in front of the massive pre-war barrier; its faded and worn yellow numbers left hanging diagonally. “I don’t like the looks of this.” Steele commented, eyeing the darkness within the stable through the open space. “Oh so now you get some common sense.” Hermes smirked, earning him a glare from Steele. “Since neither of you have any balls, I’ll go in first and secure the terminal room. It’s really dark in there, and I don’t want any surprises or friendly fire, so wait for my call.” Steele commanded, drawing Mustang and Sally. Steele took a moment to come to peace with going into an abandoned, pitch-black, steel casket, and began to squeeze through the narrow opening. Least I won't have to endure this place alone. He thought. Once through, Steele stood in silence, listening. It was too dark to try and scope out the area, and it would take awhile for his eyes to adjust. Besides, anything mutated would make enough noise to give away its position. “You alright in there boss man?” Hermes shouted. “Or did the ghosts get ya?” Scratch laughed. “Quiet you two, and get me a light source. It’s dark as hell in here. “Like what?” Hermes asked. “All I got is my pipbuck, and they don’t just go around and sell lanterns around here.” Steele growled at his failure to foresee a problem like this, but the gesture made him intake more air than usual, and a new stench filled his lungs. Steele coughed hard as a sudden sense of dread washed over him. What the fuck was that smell, and where the hell did it come from? He cursed. “Steele?” Scratch asked, suspicious of Steele’s sudden coughing fit. “I-” Steele began, but was interrupted by a loud automated voice. “Imminent power failure detected. Stable door set to close for the immediate protection of stable tech residents. Please see the stable technician for further assistance, and thank you for choosing stable tech: the stable choice for survival.” It notified. Everyone covered their ears from the deafening screeching of stable eleven’s door as it began to close. Steele was on the floor, paralyzed by the stench and pain, and terrified of being locked away to die in complete darkness and agony. Once the pain subsided, he opened his eyes to meet only darkness. “Shit! Hermes! Scratch! Can you hear me!?” He screamed, his heart pounding so heavily that it threatened to burst out of his chest. He heard nothing but muffled screams in his still ringing ears and cursed again. “I can’t hear yo- fuck!” He cursed as strong lights came on and stung his vision with painful brightness, forcing him to stagger back and sit. What in Luna’s name was going on!? He asked himself, too distracted by the ringing in his ears, and dots in his eyes to notice the smell. His luck wasn’t all bad though, and the ringing in his ears settled down at the same time his eyes adjusted to the flickering and failing light. “Ah fuck me!” He screamed, jumping up and pressing himself against the stable door once he discovered he had just shared a floor with four rotting corpses, all of which were horribly mutilated and torn apart. Shit, Steele, get it together! He commanded himself. The adrenaline coursing through his panicked body kicked in, and Steele refocused to hear muffled screaming from behind the stable door. “Steele! Steele can you hear me!?” Hermes shouted, banging in frustration against the thick door. Steele couldn’t believe the fact that had found sanctuary in Hermes's voice. “Yea, I’m alright in here.” He replied. “Thank Celestia.” Hermes breathed. Scratch, who had hidden her fear for Steele’s safety, finally exhaled as well. “What's going on in there?” She shouted through the door. Steele looked around. Somehow the stable’s emergency door generator had started up, but it only generated enough power to keep a single cell of dim lights blinking. The entire control room was offline, and covered in dust and the old stains of some poor pony’s brains. He was trapped in a closed off room with nothing but four rotting corpses, a sealed and powerless stable door, and a hallway leading to the rest of a pitch black, abandoned stable. “I’m trapped.” Steele realized. Panic tugged at his concentration, but he shook it off and refocused on his friends. “If the power came on, can’t you just open the door?” Scratch pressed. “Its not on dammit! The stable’s emergency generator started up and only had enough juice to close the door.” “Shit.” Scratch cursed. “Do you think you can turn on the power and open the door?” Hermes suggested. “I doubt the generator is still functioning.” Steele answered, bucking the stable door in frustration. “It’s a stable. Its bound to have an armory right? If there aren’t any raiders in there, then see if you can find the explosives. Hopefully there should be enough to blow this thing off its rusty hinges. Do you think you can do that?” Scratch asked. Steele thought about it. The smell was so bad that he’d do just about anything to get out. It’s not like he had a choice anyway. “Yea. I’ll see what I can do, but guys…” “What’s wrong?” Hermes asked, sensing Steele's hesitation. “If you don’t hear from me in 2 days, then leave. Celestia knows what the fuck is in here, hell I can’t even see my hooves once I step out into the hallway. It doesn’t look good from here.” He finished. Dread settled into the pit of his stomach as he realized he might not be making it out of this one. Hermes and Scratch looked for the right thing to say, but Steele interrupted their thoughts. “I’m going now, the smell in here is going to make me puke.” He said, trying to convince himself to get the courage to leave his dimly lit safe haven. He turned toward the hallway and stepped over one of the rotting corpses, a stallion with the majority of his suit torn and decomposed; his lower half seemed to have been snacked on by a passing by mutant, and Steele kept his guns at the ready. “Be careful Steele!” He heard Hermes shout. Steele returned his attention to the seemingly never ending abyss of darkness ahead of him. Strangely enough his very core felt wrong. It wasn’t just the smell anymore, it was something else, pressing on his mind; something that his instinct told him to avoid. Steele shut his eyes, and dismissed the dread as sickness from the smell. If he was going to get out of here alive then he had better man up, and soon. He opened his eyes and used his horn to give off a dim source of light. Better than nothing. He guessed. He took a step into the darkness and felt all the hair on his foreleg stand at attention, almost as if the darkness cowered from the foreign presence before swarming to engulf it. Steele recoiled, bringing his leg back to his chest, and glared ahead. Come on, Steele, stop being such a pussy! He commanded himself. He walked further into the hallway, letting his whole body be swallowed whole by the unholy air. Steele sloshed his way through the thick darkness, and with each click his hooves made against the iron floor, a new pulse of emotion swept over him. There was something really fucked up about this place. Something that made him want to turn around and run. The place was dead and hollow, but shadows danced, things seemed to move, body-less life felt present. Ghosts? Steele asked himself, taking a moment to ponder the thought before shaking it off. Don’t let Hermes get to you, Steele! This is just some abandoned shit hole, and you’ve got to get out. Focus. His mouth dry, senses heightened, and heart erratic Steele pressed on through the abandoned stable with the sole intent of toning out the suffocating dread. His dim light source flickered as his nerve slowly bled out of his body. He stopped short when the corridor ended in a fork that lead to a caved in path, and a descending staircase. "And so begins the descent into madness." He commented out loud; simply to fill the relentless silence. The shadows had already consumed any evidence of sound as he began to travel further into the depths of his shadowy hell. The short descent ripped Steele out of an abandoned stable, and instead tossed him into a world of politics, where propaganda posters replaced the cold hard iron that made up the walls. Now what kind of election would a stable hold? Steele wondered, leaning close to examine a poster. Its colors, although faded, proudly displayed the eye catching text: The Enlightened. Don't stay in the darkness, do what's right; vote for the light! It urged, slathering its motto at the top of the poster; below it a pre-war royal crest was re-purposed for the task of brainwashing any reader into giving their vote. Steele smirked at the bitter irony of the task and his situation, but brought his attention to the rows of similar posters that suffocated the wall; they only ended where the light from his horn could no longer pierce the thick darkness. Must have been the most popular party to have so many posters. Steele observed. But who were they? He asked himself, lost in the advertisement that worked for ponies long since lost to the trials of time. A blood curling scream filled the air, chilling Steele to the bone as he recoiled into reality. Steele cocked his revolvers, and quickly sped through the short hallway. Guns first, he opened the hydraulic steel door at the bottom to find a large, pitch black room. Silence. No movement, no presence, no gunfire or growling; just nerve racking silence. What the fuck!? Steele stood still, his legs spread apart for balance, his guns ready, and his eyes scanning. His heavy breathing displayed his frayed nerves. Nothing screams like that unless it’s getting its skin peeled, and the lack of sound or light was beyond bizarre; it was downright insane. Nothing stirred, not even the gentle howling of moving air was heard through the spacious room; only the frantic thumping of a frightened heart reached Steele's ears. A few beads of sweat trickled down to his chin, and plopped down onto the cold hard ground. Unwilling to believe his mind had so cruelly deceived him, Steele swallowed and finally noticed the illuminated CAFETERIA sign above him. Explains the large room, but a cafeteria without tables seems odd. He observed, reluctantly beginning to relax. This place was just getting to him that’s all; no need to get worked up about nothing. “Spoke too soon.” He remarked through grit teeth as a small bulb flashed to illuminate the room and stunned his vision. Steele lowered his guns and jaw at the same time. Speechless, Steele remained glued to the floor and unable to move. Whatever turned on the bulb revealed the lack of tables was because they were all moved to the ends of the room and used as cover in what appeared to be a civil war. The room was littered with dry blood, bullet casings, and traps of all sorts; Steele himself was only a few inches short of a grenade trap hanging from the ceiling. Once he absorbed enough, he used his magic to disarm the trap and began to look around. There were pony skeletons and bone fragments everywhere. A few still leaned over the cover they so desperately hoped would protect them, some still had rusted guns clenched in their bony jaws while others lay in pieces, torn by explosives. Steele examined some of the makeshift cover to find a smaller skeleton crouching behind it, a large hole in the back of its skull. This is unreal. Steele thought. He looked around for signs of mutants or other ponies who might not belong to the stable, but found nothing. No intruders, no external threat, only dead stable ponies seemingly torn apart by their own madness. Bewildered by the sheer absurdity of a civil war within the very chamber that was build to protect its inhabitants from the lunacy of the outside world, Steele failed to count the number of unfortunate souls to have died here; their screams and suffering forever preserved and lost within the confines of a dark and forgotten tomb. He could almost hear the screams of agony that emanated from untrained fighters, screams that told the suffering and death of those who regretted the painful mistakes of their hot-boiled youth; mistakes that put pony kind in its underground prisons in the first place. Steele's skin crawled as if the hooves of the fallen were pulling it, demanding his attention so as to not be abandoned and forgotten in their eerie grave. He shook violently to get the sickening idea out of his head, and brought his attention to a rifle. Rusted, yet as ready for the spilling of blood as the day it was used, it lay at the hooves of a young stable dweller's corpse, waiting patiently to serve its young master again. Its owner however, lay defeated against his thin cover; his rotting skull hung limp over his chest as his body slumped against the table. Curious, Steele surveyed the area for traps, and when finding none, he returned to the out of place rifle. He really hated the idea of taking stuff from this place, but survival was survival, and he ignored his growing uneasiness. He licked his dry lips and slowly, delicately, began to bend over the table to retrieve the firearm; the nearer he drew, the more anxious the deadly weapon appeared, seemingly anticipating its use for death. Almost got it. Steele grunted as the rifle lay only inches from his grasp. A sudden crack whipped Steele's attention to the pitch black eye sockets of the gun's owner; he shared a spit second of "eye contact" as his entire body tingled with panic. “Fuck this! Fuck stables!" He shouted, scrambling to leave the room in a frightened hurry. There was more to this nightmare than burdened the eye, and whatever it was didn’t want him here. He was done with trying to loot the place, and just wanted to get the hell out. Steele drew his guns and re-lit his horn. He was scared now, and his steps grew louder and more urgent. He no longer traveled with caution, but instead looked for the fastest way to get out of this Celesia damned hell hole. He proceeded through the winding hallways, finding more traps and bodies, until he stumbled upon the Overmare’s room. “Oh thank the goddesses.” He breathed. He might find the water purifier gem here, and more importantly, a way out. Disarming a crude shotgun trap, Steele stepped into the room, illuminating it with the dim light of his horn. He found a working stable tech computer, and an old hoof-written note, he glanced at it nervously, his curiosity urging him to read it, to find out why this place reeks of death and despair, but common sense told him it would only make things worse. Maybe later. Steele decided, quickly rolling up the note and shoving it into his saddlebag. He sat down at the terminal and opened the notes. “New Security Key for the Mainframe.” He read before something behind him moved and stole his attention. Angry at the fact that this place had already made a paranoid fool out of him, Steele raised his magnums and flared his horn. With the extra power, he illuminated enough of the room to catch a pair of white hind legs retreating. “Hermes!” Steele yelled, taking off after the bastard. He was tired of being scared, and pure anger fueled him as he ran after the bastard he was about to tear into pieces. “Hermes get the fuck back here!” He added, turning a corner into a janitors closet. He had the bastard pinned now. He yanked the door open, nearly ripping it off its rusty hinges, his nostrils flared as if in preparation to release steam. Inside, Steele’s anger quickly melted into confusion and shock. His anger and confusion was aimed toward a small cowering filly. She was shaking violently and cowered from the intruder and the guns he was pointing at her face. “Shit.” Steele said. He holstered his guns and spoke softly. “Hey there little one, I’m not going to hurt you. Come on, it’s ok I’ll protect you.” The small filly peeked out from under her forelegs to look at Steele with a large, gold eye. “It’s ok now, I’m sorry for scaring you.” Steele reassured her. This is too Luna damn weird, but hell I’m not going to leave a kid in here. Steele decided. To Steele’s relief the small filly seemed to be warming up to him. She sat upright, and stared at a smiling Steele. “You’re not going to hurt me, right?” She squeaked. Celestia damn that’s adorable. Steele thought. He may or may not have had a weakness for children, but that was not up for discussion with the public. “Of course not.” Steele reassuring with a warm smile. “Then why were you yelling?” She asked, frowning at her mysterious new guest. “I, uh thought you were a friend who was playing games with me.” Steele dodged, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably. Hermes in here, with me? Boy that was stupid. He scolded himself. “Games? But mister it’s scary down here. Why would you want to play games?” The filly asked. “Uh, not those kind of games. Look, forget about it.” Steele answered, willing to change the subject. “Well if your friend thinks you’re playing games with him in here, then should we go look for him?” “Just forget about it kid, he’s fine.” Steele said. “More importantly, what is a filly like you doing here all by herself?” He wondered. “I live here.” She answered nonchalantly, looking at Steele like one does at an unwanted guest. Live here? Ok that means there’s gotta be some other ponies in here. “So then where are your parents and the other ponies?” Steele asked, hoping to get some answers around here. “They’re dead.” She answered coolly, catching Steele off guard with the lack of emotion in her answer. “Everyone?” Steele asked again, just to be sure. He eyed the out of place filly, questioning his own sanity. “Yup.” She said again in the same boring, emotionless way. “Then how and why are you still living here!?” Steele asked. “Well I have no place to go. There’s enough food for me to not get hungry, and I can’t really leave.” Steele brought a hoof to his face as he tried to process the situation. He sighed. “Well alright, can you tell me what happened here as we go back?” He asked. “Sure!” She answered, hoping up and trotting up to Steele; her cute little smile still warmed Steele’s heart. “By the way mister. My names Rose Treats, what’s yours?” She asked. “Steele.” He answered, glad to no longer have to endure walking through the darkness alone. For some odd reason, with this kid here, he no longer felt the eerie grip of the air. “Cool name!” She exclaimed, looking up at Steele with admiration; the gesture cheered Steele up more than he thought it would, and he continued to walk with a content smile. “So Rose Treats, what happened here?” He reminded the cute filly. “Oh, See. There were these big groups of ponies who everyone talked about all the time, and one group was bigger than the others. This big group-” “The Enlightened?” Steele interrupted. “Yea that’s it. Those guys didn’t like some mare, and voted for her to be the Overmare. It was ok at first, but she made a new rule that took away voting powers from the big groups, and banned the “selection.” I think the big group got mad because they didn’t like the changes, so they started to fight. It was really scary, and for a few days mom and dad had to hide in the cafeteria with me. There were other nice ponies there, but they tried to hurt anyone who wanted some of our food. I’m not sure what happened, but one day the other ponies all ran into our cafeteria and started shooting. Mom hid me in the janitor’s closet and told be to be quiet. I was really scared, but I saw she was too, so I stayed quiet. She left, and then there were a lot of loud noises. Some ponies were screaming. There was this big explosion, and when I woke up later it was really dark and everypony was dead or gone; It was really scary.” “Wow kid.” Steele thought aloud, piecing together Rose's simple explanation. He wanted to know more, but was afraid of forcing the poor kid to remember her heavy lose. The kid slept through a war that took from her everything she ever treasured, and awoke to the ashes of her life. He realized, his spirit dampening as he looked at Rose with an apathetic look; to his surprise the little filly looked straight ahead, unfazed by the recollection of her tragedy. Must have run out of tears to cry. Steele assumed. “And the Overmare? What happened to her?” “Oh her, well she died like all the others. She banned the selection, but she still had to go through with it to give us time.” “The selection?” Steele asked. Is that another social experiment? He wondered, cursing the stable tech inventors for their wicked experimentation. “Yea. Mom and dad never liked to talk about it, but this man told me that the stable computer needs someone to be chosen and die so that it doesn’t kill everyone. A lot of ponies from when the stable was still new didn’t like not being told that, so they made it so that the Overmare would be the one to be selected when the computer demanded it.” “Shit.” Steele cursed. He knew the stable experiments were cruel and often resulted in the extermination of those inside, but to force those you were trying to protect to brutally select each other for death was beyond cruel. He prayed for pity on the poor souls that were doomed to extinction the moment they set foot in their false safe haven. How could the past have been so barbaric? He wondered, clenching his jaw in anger and frustration with the mistakes of his supposed goddesses; to think he had to pray to the very source that supposedly began the suffering. The two made it back to the Overmare’s room and Steele sat down to work at the computer. “So Rose Treats, know how we can get out of here?” Steele asked, hoping he could cut the time he had to spend there. “I don’t know. I’m too small to be assigned any stable jobs, and all the other big ponies didn’t want to tell me anything.” She squeaked, crossing her arms and pouting. Steele chuckled lightly. He wasn’t sure how someone so young survived all by herself, but she had obviously gone through a lot of trauma. He refocused on the computer once more, determined to get his little new friend out of here. “Hey Rose, can you find me a pen and paper? I need to write some stuff down.” He asked, once more upset about his lack of a fancy pipbuck. “Sure thing! I saw some in the armory, I’ll go get them!” She exclaimed, turning to run away. “Wait up, you can get into the armory? I thought it was locked down tight.” “It is, the grown-ups hid the password, but during their fighting the vents were damaged and I can crawl through.” Rose answered excitedly, her grin was so wide that it started to tug at Steele’s solid complexion. “Are you sure it’s safe? It’s really dark and dangerous in here, I don’t want you to get hurt.” Steele said; he was beginning to reconsider letting a filly go alone in this hazardous hell hole. The little filly ran toward Steele, forcing him to back away slightly before being tackled and hugged by Rose; the gesture was extremely uncommon for Steele, especially since he wasn’t one to like unauthorized touching, and he stood there for a moment wondering how he should react.The little filly was choking his foreleg with her hug, and Steele couldn’t help but smile. What is it about her that makes me such a pussy? He wondered, disgusted by how easily his shell was being breached. “Thanks for being so nice, it’s awfully lonely down here.” She said, rubbing her muzzle against Steele's solid leg. The "iron"-pony chuckled. He knew this filly really needed someone, and he was glad that he could fill that quota. Afterall, right about now he needed her just as much as she needed him. “Come on Rose, knock it off.” He said, trying to gently shake his foreleg free. “Ok.” Rose answered, letting go and standing upright; she looked up at Steele with affection in her eyes. “I’ll go get the things you need.” She announced, turning to leave. “Wait, Rose, are there any explosives that you can fit through the vents in there?” “I think I saw a few, why?” “I want you to bring them back if they’re not too heavy. Think you can do that?” “Why?” Rose questioned again; the assertiveness in her voice caught Steele off guard. “I think you may have just solved my...our problem.” Steele answered. He didn’t like the caution in Rose’s voice, so he decided it’d be best to not tell her his plan just yet. “Ok, I’ll be right back.” She answered normally. Steele watched her scurry off and turned back to the monitor, but Rose returned shortly. “Oh and Steele, be careful.” She said, and left again. Why the hell would she tell me to be careful? Steele wondered. The gesture was odd, but he had more important things to worry about and shrugged it off. Shit, it’s back. Steele mentally cursed. The feeling of dread attacked his body once more, giving him a sensation of being really dirty. Was that there before? Steele asked himself as the monitor displayed a new function; Open the chamber. Chamber? What kind of chamber? He wondered. Steele selected the option and backed up as the desk began to lift off the ground via hydraulic pumps; it revealed a metal staircase leading to another long, dark hallway. “Great.” He breathed regrettably. He knew he was going to go check it out, and he hated himself already. Steele drew his guns again and looked out the Overmare’s office. The dim light from his horn didn’t show much, but he couldn’t hear or see any sign of Rose. Whatever, he didn’t know what was down there anyway so it was better to not take her along. With another sigh, Steele descended the stairs and began another journey through the unholy stable. Stabletech sure loves its long hallways. He thought. The hallway ended with another, smaller hallway, but this one was different; there was something at the end of it. Steele readied his weapons and stepped forward. “H...hello stable resident!” Welcomed an old and stuttering recording. I don’t like the looks of this. Steele thought; the bright lights ahead didn’t help either. “The lights ahead set your mind at ease, you feel welcomed." The automated voice continued. Steele felt sick, but he kept moving forward despite feeling like he was being pushed into the room. Once past the bright lights, Steele looked around to find himself in an overly spacious room. It looked nice. There was a video player on a table in the center, a large comfy couch, and some apple whiskey along with some cigarettes and dirty water. “What in Celestia’s name is going on!?” Steele shouted, having turned to leave, but found a large, thick hydraulic door blocking his exit. To his dismay, the video player had started without his assistance. “Hello there!” It greeted. “If you’re in this room, then that means you’ve been selected for the greater good of the stable.” “Fuck, no dammit, this can’t be happening!” Steele screamed, pounding on the door like his heart pounded in his chest. “Come on, you piece of shit! Open!” He commanded it, straining himself to pry the door open with his magic. Unfortunately the door didn’t budge and Steele gave up with a grunt. “You’ve lived a good life.” The mechanical voice continued, trying to lull its victim into a sense of peace. I can't die in here. Steele concluded. He turned back to observe the rest of the room. The video and voice still played, but he couldn’t hear what it was saying because of how loudly his heart thumped in his ears. Come on, Steele, think! He commanded himself, closing his eyes and concentrating hard. He wasn’t going down, not yet. Not to some fucked up experiment set up by his goddess-forsaken ancestors. That’s it! Steele thought, taking out the salvaged grenades. “And remember that time you…” The automated voice droned in the background of Steele’s thoughts. Steele knew the video was coming to an end, and began to quickly rearrange the furniture. He picked a corner near the door, and barricaded his front with the couch, table, and metal video player; he drew Mustang and Sally, readied the grenades, and took his position behind his makeshift cover. “Do you feel at peace? Good.” The computer finished, dropping its pitch on the last word and stretching it nefariously. “Come at me!” Steele demanded, tired of being toyed with. The large walls began to slide open on opposite sides, revealing Robobrains, military grade Sentinels, and turrets. “Catch!” Steele shouted, tossing two grenades left and right; he took cover behind his makeshift barrier and winced as the deafening explosion sent robo-pony brains and shrapnel all over the room. The world went silent as his ears reached their pain threshold. Deaf and irate, Steele stepped out of cover and began to pelt the first thing he saw, a sentinel, with lead. As Steele fired, he noticed that the grenades had only managed to take down the brainbots and a left turret, leaving both sentinels damaged, but fully functional. Fuck. He thought, mid-shot as the Sentinel he was attacking started its combat targeting computer and raised its missile-loaded hoof. Helpless, Steele was forced to observe the remaining turret tear two holes into his body, drawing blood, and closed his eyes as the missile silently left the barrel of the sentinel's hoof; the last thing he saw was the bright flames from the ignition of his doom. Steele’s body erupted in pain. The world spun as Steele watched his blood, armor, body, and barrier fly through the air in his silent final moments. Each inch of his body burned as flesh tore and sizzled, sending a warm sensation after each pulse of agonizing pain. The vibrations from his body hitting the cold hard floor were the last thing on his conscious mind before everything went black. Unfortunately his torture didn’t end there, and the adrenaline coursing through his leaking veins forced him into painful consciousness. Steele wasn’t sure whether it was his will to live, quick thinking, or a burning desire for revenge that gave him the strength to use his magic and turn the active turret toward the sentinel and riddle it with bullets, effectively exploding it, and in turn damaging the turret as well. His remaining harbinger, a damaged, but fully functioning sentinel rolled up to Steele’s now motionless and rapidly losing consciousness body; it aimed its plasma gun. “Intruder vitals detected, eliminating.” It announced. “Fuck you.” Steele managed before the remaining strength had finally drained from his body and left it limp and unconscious at the hoofs of his doom. *** Pain, that is what Steele used to describe the world he woke up to. Incomprehensible, agonizing, burning pain. His flesh burned and sizzled, his lungs struggled to work, his head vibrated with mind- numbing agony. Simply remaining alive burdened him, and the world as he knew it was black behind his heavy eyelids. Am I dead? He wondered. No, if he was then he wouldn’t be writhing in agony. Pity. He complained, finding it nearly impossible to gather the strength to open his eyes. Steele tried again, and successfully managed to pry open his eyes to allow the world around him to slowly return. He looked around, analyzing his predicament; he found himself laying in a pool of his own blood, his armored bard torn wide open at his shoulder and chest, and a lone sentinel towered above him, its plasma gun aimed at his head. Looking past the barrel of his would be doom, he saw his satchel laying on the ground, its contents littered the floor; Steele scanned the pile for something he could use to end the suffering, but found nothing. “Steele! Steele are you in there!? Steele!” A voice cried out; It was a fillies voice, and whatever was making it sounded afraid and hysterical. Who the hell would be here in a place like thi- Rose! Steele realized, his eyes growing large with the realization that he couldn’t die, not yet, not while Rose needed him. Steele’s eyes frantically darted across the room, searching once more for something that would at least give him the strength to speak. How did I miss that!? Steele asked himself. He spotted his salvation, a hydra potion he saved since the nightkin incident. Thank Celesia for Hermes. “Steele.” Rose whimpered behind the door, motivating Steele to get that damn potion closer to him. Steele glared at the solution to his problem, willing nearer, but could not find the strength to bring it any closer. He closed his eyes and considered bitter failure. His vision was fading from the blood lose, and he danced on the verge of consciousness. It was now or never, and he tried once more. Come on. He urged, but achieved nothing as his body refused to spare any energy it was using to cling to fleeing life. Steele closed his eyes as he realized he had been forced to give up. Forced to die in silence. He tried to pity himself, but disappointing in his shortcomings while he was so close to success, he failed to do so. He did however, find regret. Regret for doing nothing more than leaving another useless corpse in the Mojave, regret for falling prey to the bitter malice of the pre-war generation. A fitting ending really. He thought bitterly. "Steele don't die in here." A filly's voice sulked, convincing Steele to hold his meeting with the reaper. Steele awoke to another kind of regret; regret for giving up on himself and those that depended on him. He had to live, for the courier too stupid to survive on his own, for the griffon that would not get far without a tough pony ally, for the filly that had come to his aid in time to nearly receive only suffering in return. He willed the potion closer, nearly blacking out from the sheer exertion of using his magic. Luckily the bottle rolled closely enough for him to devour the precious liquid. The let the cooling elixir work its magic and mend his broken body. He finally breathed a full gasp of air as the potion worked quickly and diligently to grow new cells and replace his burned and torn flesh. Steele grunted as his chest and limbs shifted from underneath the flesh, moving, searching for their original positions and popping into place as they mended their cracks and tears. "Kindness." Steele breathed, relieved to only be lightheaded from blood-loss. Kindness was responsible for the powerful magic that toyed with the very essence of life and brought him back from the verge of death. Steele levitated the empty bottle to his face and looked over the three butterflies that marked the work of the Ministry of Peace. Kindness, an element of the impossible dream of Harmony, was powerful enough to last through the ages and awake like within his dying body. Perhaps the past wasn't as dark as the atrocities it left behind; maybe there still wonder to discover in the ashes of a hated past. “Rose.” Steele grunted, standing up. The hydra potion might have repaired his body, but his head was still spinning, and his body still ached. “Rose!” Steele screamed again, having not gotten an answer. “Where the hell is she?” He thought aloud, looking the sentinel over. What the hell happened to this thing? Steele wondered; the bot didn’t seem to have any external damage dealt to it aside from the grenade that he threw, and that had barely dented its armor. The Luna-forsaken thing had just turned off mysteriously, as if something flipped its off switch. Steele left the damn thing alone and took a step toward his belongings, but stopped himself before falling over. Shit, I lost a lot of blood. He concluded, eyeing a large crimson pool where he lay only moments ago. Steele repacked his saddlebag, reloaded his guns, and winced as he gingerly put his tattered saddlebag back on; he observed his clothing to find that that his chest and right shoulder were exposed, the clothing torn and uneven with burn marks. The whole ensemble, his coat included were caked with a layer of his blood, dividing his body in two. Steele used Ratslayer to permanently disable the remaining sentinel; after all, he couldn’t push his luck too far. He finished scavenging any ammo and explosives off the bots, and looked around the room for a chance to escape; what he found was the stable’s mainframe and water supply stashed in the left wall of where the bots came from. Thank Celestia, now I can get the fuck out of here. Steele thought, salvaging the water purifier crystal, unlocking the door to his escape, and finding a way to route power to the stable door; for some odd reason, the air around him felt a little lighter with the room and its sickening past destroyed. Or maybe it was just his spinning head, either way he was getting the hell out of here. The door opened, and as soon as Steele stepped out into the unpleasant darkness, he was nearly knocked off his unstable hooves by Rose, who buried her face into Steele’s lower chest and sobbed. “I... thought I was going... to….lose you and be all alone again.” She said in between sobs, ignoring the layer of crimson that lay between her and Steele. Steele felt sick, partially because of the sensation the stable gave off, and mostly because he was on the brink of consciousness. “It’s ok there Rose, I wasn’t planning on ever leaving you behind.” He assured her, petting her pink mane with his clean hoof. “I couldn’t let them take you too.” She whimpered. “What? Let who take me?” Steele asked, confused. Rose let go of Steele and stood on her own, wiping away her tears. “Never mind.” She answered. “Oh, and I got you what you asked for! Even the pen and paper see?” She exclaimed, pulling a little leather satchel filled with what appeared to be high end, Stable quality explosives; an old pen and rotting paper were tucked into a pocket in the front. “Thanks Rose, you’re a big help. Now lets go.” Steele said, attempting to use magic to lift the bag, but picking it up instead when he found himself too weak to do so. “Go where?” Rose asked. To Steele’s surprise there was an unpleasant tone in her voice, and he pondered as to how he should respond. “Uh, to meet my friends. I’m hurting real bad right now, and I need their help.” Steele answered, struggling to light his horn enough to find their way back. “I can help you.” Rose answered gruffly. She was following Steele, but she was looking down as if she was upset with something. But what could that be? Steele wondered. Steele stopped walking and turned to Rose. “Oh come on Rose, you’ve been a big help, and I couldn’t have done anything without you.” He said, petting her mane in an attempt to cheer her up; luckily she looked up and smiled. She hugged Steele’s leg again. “Ok, but you won’t leave me right?” She asked. “Never.” Steele answered, turning around and beginning to walk toward the Stable door and leave this ordeal behind him. Steele was glad to finally be getting out of this hell hole, but as he progressed the feeling of dread grew stronger, angrier, like there was something that didn’t want him to leave; simply walking tired him as unseen hooves hindered his path, pulling him back into the stable. Trying not to empty his stomach, Steele looked back to make sure Rose was still behind him; she was, but she seemed cautious, like there was something she was waiting for. Maybe she feels it too, after all her friends and family died here. Steele reasoned. The duo finally ended up in the Stable door control room. The smell was still horrible, but now a small green button was illuminated in the control room, right next to the dead pony skeleton with its brain residue covering the other controls and glass panel. “Hey Rose, do you know who these guys were? They still smell, so they can’t have died that long ago.” Steele asked, looking around the control room for anything else he might have needed to press. “They wanted to abandon me, to leave me and never come back. Steele, they left me all alone!” Rose yelled, stomping her hoof. “It’s ok Rose, I...uh… I” Wow this must be a really strong smell. Steele thought. He couldn’t think straight. Either the smell was that bad, or the feeling he was getting came from something else. “Please don’t leave me Steele. I don’t want to be alone.” Rose said; she was crying again. “Oh come on Rose, I already told you I won’t, so please don’t cry.” Steele pleaded, pushing the green button and starting the opening process. Sufficient power supply detected! Thank you for choosing Stable tech, be careful out there! It notified. The Stable door began to screech open. “Steele!? Steele! Shit, he did it!” A muffled voice screamed, it belonged to Hermes. “Don’t leave me Steele, please! I don’t want to be alone, I don’t want to be by myself again. Don’t leave me, Steele!” Rose screamed, forcing Steele to collapse from the multitude of pain in his head. Where the hell was she screaming from? Steele asked himself, looking through tearing eyes; he couldn’t find Rose anywhere. She must have gotten scared of the noise and run off. Steele reasoned. The door finished opening, and light flooded into the room. “Told you he’d do it.” Scratch said, rushing over to Steele’s side and providing a support for him to lean on. "Holy shit, Steele what the fuck happened to you?" She asked, grabbing his side and supporting him. “Shit boss man, what the hell happened in there?” Hermes asked, seeing the poor condition Steele and his clothes were in. “Rose, where is she?” Steele asked, only half conscience with the knowledge that his friends were there. “Who the hell is Rose?” Scratch asked once they had escorted Steele outside and sat him down. “Rose, a small filly, where is she!?” Steele demanded. “I think he’s lost it.” Scratch commented. “What filly boss man, you were the only one there.” Hermes answered, looking quizzingly at Steele. Audio log downloaded, playing now. Notified Hermes’s pipbuck. “What crap did you pick up now?” Scratch asked angrily, glancing at Hermes who had snuck a pipbuck out of the stable on the way out. “It’s not crap.” He answered wryly. “I picked it up from one of the bodies in there, it might provide some answers.” “Rose.” Steele began before being cut off by the log. This is Stable eleven technician, Iron Weld. To whoever finds this log inside of Stable eleven, turn back. It's pointless. I am the last surviving member of this stable. There were five of us left after we found the answer to the mainframe’s demands; it was simple. From the very beginning the whole damn thing was a test given to us by Stable Tech. They wanted to see if we’d send a pony to die so the rest of us can live, and we did; and not only did we do it, but we’ve done some terrible things to each other to select someone. Anyway as I was saying, there were five of us when we found out that all we needed to do for the computer to not kill us all, was to simply deny it. Show it that we valued the idea of preserving other’s lives more than our own… and we’d have lived. When I and the last of us found out, they couldn’t take it. We all wanted out, but some of us just couldn’t live with it all. They wanted all of us to kill ourselves, to take the horrible history of our stable with us, but I just couldn’t do it. I’ve helped them kill themselves, and am leaving this cursed place forever, and as a warning to all you scavengers out there, leave now. You might not believe in ghosts yet, but you definitely don’t want your opinion to be changed in this stable. Again, there is absolutely no one left alive in there, and nothing worth of value, the whole damn place feels haunted. Turn back and leave, for your own good! And… and if you don’t believe me… *Sigh* for Celestia’s sake, we killed fucking children down there. Children! Hell, I saw a poor little filly’s body torn apart in the goddess forsaken janitor’s closet. The poor thing was hiding in there. Hell… I knew her parents too. Sweet thing hated to see us fight, always wanted to protect us somehow. So please, don’t press your luck in there. Turn back, it’s not worth it. I repeat, turn back now! The recording finished, but the words still rang in Steele’s head. No one left. Everyone’s dead. It couldn’t be. No, Steele saw her, he felt her. She saved him… she saved him after all, and he broke his only promise to her. Steele felt sick, he leaned over and vomited. Hermes and Scratch watched him, they could tell that Steele saw some shit that not even he understood in there; all they could do now was try and help him somehow. “I got the damn crystal. Help me get back, I’m not feeling quite right.” Steele ordered, leaning over for another wave of sickness to pass. “Alright boss man.” Hermes answered calmly. With their assistance, Steele made it back to Novac in one piece. He managed to give them a short summary on the shit he’d seen, thought maybe that might help him somehow, but instead it only made things worse when neither Scratch, nor Hermes could respond. “You should see the doc, that missile might have done more damage than was fixed by the hydra.” Hermes suggested. “Yea, we’ll take your gear and see if we can sell the salvage and patch up your suit.” Scratch added. “Thanks you two, but I need to lay down right now. You can take the salvage, but don’t sell the explosives. Might be useful later.” Steele answered, motioning toward the hotel rooms. “You need to see a doc.” Hermes pressed. “I need a fucking therapist right now.” Steele barked. “I’ll see the doc in the morning, it’s late anyway. I was in there all day and I’m tired. You two should get some sleep as well. We’ll deal with everything tomorrow.” He finished, making a feeble attempt at walking before finally being helped by his friends. “Leave it to Steele to have a game plan after the shit he’s been through.” Hermes remarked. “You can go Hermes, I’ll watch him tonight. Take the other room, but see if you can repair his armor first; I think I saw a trader roll in recently.” Scratch said. "Oh, and see if you can give that thing a wash first." She added, eyeing the crusty layer of blood with disgust. “Hey, if you want to be left alone, just ask.” Hermes joked, but stopped laughing when Scratch stared him down. “Sorry, wrong time. Night you two.” He finished, grabbing Steele’s gear and setting out. “I’m here if you need me Steele.” Scratch said, removing her own gear and grabbing her bed. “Thanks.” Steele replied meekly. He used the bathroom to rinse off as much blood as he could, and collapsed on his bed under the concerned watch of Scratch. He might have had his dirty, blood soaked armor off, but he still felt dirty inside. He felt like he let her down; he felt violated, abused, toyed with. He’d never believed in, not to mention interacted with ghosts before, and this was just one hell of a messed up first time. Am I losing it, could I just have been scared? He asked himself. He hoped to find solace in his insanity, but he knew he was lying. He felt her. He talked to her. There was no fucking way he imagined it. He comforted, then abandoned the ghost of a little filly who had endured so much suffering that she couldn’t accept the cold hard fate of death. The idea itself was so sickening that Steele rushed out of bed and puked into the toilet again. Once he had nothing left to puke, he steadied himself on the sink, and began to wash his face. “You alright in there?” Scratch asked caringly, disappointed in her inability to help him further. “I’ll be fine.” He answered gruffly, but the truth was he didn’t think he’d ever be fine again. Steele looked up into the mirror and stared at his reflection; a pale, sickly, horror stricken face stared back. Relax Steele. It was just the stable and your mind. Hermes got to you that’s all. You pictured ghosts, saw a bunch of dead bodies, and made up a filly to keep you company. Point is, you got out of there, and you got the crystal. You got shit to do, Steele, toughen up! The Mojave was never easy, and you know that. Get yourself together. He motivated himself. Steele sighed and went back to bed. He felt a little better now, especially knowing that he had friends who got him out of there. Finally Steele’s exhaustion caught up to him, and he fell into a deep, uncomfortable slumber.
Chapter Five“Steele! Steele! Steele are you in there?” asked a whiny child's voice; the sound of little hooves striking thick steel followed shortly. “Steele!” It squeaked again. Thump after thump found its way into Steele's head and finally revived him with a deep intake of air through collapsed lungs. Pain greeted him with its foreboding presence and hindered his attempts at lifting his heavy eyelids. It stung him once more, but to its dismay that only persuaded him to find the strength to finally get his eyes open. Fuck. Where am I? He wondered. His mind raced and struggled to place him in a reality where he lay in a pool of blood, in a sideways room. Hell, if it wasn’t for the ringing in his ears he’d be certain there was a ominous buzz lingering ever so closely to his left. “Shit!” Steele cursed as reality hit him hard. His adrenaline and fear gave him the strength to ignore his body's cries of pain and use his magic to throw himself away from the sentinel’s plasma shot; his body hit the door behind him, replying to the earlier knocks with a solid thump, and his vision shrouded in darkness for a brief moment. “Steele!?” Questioned the familiar voice; a voice that gave Steele too many emotions to focus on right now. Consciousness quickly losing its weak grip over his mind, Steele grit his teeth to a point where they threatened to crack, but mustered enough strength to pull out his revolvers and pelt the sentinel with all the hatred, anger, confusion, and fear he felt. The sentinel was long disabled before Steele stopped firing blanks, his adrenaline taking over his reflexes; once it wore off, his guns clinked uselessly to the side. He took a moment to breath and pick up whatever pieces of his psyche he could find. The fuck is going on here? He asked himself, breathing heavily as he looked around his room, his meant-to-be steel coffin. He brought his hooves to his face and looked them over with utmost disbelief; he clinked them together a few times simply to assure himself of their existence. Is this a dream? Was I out cold? He wondered. “Steele answer me.” A voice sobbed. “Please.” it added. The request wrecked Steele's train of thought and quickened the pace of his heartbeat. Behind his dying body was a ghost filly that supposedly not only saved him, but provided him comfort when he needed it most; and it asked nothing more than love and loyalty in return. Or was that a dream too? He asked himself; after all, a place with a history as vile as stable eleven's could do much more that make a fear stricken mind believe its own wicked imagination. “I’m all alone again aren’t I?” Questioned a grief stricken filly, filling Steele with another wave of emotions he didn’t want. Clinging on to the last threads of life and awareness he had left, Steele leaned against the stable door, a trail of his own blood leading to his body like paint from a brush, bleeding to death; he listened to the sobs, but he didn’t know how to feel. He was tired, angry, sad, and above all, frustrated. He had had-enough; he didn’t want to deal with this, he didn’t want to die, didn’t want to bear the pain of losing his chance to help Rose another time. He considered getting up, but the pain kept him firmly planted. Maybe he did want to give up, to lose. He tossed the idea around a bit, savoring its taste and considering all it entailed. Lose; that’s all he had to do. Give up, call it quits, let… go, and all his troubles would be gone. With all the shit he’d gone through he had never really lost. He never died, never suffered physically irreparable damage. He always came up on top, always survived despite the Mojave’s wishes to see him dead; he’d won every round, survived every blow, and clawed his way to survival up until now. He had won when his prize was life, but what point was there in winning when the prize was no longer attractive? Why win when you lose just by playing the game? Maybe it was time to give up; to lose a round so that he may end the game in his favor. Steele closed his eyes, relaxed, and let the cool hand of death slowly embrace him; he was going to let the Mojave win this time. Another sob woke Steele up for good, and he jolted back into awareness. Who am I kidding? He told himself. He wasn’t going to die, not because he wanted to live, but because he had to. He had friends. Dream or not he had made his choice; to survive for the small group he now lead into either riches and comfort, or death. Regrettably, he had placed a responsibility that he could not run away from.They needed him, and despite what he forced himself to think, he knew he wasn’t selfish enough to cheat them by giving up. “I’m coming, Rose.” He mumbled, momentarily breaking the sobbing as he struggled to levitate the hydra potion. He gave it one last push, and rolled the bottle close enough to take it and gulp down its precious contents with an almost angry enthusiasm. How the hell did The Steele almost decide on giving up? He mentally barked at himself, letting the potion wash over his insides and set his bones in place. Steele got up on shaky legs, careful to not slip on his own mess. As his dream had predicted, the sentinel stood slouched and deactivated where it had almost killed him, his clothing was torn and caked in blood, and his head spun from having most of it on his clothes and coat. Steele reloaded his weapons and repacked his gear, trying to not linger on the dé jà vu. He found the stable’s mainframe and water crystal where he imagined they would be; he hesitated before unlocking the door, but quickly forced himself to. Finally, he stood before the very door that had lead him into two separate lives that he could not distinguish from real or imagined. Behind it lied an answer to a question he did not want answered. He wasn’t sure if he could bear to face Rose again, face a spirit that he had cruelly betrayed; he sighed and took a deep breath before giving the door his best glare. He wasn’t sure he could live through another abandonment, but he sure as hell knew he wouldn’t live through leaving a crying and dependent filly in a hell hole like this. He opened the door. “Steele!” Rose gasped. The filly had been crying and her face and coat were soaked with tears; beside her rested an old bag filled with explosives. A pen and paper stuck out of the small outer pocket. To Steele's relief he felt Rose as she gripped his foreleg and sobbed quietly into it. Steele pondered as to what to say, taken both by the awkwardness of the gesture and his experience. On one hoof he knew that touch had deceived him, but on the other he could not fathom a way for tears that weren’t his to feel this genuine. Overcome with emotion, he could do nothing more but hug the cute little filly; she squirmed a bit, surprised by the sudden action, but soon melted into his tight grasp. Steele hugged her for all he was worth. He hugged her for forgiveness, for affection, and to hope that he never has to leave her behind like he supposedly already has. After Rose’s external, and Steele’s internal sobbing had ceased, Steele cursed himself for being a pussy and straightened himself. “I thought you were-” “I'm not, and I won’t leave you behind.” Steele interrupted. He just wanted to leave, to find his friends and save Rose from this shit-hole. “Come on, follow me.” He said, straining to put the saddlebag on his aching body. “Where to?” Rose questioned him with a familiar caution. “I’m taking you with me.” Steele answered assertively, more as a command to himself than to answer Rose. He was too scared of reliving his dream to bother adding anything else. Steele marched through the stable, ignoring the familiar dread, and taking caution as to not look back at Rose for fear of seeing her displeased. He lead her back to the stable door and paused, praying that he would not hear that damned question. “You’re leaving Steele?” Rose asked, concern and tension in her voice. Celestia dammit. “We’re leaving.” Steele answered sternly. “But-” “We are getting out of here.” Steele growled again, fighting the pain in his head; pain that he hoped was coming from the lack of blood rather than Rose. Steele quickly maneuvered to open the stable door before Rose could protest, and the squeal of the rusty stable door droned out any other noises. Through the pain, Steele maneuvered to stand in front of the door, ready to see his friends and be done with this ordeal. Once the door opened however, the color drained from his face. It was night time, and nothing but a used, days old campfire stood where his friends were supposed to be. “Wha- What?” Steele thought aloud, his world torn right from under him. A soft, yet almost cold presence pressed itself against his rear leg. “Steele? You aren’t going out there, right?” Rose asked, hugging his leg tightly. Steele failed to come up with an answer. Everything was wrong! His friends were supposed to be there, it would be day, and they would all leave! This couldn’t possibly be right, could it? Steele wondered. Ok. Okay, take it easy, Steele. You have no idea how long you’ve been in there. Maybe it has been days and they’ve left. You’ll catch them in the morning. He reasoned. He took a few deep breaths and cleared his head; right now he had Rose to worry about, and she seemed alive, so he just had to calm down. Besides, he didn’t really want to leave the safety of a haunted stable anyway. Outside was dangerous. He could lose Rose, or get hurt; it was safe here, in the stable. Wait, what? he asked himself, surprised by the unusual thought. “Steele it’s scary out there, can you stay with me?” Rose asked, tugging at his leg and heart strings. “But we can camp out there, in fresh air, without bodies.” Steele reasoned, glad that there was enough ventilation to rid the air of the foul stench. “But it’s scary and dark out there. I’m staying here, and you said that you won’t leave me, so come on let’s go.” Rose protested, letting go of his leg and motioning him to follower her into the stable. “No! Rose I wanna get out of here, please let’s leave-” “Steele, you said you were not going to leave me!” Rose shouted, taking a more intimidating stance, which despite the fear in Steele’s conscience, was cute for her small size. “I’m not, Rose, please-” “You said you weren’t leaving me!” Rose screeched, her yell echoing through the stable and Steele’s head; he shut his eyes and covered his ears in an attempt to drone her out. “Rose.” Steele pleaded through the ringing; his heart was racing and his mind tried to reject the unpleasant dé jà vu. “Why would you want to leave me, Steele!? I helped you, I cared about you, I needed you! Why would you hurt me like that? Abandon me!? Steele!” “Steele! Steele are you alright?” Scratch shouted, rocking him in an attempt to wake her distressed friend. Steele recoiled out of bed, nearly crashing into Scratch. “Luna save me.” Steele muttered, his heart thumping loudly in his ears. He felt sick again, but was thankful there was nothing left in his stomach for him to puke. “You alright?” Scratch asked again. She was visibly shaken and she eyed Steele with concern. Steele struggled to comprehend his situation. What was real and what was a dream? He wasn’t sure anymore, but at least now he had someone he trusted beside him. “What happened?” He asked gruffly, looking at Scratch with tired, blue eyes; she was fully dressed and the morning sun shone through the window. “You were screaming your name in your sleep so I woke you up.” Scratch answered; to Steele's dismay she eyed him like he was mad. “Goddesses.” Steele sighed, pushing his muzzle into his hooves. “Hey, you alright? What happened?” Scratch consoled, placing her talons on his shoulder. Steele looked up and was met with genuine concern on Scratch’s face; dream or not that was a welcome new addition to his life. “Rose.” He finally whispered, looking back down toward the foot of his bed. Scratch thought of what to say without hurting Steele further, but was interrupted by him once more. “Nevermind me, Scratch. Thanks for waking me up, appreciate it, but we have things to do.” He said, getting out the opposite side of the bed. “I see you're ready, but where’s Hermes?” He added, making his way toward the bathroom. “Hermes couldn’t find the trader yesterday, so he left to repair your armor and gear today. I, uh. I didn’t want to leave you unattended, not in your current state that is, so I stayed behind to watch you… sleep.” Scratch finished, scratching the back of her head and looking away to try and make the situation less awkward. Steele craned his head past the bathroom’s doorway to give Scratch a raised eyebrow, questioning look. “Smooth.” He said, chuckling as he closed the door behind him. Scratch face-clawed as the door closed. “That came out weird.” Steele heard through the door. Steele spent an unusually long time looking at himself in the mirror. What would normally be a scruffy-haired, lively, deadpan face, was now tired, sick, and weak; only his toned muscles tied together at his chin scar kept his face from drooping, and even they looked energy deprived. What’s wrong with me? Steele wondered, hating himself for looking as bad as he felt. Probably just hungry. Yea, that’s it. Some food will do me good. He decided, a bit more enthusiastic now that he had a goal in mind. Steele finished tidying himself up and met Scratch outside. “Where are the explosives?” He asked. “They’re in the floor safe of our other room. It’s not like we’re going to be carrying those around, so might as well just leave em here where it’s safe.” “And the crystal?” “It’s in my bag. You don’t have your clothes on you right now, and we’re carrying some pretty precious cargo; I’d rather not let every traveler see it.” Scratch answered quietly. “Good thinking.” Steele answered, looking toward the rest of the town. He was glad someone other than himself could make the right decisions. “Let’s go find Hermes. I don’t feel like staying here much longer. Besides, I don’t like being this vulnerable in broad daylight.” He added, looking at his exposed coat. “Morning, boss man!” Hermes greeted enthusiastically, stopping his friends at the foot of the staircase. He was levitating Steele’s hat and garb, both of which seemed to have gone through some patchy repairs; his own stable suit was reinforced with metal pieces and leather that seemed to be the work of the same inexperienced trader. “Nice timing.” Steele greeted; he eyed his clothes with displeasure. “Thanks. How’d you sleep?” Hermes answered. “You don’t look like yourself.” He added. “I’ll be fine soon as I get my clothes and hard earned pay.” Steele answered, taking his garb and putting it on. “Sorry about the patchy repairs, but it was the best the trader could do.” Hermes apologized. He looking away while Steele finished dressing himself and put on his hat. Displeased with the patchwork, yet finally clothed, Steele looked over the repairs. He unsuccessfully tried to not look disappointed at the makeshift work. Instead of his usual neatly concealed protection, large, bulky steel plates covered his shoulder and chest. A few small holes in the leather revealed the older and thinner plates behind it. “Well I can still walk, so it’ll have to do.” Steele said, breaking the awkward silence. "Least the blood is gone." “Well you have thicker armor now.” Scratch commented. She herself looked slightly disgusted by Steele's new wear, but said nothing else.” “What now?” Hermes meekly asked, still feeling bad for doing his job poorly. “Lets go collect what belongs to us.” Steele answered, pushing past Hermes and heading toward the mayor’s office. Once there Steele stopped short of the door. “Give me the crystal and stay out here you two, I’ll handle this.” He commanded. “You sure you’re in the mood to negotiate?” Scratch asked, hesitantly handing over the crystal. “I’m not, and that’s why I’m going.” He answered, opening the door and walking in. Upon entering Steele interrupted a conversation between No-Bark and Sunny Aurora, both of whom turned to face him as soon as the door clicked shut behind him. A shot glass filled with apple whiskey sat atop the mayor’s desk, indicating that she had either been working hard recently, or anticipating Steele’s arrival. No-Bark shifted around in his chair while Steele and Sunny stared each other down; both found the matter at hand unpleasant, but Steele knowing he had the leverage this time, took initiative. “I didn’t know you were waiting for me like this, Sunny.” Steele greeted, walking up to and taking a seat at his chair. “If I’d have known I’d have dressed in something a bit more presentable.” He said, smiling charmingly at Sunny, who bore through him with a fierce stare of utter contempt. “Good idea, maybe next time you can clean up for the occasion too.” She snickered, eyeing the rusted brown patches left on Steele's coat with disgust. Steele acknowledged her statement with a nod and quickly looked himself over. “Price I had to pay to get this town what it needs.” He continued calmly. “Our hero.” Sunny spat. “I don’t know what it is, but something tells me you’re not exactly happy to see me, so why don’t we cut the formalities and get straight down to business, huh?” Steele offered casually. He levitated the glass of whiskey to his mouth and savored the mayor's face as he took a sip. “Lets.” Sunny agreed, tearing open a drawer and removing a sack of bits neatly tied shut; she placed it on top of a set of documents and slid the whole package over to Steele. “A thousand caps, two hotel rooms, and -" She took a moment to swallow the idea of her next words. "Citizenship deeming you eligible for a discount at all vendors in Novac.” She finished. “I assume favors will remain a verbal agreement.” Steele said, looking up from the documents and payment. “I’d rather not have the town know they owe something to some mercenary.” Sunny answered bitterly. “This mercenary has more support from the town than its mayor.” Steele remarked. “News gets around fast when problems disappear as soon as a new stranger shows up.” Steele leaned back into his chair. “But, I’m sure they will soon be praising the mayor that gave them access to a fresh water supply in the dry hell they know as the Mojave.” Sunny eyed the cocky bastard in her chair and thought of all the hateful things she could say. Instead she chose to get the ordeal over with as quickly as possible. “Fair enough, but first things first. The crystal If you please.” Sunny said, extending a hoof toward Steele. Steele drew the crystal from his saddlebag and began to levitate it over, but withdrew it right before Sunny could take it. “And the information you owe me?” He said, taking pleasure in watching the mayor’s frustration with him. “No-Bark here would gladly tell you what he saw soon as you hand over that crystal, wouldn’t you honey?” She asked him, no longer using all the venom she had saved up for Steele. The crazy pony had been sitting quietly this whole time, trying to not get noticed by Steele for fear of falling victim to another one of his interrogation sessions, but with the reassuring smile from Sunny he found the courage to speak. “Anything for my wifey.” He began, earning Sunny a confused eyebrow raise from Steele. Wifey? Steele wondered, but a smirk and stern glare from her warned him to stay silent. “But first, the crystal.” Sunny said, extending her hoof once more, this time she narrowed her eyebrows at Steele. He reluctantly levitated the crystal over, and the major snatched it from his magical grasp as soon as it was close enough. “Thank you.” She sneered. “Now No-Bark dear, can you please tell us what you saw when Lucky passed through town?” She asked, using a tone similar to that of a caring spouse. “No-Bark sure can!” He exclaimed, returning his attention to Steele. He wet his lips before continuing. “Here No-Bark was, quietly sitting in the dark waiting for the zebra ghosts to show up and attack our brahmin again. It was real cold outside, and Ol' No-Bark was lying real low and quiet like so the ghosts wouldn't see him. Oh if they did he'd sure be in trouble." He wagged his hoof around for emphasis. "No-Bark knows the zebra ghosts don't take kindly to us pony folk, ah-" "No-Bark dear, can you please get back to the man Steele is looking for?" Sunny asked kindly. No-Bark looked at Sunny like to a stranger for a moment, but recollecting his insane thoughts he continued his story. "Righty, so here come this trio, real mean looking; their leader all fancy looking in his big shot checkered jacket. He was talking to his two friends, nasty looking raiders that meant trouble, when out of the blue they got attacked and chased by an alicorn. Hoowee I never thought I’d see anything like it, but the darn thing chased em off toward Boulder City.” No-Bark finished, chuckling to himself. Steele exchanged a quick confused glance with Sunny before asking: “An alicorn?” He confirmed doubtfully. “You’re talking about the extinct species of gods that faded into history, those alicorns, right?” “Well seems like they ain’t extinct no more!” No-Bark shouted, taking offence at Steele’s sarcasm. What else did I expect? Steele asked himself. He sighed and kneaded his forehead in an attempt to relief the stress. “Well I heard Boulder City, so that’s where I’m going.” Steele concluded, getting up and stashing his reward. “Thanks for your time ma’am.” He added, sharing a final glance with Sunny before he turned to leave. “Good luck.” She cooed, taking a sip of her whiskey as she enjoyed the thought of Steele having nothing but a sketchy hint of a lead. “How’d it go?” Scratch asked him soon as Steele closed the door. “Well my bag’s a 1000 caps heavier, we got a place to sleep, and we got a destination.” Steele answered, eyeing the nearby food tent with a hungry temptation. “Where’s that boss man?” Hermes piped up, eager to finally have a lead on the bastard that left him for dead. “I’ll fill you in soon as I fill my stomach.” Steele said, giving in to his hunger and making his way to the food tent. “You two coming? Common, my treat.” Steele urged. “Aw, sweet! I was beginning to think you lost your appetite too.” Scratch exclaimed, hurrying to catch up to Steele and finally satisfy her hunger. “Fine.” Hermes sighed, disappointed about having to wait again; he dragged himself after them. Steele’s current situation didn’t please him at all. Questions without answers lingered on his mind, mocking him and deluding his thoughts from peace. He felt weak and exhausted as his body had life forced into it by powerful magic, and his restless mind ceased to relent on further stressing it. To make matters worse his responsibilities loomed on his conscience, and all he had to show for his leadership was a sketchy lead given to him by a crazy pony. Things weren’t well and the near future didn’t seem to hold anything promising, but all that didn’t matter right now. He couldn't begin to work on fixing his problems with an empty stomach, and maybe once it was satisfied the world would seem like a habitable place again. *** Steele let out a content sigh and placed his bowl back onto the table. Nope, still terrible. He thought. Although his stomach might have been full, he still felt empty and disappointed. “Feel any better?” Scratch asked, making little popping noises as she licked her talons clean; the roasted squirrels she had, appeared to have satisfied her hunger and put her in a good mood. “Huh?” Steele asked, looking up from his bowl. “Guess not.” She replied, eyeing Steele’s disconnection with concern. “So where are we going boss man?” Hermes exclaimed. The suspense was killing him and he had barely touched his food despite having not eaten anything since Steele got out of that damned stable. “Boulder City.” Steele answered solemnly. “That’s what No-Bark said?” Hermes pressed. “Yea, but he also said they were chased by an Alicorn.” Steele added, his tone a mixture of both humor and displeasure. “Alicorns?” Scratch asked, staring at Steele as if he had been the one to say it. “Alicorn.” Steele corrected bitterly. “Well, there are stories-” “Enough stories Hermes!” Steele growled. “I’ve lived through fables better left stories than history. I’m still not sure what the hell I’m in living now, but if it’s just another story, then I’d rather write it than listen to it!” Steele yelled. He took a moment to calm himself down and not give prying eyes another show. Once calm, Steele took another deep breath. “I know that’s not much of a lead, but it’s all we have. I don’t like it either, but I have no clue as to what the hell we do next, hell I’m having a hard time deciding what to do with myself. So enough stories, enough questions, lets just get back on track so I don’t have time to lose my fucking mind.” He sat back down with a heavy thud and waited for a response. “My bad boss man, didn’t mean to criticize.” Hermes apologized awkwardly. He returned his attention to his food and played with his cold soup. “You ever been to Boulder City, Scratch?” Steele asked, switching topics to avoid any awkwardness. This friendship thing was already a bigger pain in the ass than he bargained for. “I have been, once, but I was on the run from some mercenaries and only stayed there for a night. All I know is half the town’s leveled from some Legion-NLR skirmish back in the first battle for Hoover Dam. Place is crawling with NLR troops that come to honor their fallen.” “No problems with raiders or Legion then, good. Whoever this Lucky Star guy is must have good relations with the NLR if he decided to stay there for a night; those uptight fakes rarely appreciate uninvited guests.” Steele rose and prepped his gear. “Either Way, lets go. It’s still early and Boulder City is half a days away, if we set out now we can make it before nightfall.” He urged, eager to finally do something other than sitting around and thinking. “Right behind you.” Scratch replied. She shouldered her sword and followed him into the hot, dry Mojave. “Comen!” Hermes shouted, his mouth filled with food he desperately tried to finish. After a few more attempts at shoving as much food into his mouth as he could, he gave up and ran after them, his gear comically bouncing around from a lack of secure storage. The trio went North, toward Boulder City. The trip itself was generally quite since Scratch and Steele have had their fill of socializing, and Hermes, upon not getting anything more than grunts and mumbles, gave up his attempts at making conversation. As the sun lowered itself only slightly above the horizon, the first abandoned housing of Boulder City came into view. Finally here. Steele thought, relieved that he no longer had to endure the heat of the Mojave, and could focus on something other than the filly sized weight on his conscience. “Take it easy on the water.” Steele instructed Scratch; it was her second bottle for the trip, and Steele was getting agitated. The heat, his fatigue, and his acquired frugality all boiled down into a deep displeasure at seeing the waste of such a precious resource; ignoring him, Scratch raising a talon as she finished the water, further angering him. “I’m bigger than you, I need more than a bottle like you two.” She stated, tossing her bottle onto the ground. “Oh, are you?” Steele hissed, leaning into Scratch menacingly and broadening his chest. “Yea, I am.” Scratch replied, pressing her face against Steele’s and showing off her large form as well. She didn’t like Steele’s tone, and no one was about to out-tough her; she knew better than to step down to ponies. “Take it easy you two. We’re friends, remember?” Hermes piped up. He felt uneasy about seeing the two of them threaten each other like that. Neither would back down, and he wasn’t sure what he’d do in that situation, so he rather evade it all together. The two glared fiercely at one another, exchanging threats in complete silence. It would only take a single mistake to pop the thin layer of control keeping the tension at bay. What are you doing? Steele asked himself. A gap in his anger let a single message from his conscience slip through. It killed him to give up, but eventually Steele let off and took a step back; he was ashamed of acting like a brainless raider. “My bad, the heat’s getting to me. I’m on edge and I took it too far. Try and be less wasteful, with water especially. This is the Mojave, that stuff is rarer and more important than the caps we risk our lives for.” He said, picking up his pace again without another word. He didn’t like giving up his ground like that, especially to someone under his leadership, but he realized that friendship meant he had to admit when he was wrong. “Alright.” Scratch replied gruffly. She frowned as Steele walked away, still worked up about him treating her like she was an obedient child. Who does he think he is anyway? He might be a tough guy and all, but he’s not the only one around here who can take care of themself. She thought bitterly. “Hey, Scratch, take it easy.” Hermes asked, putting a hoof on her shoulder. “Steele’s a bit worked up right now, remember? There’s no reason to start fights with someone like him, cause he won’t back down like that again.” Hermes reasoned, hoping a conflict over nothing could be avoided. Scratch finally brought her attention to Hermes after he tugged on her talons. She simmered down once she got an eyeful of his pleading emerald eyes, and unclenched her fist. Having pleased Hermes she returned her attention to Steele's shrinking form as he gained distance on them; he was shaking his head and all in all appeared unsettled from the confrontation. She sighed and dropped her grudge. “No need for stupid fights between us, right? We got the Mojave and all the damned things that inhabit it for that.” She answered, smirking as Hermes let out a relieved sigh. “Thanks.” He said. “Let’s go catch up.” He added, trotting after Steele with Scratch in tow. When they caught up to him, he was standing still, surveying the scene before him. Up until now the town was deserted and useless, old shops stood vacant and boarded up, buildings were crumbled and structurally weak, and only a few squatters and a traveling merchant with his brahmin were seen walking the streets. “Guess these were the guys you were talking about, Scratch.” Steele said, looking back at the twenty or so NLR soldiers scattered around the center of the town; oddly enough the mass of well equipped soldiers all seemed on edge and had their weapons drawn. They all varied in size, shape, and race; even a few pegasi joined their ranks. Most were recruits, and their crisp uniforms and rifles paled next to the heavy gear of their seniors. They were all mostly loners and mercenaries united under one flag whose believes they did not necessarily hold. It payed to be one of the largest and well equipped in the Mojave, and all were willing to remain loyal to their colors so long as they stayed on top of the food chain. Strangely enough, the small platoon seemed shaken and on guard. The oddly paired trio had their undivided attention. Unsettled by the unwanted attention, Hermes leaned toward Steele. “What do we do now?” He whispered. “I can fly up and see what’s going on, but I rather not get shot by these guys.” Scratch suggested, returning the unpleasant glares. She particularity eyed the pegasi and their rifled battle-saddles. “No need. I doubt these guys remember me, so lets go see what they’re up to. Who knows, maybe Lucky’s to blame for this.” Steele said. He began to find his way through the en masse of blue uniformed mares and stallions, keeping his hat and eyes low. “I think I might want to stay back here for now.” Scratch said. “These guys don’t look too happy to see a griffon here.” She explained, pointing a thumb toward the unhappy faces of the NLR. “Good idea. See if you can find a rooftop where you can still see what’s going on, we might need you.” Hermes replied, looking back at the multitude of NLR soldiers that had their gazes locked onto Scratch. He could still read their tense body language through the layers of leather body armor. “On it.” Scratch said, spreading her wings and taking off toward the sky, further unnerving the NLR. Once she was out of sight, they returned their hard gazes toward Hermes, judging him for bringing a griffon into their city. He tried to keep calm and followed Steele, turning heads as he went; he followed him to a less populated area of the town square, where the NLR seemed to have set up operations. “I’m going to have to stop you right there.” Boomed a loud NLR Lieutenant; his blue winged, crescent moon insignia rose and fell with his heavy chest. “What’s going on here?” Steele asked calmly, unfazed by the Lieutenant’s bravado. Another bastard brainwashed by the NLR officials to actually believe the bullshit they spewed. He thought bitterly. “You’re not in any position to be asking the questions here.” The Lieutenant answered gruffly, obviously angry that this pitiful excuse of a mercenary was questioning his orders. “Oh, common. Can’t you just tell us why the mighty NLR, with all their trained soldiers are standing here with their hair on end?” Steele asked, adding a dose of sarcasm that only further angered the Lieutenant. The thick earth pony stallion opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by Hermes. “Sorry about bothering your operations like this Lieutenant…” “Lieutenant Gravel Dust.” “Gravel Dust, but we’re looking for someone named Lucky Star. We heard he passed by here with his two friends. Have you seen them?” The large pony eyed the duo, particularly Steele and the heated animosity in his eyes. Even a large guy like him was put off by his nerve, so he decided to acknowledge his politer friend instead. “Can’t say I have, but you two are going to have to resume your search another time. Right now we got a hostage situation on our hooves. A couple of Goths have captured some of our soldiers after we got word about their location here from some stranger. They’re holed up in one of the buildings up ahead." He nodded toward the section of the town that seemed to have taken the brunt of the fighting and left a single decomposing building as the sole survivor. "We got a few soldiers taking cover and making negotiations right now, but the Goths inside know they're done for and are not giving up the fight. Anything could happen, so we’re keeping civilians out of this.” He answered. “Goths?” Hermes asked. “Nasty bastards that are capable of giving even Legion a run for their money. They used the be the largest and toughest raider gang in the Mojave and beyond. Least till Legion and the NLR brought their numbers to a dwindling few, they're only the shadow of what they once were.” Steele informed. Gravel smirked and spat onto the ground. “They were raider scum that threatened the security and stability of the Mojave, and NLR operations.” Gravel stated. “They deserved to be eradicated.” “Funny, you said that almost exactly like they taught you to at boot camp." Steele smirked. "Forgot the part about the greatness of the NLR." He remarked sarcastically. “Excuse me?!” Gravel barked, steam threatening to rush out of his nose with every deep exhale as he steamed with anger. “As I was saying, they have a nasty initiation ritual, and every Goth is not to be taken lightly. I say it’s best not to piss them off or engage them head on, least not in melee combat. Their pain tolerance is similar if not greater and as severe as Legion’s.” Steele explained, completely ignoring Gravel and facing Hermes, who was unnerved by Steele’s actions and their potential consequences. “Is there something you want to tell me, boy?!” Gravel yelled, the veins in his neck nearly popping as he gripped Steele and raised him into the air, forcing Gravel to rise on his hind legs. Steele’s ice cold gaze clashed with Gravel's fiery stare. “We just want to pass through and see if we can help you guys with your problem.” He wheezed, pulling back on Gravel’s tight grasp with his own hooves to avoid being choked. “Besides.” He added, his horn glowing. “We don’t want to have a problem, now do we?” He grinned as Gravel’s eyes widened at the sound of a click; his grasp loosened with a cold .44 magnum's barrel at his temple. He looked back to find Hermes, although nervous and uneasy, levitating his plasma rifle and standing at the ready. “I hope they kill you two.” Gravel growled, dropping Steele. “You're lucky my men weren’t nearby to kill you both.” “Thanks for your time.” Steele replied, re-holstering his revolver and moving past the angry Lieutenant. "We'll see what we can do to help." Hermes quickly offered before catching up to his reckless friend. To think I put my life in this guy's hooves! He thought. “What the hell was that, Steele?” Hermes whispered loudly once he caught up. “I got us through, didn’t I?” Steele asked nonchalantly, signaling to the few NLR troops who were entrenched in front of the building. “You nearly got us killed, is what you did.” Hermes replied bitterly, climbing up the NLR trench after Steele. “Oh yea, about that. I appreciate the loyalty back there. Honestly didn’t believe you’d have the guts to aim at that guy.” Steele added, stopping short of a broken wooden door that separated them and the Goths inside. “No problem.” Hermes sighed. He decided to drop the subject upon seeing that he was getting nowhere. “Focus Hermes, these guys don’t fuck around.” Steele commanded, drawing his revolvers and Hermes’s attention. “And remember, no niceties.” He added before kicking down the door and stepping in, guns ablaze. Steele stood still, his eyes locked on the stallion that levitated a sawed off shotgun and pointed it at his face. The Goth was surprised and quickly re-adjusted his stance to match Steele’s, his friend only had time to pick up his 9mm submachine gun and aim at Steele as well, his jaw clenching the gun’s grip tightly. “Hello gentlemen, we’d like a word.” Steele announced, keeping his guns locked on his attackers, and his eyes on the shotgun wielding unicorn. “Oh, so you think you’re fucking funny huh, tough guy.” The unicorn said, his voice strident. “Blow his fucking brains out.” The other Goth suggested. He spat out his gun, obviously deeming Steele not worth the effort. “With pleasure.” The unicorn answered, grinning at Steele. “Now take it easy you two, you don’t want the NLR to come here and kill you all, now do you?” Steele reasoned. “That is, if I’m not done with you two first.” He added, pulling back the hammers of his revolvers. “Big mouth for a dead man.” The unicorn answered, levitating his gun closer to Steele. “Celestia dammit Steele! Why can’t you enter like a normal-” Hermes shouted, entering plasma gun first and stopping his sentence short. “Well, Luna fuck me.” The earth pony said softly, apparently in awe of Hermes’s presence. “It’s you, you piece of shit!” Hermes yelled. He launched himself at the Goth, pinning him to the wall with his rifle; his eyes threatening to melt a hole in his chest before he could pull the trigger. “Whoa, take it easy hot shot!" The Goth protested, raising his hooves and giving up the fight. "Fuck man, If I didn’t know any better I’d say a ghost has come to kill me for my sins.” He smirked, eyeing Hermes with fearful recognition. Steele and his unicorn opponent gave each other a quick glance of confusion before returning their attention to their partners. Way to grow a pair of balls Hermes. He thought proudly, surprised that his clumsy, loose-tongued friend out machismo-ed a Goth. “I thought we killed you for good.” The Goth continued. He tried to casually push away the rifle, but Hermes only thrust his deeper into his chest. “Yea, Lucky must have been a lousy shot.” Hermes hissed back, his magic squeezing the trigger slowly. “Look, I’m sorry man. I was only doing what Lucky told me to, and now the fucker left us for dead too. He took your package and threw us to the NLR. Hell I’d like to see him dead as much as you do.” The Goth explained, obviously bewildered by the stallion who escaped death. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now!” Hermes demanded, bringing his rifle up to his old assailant's throat; his friend swung his gun at Hermes, but Steele used the opportunity to dig his revolvers into the unicorn's throat. “This isn’t between us, so I don’t think there’s a need for our guns. We can put them down now.” He suggested, twisting his guns to prove his point. The Goth lowered his gun begrudgingly, but stared at Steele with a growing distaste; loyal to the deal, Steele lowered his guns as well, but kept them out in the open in case of trouble. Goths weren't ones to like being out-alphaed. “Because if you kill me now, then you’ll never know where to find Lucky, and Magister militum will gladly have your head.” The earth pony reasoned. To Steele’s surprise, he made no effort to try and counter Hermes’s attack; if he didn’t know any better, he’d say the Goth was actually scared of him. “Magister who?” Hermes asked, poking the Goth with his gun again. “Their leader. It’s best to stay on his good side.” Steele informed. “Yea, listen to your friend.” The unicorn Goth piped up. “It’s wiser to stay on my good side.” Steele threatened, glaring at the unicorn. “Fine then, you tell me where’s Lucky, and we can talk about you getting out of here alive.” Hermes said, backing off and giving the Goth a bit of breathing room. “With pleasure. The bastard was last at The Follower’s church, back toward the outskirts of this town. We didn’t have a chance to ask him what the hell he needed there before he stole the package and took off, hoping to claim the profit and leave us without pay no doubt.” The Goth explained, spitting on the ground at the thought of Lucky. “Oh, and here, a souvenir for you. It's Lucky's lighter. Shove it up his ass when you catch up with him.” He said, taking out a small, engraved lighter and tossing it to Hermes, who caught it with his magic. “With pleasure.” Hermes answered, looking over the lighter and re-holstering his plasma rifle. “As for you getting out of here. If you release the hostages, we can get the NLR to let you go without a fight, deal?” “Ha, you make sure they agree to that, and then we’ll do it.” The unicorn Goth remarked. “He has a point. The NLR won’t give up an opportunity like this easily.” Steele said. “Let me do the talking then.” Hermes assured him, a new zest in his actions. He left Steele and the Goths alone to an awkward silence while he talked things out with Dusty. “So… no hard feelings then?” Steele asked, attempting to break the ice. “Yea, you get us out of here alive, and no hard feelings.” The unicorn replied. Hermes returned after a few tense minutes later. “They’ve agreed to let you guys go if you let the hostages leave first.” “As if we’d fall for that.” The earth pony Goth smirked. “I don’t think you guys have much of a choice.” Steele said. “Yea, but it’s better than getting rid of our leverage and letting them come and get us.” “They were ready to come in and kill you anyways. Before we got here, they had men getting ready to move in and kill you both.” Hermes said. “Letting them go is your best bet.” He added. The two Goths looked at each other and silently argued as to whether or not to do as they were told. A short conversation between their eyes, and the earth pony sighed. He kicked a nearby chair and looked down regretfully. “Tell them we have a deal.” He barked. “Alright, come out after the hostages are out of the way.” Hermes instructed, turning to leave. “Hey, courier.” The Goth called. “Yea?” “Before you kill the fucker, tell em “Blade sends his regards, will ya?” Blade asked. “Sure.” Hermes answered, walking to meet Dusty. Steele followed him out. “They’re letting the hostages go now.” Hermes announced as the duo met once more with Dusty. “Good. Now we can kill them without trouble.” Dusty replied, unsheathing his radio from his garb. “What!? You said you’d let them go!” Hermes yelled. “Yea, but HQ just sent us new orders. I can’t just let them off like I promised.” Dusty said, looking past Hermes and Steele. “Good, I see our boys are unscathed. Nice work gentlemen, the NLR gives you its thanks.” He told them. He brought the radio to his muzzle and pressed its button. “Firing squad.” He began. “You can’t do this! We had a deal!” Hermes yelled, rage and a hatred for the NLR swelling inside him; he considered drawing his rifle. “You can’t trust anything that comes out of an NLR officer. They have no honor and would rather do what gets them paid than what's right.” Steele said. “Ain’t that right, Lieutenant?” He asked, giving Dusty his most criticizing glare. “Orders, sir?” Dusty’s radio buzzed. Dusty glared at Steele with utmost contempt. He had never met anyone who dared to even attempt to push his buttons, but damn with this bastard good at it. He shifted his gaze to the steaming courier, observing the effect his actions had on him. Oddly enough a change in thought seemed to pass through the Lieutenant's thick skull, and he returned his attention to the radio. “Firing squad.” He began, staring at the duo. “Stand down.” He finished, securing his radio and looking meaningfully at Hermes. “Copy that, standing down.” The radio replied. “The NLR is more trustworthy and respectable than your friend here makes you believe.” Dusty stated. “We thank you for your help.” He added, turning his back to the duo and walking off to fulfill his other duties. Blade and his fellow Goth trotted nervously past Hermes and Steele. “We won’t forget this!” He shouted. The duo watched the Goths disappear into the outskirts of town; to Steele Hermes appeared a bit disappointed in not dishing out his revenge, but he as he watched his friend sigh contently and eye his new trinket, he knew they had made the most of the situation. “To the church than?” He asked once Hermes had gotten awfully quiet. “Yea, and Steele.” Hermes delayed, eyeing his rough friend with a smile. “Hmm?” Steele asked; he raised a brow at Hermes's odd behavior. “Thanks for your help. I don’t think this would have ended as smoothly without you.” Steele rolled his eyes and resumed his search for the church. “Don’t get all sappy on me yet kid.” He replied, leaving Hermes alone to stare at him quizzingly. What kind of church could exist in the Mojave? He wondered, returning to the pointless task at hoof. Most had given up on the goddesses, and those that didn't, kept it to themselves. All Steele hoped was that this wouldn’t be another mad cult whose beliefs the Mojave had corrupted. “You can’t keep things nice, can you?” Hermes asked, trotting up to Steele and interrupting his thoughts. “Things don’t stay nice in the Mojave.” He answered. “You but you’re not a thing.” Hermes argued. “Then I’m an asshole.” Steele countered. “Well can’t argue with-” “You sure you want to finish that?” Steele inquired, narrowing his eyes at the courier. “Me?” Hermes asked, raising a hoof to his chest with a sarcastic, hurt expression. "Never." He laughed; Steele wasn’t as cold as he lead himself to believe. The duo found themselves in the worst part of the town; nothing stood taller than a few stories here, and most of it was destroyed. The air grew thicker here as the dry Mojave breeze picked up dust and ash. All that remained of a once lively city lay scattered across the desert in ashes, or in rubble on the streets. “You sure this is where we need to go?” Hermes asked. “It’s getting dark.” He noticed. “Depends, does that fit your description of a church?” Steele asked, pointing to an old building. Surprisingly the only structure that appeared habitable around this part of town blended well with the remains around it, and effectively hid its gloomy exterior from anyone not directly seeking it. Its once white wood was now closer to gray, and its structure seemed rotting and unstable. Standing three stories tall, the old hazard had its windows blown in and boarded up; only the insignia of the goddesses remained attached above its thick, wooden double doors, protected by a magic long lost. “You guys sure like to wander and cause trouble.” Scratch announced, flying down from seemingly nowhere to meet her friends. She landed with a soft thump and eyed them both. “Didn’t think you guys were going to be dealing with Goths, not to mention cause trouble with the NLR too; hell I was ready to swoop down and decapitate the bastard that had you pinned, Steele.” “Nice to know you had us covered then.” Steele answered sourly. “Hey, what’s with the tone?” Scratch asked, starting to get annoyed with Steele’s mood swings. “Oh sorry, I forgot it was custom for you to run away soon as there’s trouble.” Steele remarked sarcastically, scowling at Scratch. “Run?! I was watching you guys from one of the rooftops because my presence there would only anger the NLR! I don’t run, Steele! And I’d like it if you shove you sarcasm and anger elsewhere.” Scratch said menacingly, thrusting a talon into his chest and forcing him to lean back. “I don’t know what the hell your problem is today, but I won’t have any of it, especially not when I watched your sorry ass for a whole night.” “God, it’s like you’re a married couple.” Hermes remarked; he giggled, but stifled himself and cleared his throat when the bickering couple gave him another set of glares. “You’re right.” Steele piped up, surprising the both of them with his response. “I’d thought you ran off when you didn’t show up behind us, and the wasting of water from earlier had me worked up. I was wrong Scratch, and I apologize. We even?” He asked, extending his hoof to her. Scratch stared at Steele’s hoof for a moment; pondering what kind of trickery Steele was up to. He didn’t seem like the kind to apologize, heck even she didn’t apologize unless absolutely necessary. She searched his eyes for answers to his odd behavior, but finding nothing no trace of animosity she accepted the apology. “Yea, we’re even.” She said, shaking his hoof. “See, you even make up like a couple! Just don’t kiss on me now, if the NLR sees you they might start shooting for public indecency." Hermes commented, giving his best to not break out in tears from his own joke. With a hoof-print on his cheek and lingering pain from the worst noogie of his life, Hermes caught up to his friends and joined them at the churches doors mumbling curses to himself. “It was just a joke.” Hermes complained, rubbing his sore head and face. Ignoring his whining, Steele swung the large, metal door knocker and listened to the deep sound echo throughout the church; soon hooves clicked behind the door. The trio exchanged mixed expressions as they listened to hushed voices and movements from inside. Eventually one the the heavy doors creaked as it opened slowly, revealing a dim interior lit by nothing more than candles. “How may the church help you?” A silver maned, dark purple unicorn asked; his light purple eyes scanned the suspicious trio nervously. “We’re looking for-” “Guidance? Yes, many that come here do, but I’m afraid I cannot be the judge of that. Please come in.” The unicorn interrupted Hermes, opening the door and ushering the trio into the dark and ominous looking church. The trio were hesitant about accepting this robed stanger’s invitation, but Steele rolled his eyes and pushed forward, deciding that he’d already seen enough to not fear the dark. He lead the group down the aisle, his hooves clicking softly against the aged and worn wood. As they walked, the trio observed their surroundings with mixed feelings of wonder and apprehension. They past old pews that once held faithful ponies, and walls that held dim, spiritless candles. To Steele, this seemed like a place where faith and hope came to die, not to be found, but his friends seemed to have their own opinions about the eerie, almost malign interior. They could have used a better interior decorator. Steele snickered to himself. His short trip down the main aisle stopped Steele short of the church’s pulpit, and left him wondering whether to admire or detest the ominous structure. The pulpit itself was crafted out a thick, dark wood; its lectern was made of the same material and seemed to stem from the pulpit. Behind the impressive display, the insignia of the goddesses’ was embedded into the wall, overlooking the rest of the church like a watchful eye, almost as if it could banish any evil that would enter. Surrounding the emblem was a crescent candle stand, encircling the emblem with dim light. “Beautiful isn’t it?” The mysterious unicorn asked, suddenly next to Steele. “Iron Weld! We do not bring darkness and sin within these walls!” A new voice boomed, resonating through out the empty church. Surprised, Steele scanned the room to find the source of the powerful voice, and was taken aback when he found it belonged to a frail old pony. The old coot had appeared out of nowhere and was now standing on the pulpit, almost as if he had risen from the ages old wood; his features were hidden by the dim light, giving him a mysterious and powerful presence. “I’m sorry Oracle.” Iron Weld apologized, kneeling apologetically. “These strangers came here for guidance.” He explained, pointing a hoof toward Steele and his friends, his gaze never leaving the floor. “You have brought sin into this house!” Oracle yelled, leaning over the lectern and revealing his ice cold, foggy, blind eyes; eyes that pierced Steele’s being and criticized his very core. “But, sir-” “Enough!” Oracle roared, forcing Iron weld to wince and return his gaze to the floor. “You three, come forward.” He instructed, balancing himself on lectern. So much for normality Steele mused, stealing a glance at his friends; they shared the same confused look, but said nothing and looked to Steele for instruction. Steele stepped forward, deciding that this might be the only way he’d get any answers out of the mysterious grey unicorn. “Lost and searching for guidance are we? Well, you will find it here, however-” “Actually we’re-” “Silence!" Oracle demanded, slamming his hoof on the lectern. I know what you are here for, the goddesses foresee everything and I, as their prophet, will act as the vessel that shall fulfill their wishes!” So much for a sane church. Steele thought bitterly, deciding to hold his tongue for now. “The goddesses brought you to me so that I may provide you guidance in your time of need, but first... I must pass judgement.” He paused, scanning each of them with his cold, pale eyes. Under his gaze, Steele's friends shifted uncomfortably, and Hermes looked away completely. “I sense evil among you, and I will deem you either worthy of the goddesses' blessing, or damned to rot a sinner’s path.” He continued. “Young one, step forward.” He instructed, keeping his cold stare locked onto Hermes. “Me?” Hermes hesitated, wondering how a blind pony can see so much. Steele's distasteful eye-roll motivated him to step forward obediently. “Your hoof child, give it to me please.” Oracle asked, offering his own weathered hooves in return. Hermes hesitated, glancing back at his friends for guidance, but complied and surrendered his hooves. Oracle gripped Hermes’s hooves tightly, and in an instant pulled himself mere inches from his eyes, staring at them intensely as if searching for the very essence of Hermes's core; frozen in fear, Hermes could do nothing more than surrender his stare to the misty eyes, caught in their cobra-like spell. Within only a few moments the psychic began to tremble slightly, a low pitched hum escaped through his pursed lips; as if to strengthen Hermes's anxiety the mystics eyes began search every nook and cranny of his own, letting no secrets stay hidden from their magnetizing grasp. Suddenly, the old mystic dropped the courier's hooves and rested himself upon the lectern. “Child!” Oracle yelled, startling Hermes out of his trance. “Not a single wicked mark poisons your soul, no impurity clogs your airy heart, and no sin clouds your mind with grief." He explained, easing Hermes with the flattering description. "But, beware young one." Oracle warned, catching his attention once more. "For a blank page is easily tarnished by those less-" He lingered on the last word, choosing instead to gaze in Steele's direction, eliciting a rather un-amused smirk from the pony who waited impatiently in the shadows. "Pure." He finished; he stared meaningfully at Hermes now. "Beware your heroics child as you know not of the hardships that life holds, and not of the chaos that plagues the land and seeks to corrupt the last remaining spirit of the days of old. I advise you my son, to form an image of yourself now, before you are so easily corrupted and deluded by the very thing you strive to protect; fill the page with your words before other's leave their corrupt marks on it, and be wary to trust the ever charming snake." Oracle hissed, almost whispering as he leaned closer to Hermes. "You young one has the goddesses' blessing." He announced, returning to the floor and waving Hermes off. "Now my daughter, come into the light and let me shine it upon your dim soul." He instructed, You know not of the hardships that life beholds and retain the spirit of the days of old. But beware young soul!” Oracle warned, leaning into Hermes and covering his face with breath as stale as the pony it belonged to. “You can be corrupted, tricked, easily deluded by the very thing you strive to protect." The mad pony pulled back and returned to the ground. "There will be hardships soon, but stay on the right path. Beware child, do not let the things you hold dear lead you astray!” He finished, taking a moment to regain his breath and recharge for another reading. “The young one has the goddesses’ blessing.” He announced, returning to a calm voice. “Please, my daughter, step forward and let me shine a light on your dim soul.” He instructed, coaxing Scratch to come closer. Scratch hesitated, but decided to humor the crazy pony nonetheless. She approached the lectern and offered her talons with annoyed skepticism. I mean, you don't even have to see Hermes to know he's a wuss. She thought un-amusingly while observing the old coot. “Do not grow tense my child, the goddesses see no difference in their children and neither do I.” He said, smiling as if he could see the surprise on her face. Although a bit flustered, Scratch did as she was told and relaxed, tempted to hear what Oracle had to say. Oddly enough, Oracle took his time with handling Scratch's talons, gripping them gingerly and running his hooves across them slowly. He released one of her talons and focused on her right one as he inspected it diligently, yet delicately as he searched for all the answers he needed. To Scratch it was an awkward talon massage that she never signed up for, yet it appeared that Oracle deemed the process similar to that of reading a complex book, his brows furrowing and lips pursing as if he was struggling to pass a difficult paragraph. Once he finished, he gently lowered her talons and sighed heavily. “Yours is a dim soul indeed. Pain and guilt dirty your mind with fear, as fate seems to cruelly take from you the one thing you yearn to obtain. Oracle raised his head to meet Scratch with sorrowful eyes. " You deem yourself as broken as the world that you relentlessly toil yourself in, searching feverishly for answers you fear you'll never find. Indeed, the future holds many questions for you, questions to which answers will be hard to find.” As Oracle uncovered the truths she wished to leave buried within the confines of her mind, Scratch's bold bravado began to melt into sadness and disbelief. She refused to hear that what she already knew, and she looked away from Oracle, ignoring whatever else he had to say. “Look up child.” Oracle instructed softly, bringing a cold hoof to Scratches beak and lifting it till she faced at him. “There will be many moments in your life where you will be faced with truths you can’t and won’t want to believe, but you must overcome them." He inspired, straightening himself and raising his voice to a more commanding tone. "Stand tall my daughter, for I see answers at the end of your journey. Do not give in, and you will find them in time.” Oracle finished, dropping his hoof from Scratch’s face. “She has passed judgment.” He added, smiling warmly at the surprised, yet seemingly content griffon as she joined Hermes’s side, lost in thought as she mulled over what had been foretold by the old prophet. “Come my son. I can feel your hesitation, but I must assure you, I speak the truth no matter how badly you wish to deafen yourself to it.” Oracle instructed, cutting off Steele mid eye-roll. A lunatic, a con-artist that sells his bullshit so passionately that he may even believe in the shit he's selling; Oracle was nothing more than that for Steele. However, the mad pony was the only one standing between him and the progress of his regrettable "quest of virtue", and that was incentive enough for Steele to begrudgingly take part in Oracle's act despite the sinking feeling in his gut. Bullshit or not, Oracle and the rest of the church felt off. As Steele took his spot, Oracle's face tensed into an unpleasant frown. “Your hooves son, quickly.” He urged, prepping his own hooves to ambush Steele's once close; his sudden aggression made Steele think twice about listening, but curious, Steele obeyed only to find his hooves seized swiftly. As soon as Oracle had Steele's hooves in his possession he winced, almost as if they had burned him and he refused to let go. “Your hooves son, they are so cold.” Oracle whispered, his face quickly twisting with pain; he began to sweat and moan. A few moments of awkward moaning passed, and Oracle began to have an intense conversation between things only seen to him; his tone changing in pitch and volume as he murmured his insane conversation out loud. His mad little show was slowly plucking away at the last nerves Steele had, testing his patience as he grew further agitated by having his hooves locked to the demented freak show. Growing sweaty himself, Steele looked to his friends for support, but found them uselessly enthralled in act; even Scratch payed him no mind as she eyed Oracle with a strong sense of foreboding. Looks like I'm sitting this one through alone. Steele realized, deciding to endure for a while longer. Suddenly, Oracle threw away Steele's hooves and collapsed onto the lectern, gasping for air as he dampened the wood with his perspiration; in the surprised silence, Iron Weld stepped forward worryingly before Oracle shot back up and glared at Steele with disgust. “Your soul is blackened with sins that you weigh your mind and scar your body. Corruption invades your thoughts, blackening your judgement. Your heart beats not with pure blood and hospitality, but instead bleeds black ink filled with fear, pain, and regret." Oracle accused. He began to circle Steele, who hid under his hat and took the all too familiar insults. "You're beyond broken child, you're corrupt, dirtied with sins of your past, some of which are not yours to bear. Truly, you bear a burden that is not all yours to bear, dirtying yourself with the sins and blames of others and letting their corruption sully your own weathered soul." Oracle came to a stop in front of Steele, staring meaningfully at the icy pony. "But indeed, a bleeding heart is not a frozen heart. You yearn for freedom, for redemption, for forgiveness, and oddly... for acceptance." Oracle mused. "Corruption can be cleansed my son, but it cannot wash away the troubles you yourself choose to hold onto. Cold, perhaps you are son, but I do not yet see heartlessness, so learn to not pay for the wicked deeds of others, and accept your failures as lessons." Oracle warned edging closer as he spoke. "Your past makes you selfish, but beware for soon you shall be faced with a burden far greater than can be fathomed my most. Some will deem you a demon, others a hero, yet all will play you to their will. Treasure what you have child, for losing them will only have you lose yourself." Oracle had stopped short of Steele and stayed silent, letting Steele process the warnings given. For Steele, the rant was nothing more than a collection of all the insults he heard before, and a bunch of nonsense he deemed worthless to pay any mind to. "There is more!" Oracle announced with a loud stomp that resonated throughout the church, startling all; he brought himself only a few mere inches from Steele's muzzle, clouding Steele's airway with his aged, rancid breath. "Your possession and failure to differentiate your mistakes from those of others fuels a malevolent bond with a soul that needs you as much as you refuse to let it go." Oracle griped Steele's garb tightly, trying to shake sense into the speechless mercenary. "It feeds from you child! For the goddessess' sake you must let go, for the good of you both free your heart and mind from its shadowy grasp! Only then can you be cleansed!" He commanded, pushing Steele till he sat, frozen in disbelief. The final threads of precious patience and control Steele held onto snapped, and the ground beneath him felt like it had been ripped right from under him. How could he know? How could anyone know! He asked himself. The sore subject pulled on familiar heartstrings and Steele struggled to control his emotions. He seized Oracle fiercely, staring madly into the blind pony's eyes. "How much do you know!" He demanded. "Tell me old man!" He pleaded, shaking Oracle as he struggled from snapping completely. Scratch and Hermes felt the urge to do something, but neither moved as they remained frozen in disbelief of what was unfolding in front of them. Emotion was an unknown word to Steele, and for him to so easily be forced into an emotional panic was baffling. “I cannot let you leave until you are cleansed child!” Oracle shocked, accepting Steele's anger. “You must let me cleanse you, for I, as a prophet of the goddesses cannot let you leave otherwise!” “You’re crazy!” Steele objected, dropping and backing away from Oracle. “This is all bullshit! And I’m tired of wasting my time here any longer!” Steele objected, breathing heavily as he yearned to deny everything Oracle had said. “Steele.” Hermes began, taking care with treading on thin ice. “No Hermes, I’m tired of this stupid quest you have me running!” Steele barked. “Son, you don’t have a choice, unless you wish to attack an old man that is.”Oracle said calmly. “Look at yourself Steele, you're a mess and you know it. Listening to someone else for once might do you good.” Scratch said. “The sooner you do, the sooner we leave.” She added. Steele glared at her, but intent on not making a scene he shut his eyes and took a deep breath;perhaps she was right. He was losing mind and tempter at the thought of being read so clearly by the mad pony. There's no point in humoring them anymore. He resolved, deciding that Oracle may have taken a lucky shot in the dark and hit a weak point. “Ok, I’ll do it if you’ll give us what we’re looking for.” Steele surrendered. “You might find more than you’re searching for.” Oracle warned. “Iron Weld! The materials please!” He commanded. Iron Weld moved swiftly, levitating a large metal tub onto the pulpit and filling it with a questionable liquid. He then retrieved a necklace that had a smaller insignia embedded in it, and gave it to Oracle. “Now my son, remove your clothing and kneel before the waters blessed by the goddesses.” He instructed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Steele objected, eyeing the sludge-like liquid with caution. “Kneel!” Oracle commanded once more. This time Steele did as he was told, removing his garb, and kneeling in front of the tub to meet his grim reflection. “Now, in the name of the goddesses, in the name of Equestria, in the name of this church, do you repent my son? Do you wish to have your sins washed free, forgiven by the goddesses?” Oracle asked, projecting his mighty voice across the whole church. “I do.” Steele answered reluctantly. “Then pay a price for your sins! Let them surface now!” Oracle commanded, levitating a whip from the lectern and whipping Steele across the back. Steele screamed, his anger surfacing like the streaks of red that ran across his back. Scratch and Hermes flinched, reaching for their weapons, but were stopped by Iron Weld. “No! Don’t, it is necessary!” He pleaded, momentarily quelling their anger and forcing them watch with cautious anxiety. “Do you wish to wash your sins now that they are out in the open for all to see, to sever your ties with the wicked?!” Oracle asked, whipping Steele again and forcing a yelp of pain from the hardened unicorn. It took every ounce of willpower for Steele to not lash out on the crazy bastard. “Yes.” He answered through grit teeth, more out of anger for being reminded of his Legion days than from pain. “So be it.” Oracle finished, walking behind Steele and submerging his head in the vile liquid. Steele thrashed, surprised by the sudden action. His throat erupted in fiery pain as he breathed in a mouthful of the vile liquid. His lungs felt as if they were on fire, and pain erupted throughout his body. He tried to fight back, but somehow the frail old pony held him securely submerged. I won’t die like this! Steele commanded himself, placing his hooves against the ground and getting ready to push back with all his being. Suddenly, as quickly as it had come, the force behind his head lifted and Steele’s head shot out of the tub, gasping for air much like a fish out of water. Steele struggled to regain his breath, each inhale bringing a sharp wave of pain with it. His lungs and his muzzle burned, but not as much as his desire for revenge. He scanned the room with red, itchy eyes. He heard yelling, but as he scanned the room he found his vision fleeting. Everything was getting blurry, and Steele tried to spin around to spot his friends. But as he turned, only darkness filled his vision, and he collapsed as pain filled his body.
Chapter SixThe rhythmic thumping of pain resonating within his skull sounded the return of Steele’s conscience. I’m going to kill, no murder that bastard. Steele concluded decisively. Bitterly delighted to not have his airway obstructed by the absurd ritual of a mad pony, Steele forced his eyes open and cast his vengeful gaze at the first thing he saw; it only took a moment for his sense of smell to sync with his sight. “What the fuck!” Steele screamed, recoiling sharply and using his fore-hooves to backpedal and sit upright; he furiously wiped his muzzle in an attempt to rid himself of the putrid smell of the innards of a decaying corpse. “What’s wrong!?” questioned a distressing voice. Steele froze. Through his gaping blue eyes one could see the sheer fear that chilled his spine, gripping him with an icy terror that wiped his mind clear of thought. “Steele?” It asked again making him wince and shut his eyes. No. Steele answered mentally. Steele lowered his hoof, yet kept his eyes shut, unwilling to believe what he prayed to not be true. He didn’t want to hear nor believe the nightmare he once more found himself in. “Steele what’s going on?” The dreaded voice asked fearfully. Steele’s shaking halted as his self pity began to twist into hatred and insanity. He turned to meet rose with a deranged look of disbelief, frightening the small filly and causing her to back up nervously with a sharp gasp. “Steele?” She squeaked nervously, her eyes locked on his unsettling ear twitch. “You’re not real.” Steele whispered, madness rearing its ugly head and clawing its way into his fragile psyche. “You can’t be real. You’re dead.” Steele continued, now edging his way toward the freshly awoken filly. “Steele stop it, you’re scaring me.” Rose whimpered, almost whispering as her fear swelled her words and trapped them within her throat. “What do you want with me? What did I do to deserve your curse!?” Steele demanded, frightening the small filly and sending her screaming and running further into the eerie darkness of the stable. Steele breathed heavily, rage threatening to surface and take control of his actions; pained emotion had gained the upper hand in its battle with reason and Steele seethed with sorrow and confusion his heart bled. He didn’t want any of this, and yet seeing the small filly retreat full of fear had reawakened something within him. As rapidly as it came, Steele’s anger and frustration evaporated, leaving him with a look of guilt and sorrow. “Rose!” He called, his voice whiny and soft, remorseful even. Celestia what is wrong with me? He wondered, questioning what possessed him to lose control of his pent up aggression on a defenseless filly like that; dead or alive, it was not something he could see himself do, and yet there was no doubt that he had unwillingly lost control. He began to once more wonder what had brought him back into this godforsaken horror that played with his emotions and sanity as if they were the strings of a mere puppet, however the thought of being something’s plaything infuriated him and instead lead his thoughts on the matter of dealing with Rose. What was a stallion to do when the dreams he can escape to become nightmares? He wondered, demanding an answer from no one in particular. When he came up short on an answer he decided to fall back on instinct. Do what needs to be done and sort out the details later. He instructed himself, picking himself off the floor and halting before the corridor that lead deeper into the ominous stable and his fears. Easier said than done. He realized. Steele was used to darkness, often gazing into it to meet emptiness and uncertainty, but when he felt something gaze back, and do so with utmost certainty and hatred, he questioned his boldness. This was more than darkness, this was fear and death; there wasn’t a lack of light, but rather the death of it inside this stable, and it chilled him to the bone. Worst of all, Rose was involved in it all, and to make things worse he couldn’t tell whether she was the problem or a light intertwined by the darkness that sheltered her. Real or not, she was there. That was something that Steele only now began to grasp. She existed, but she did not belong in the world of the living. Steele glanced back, meeting the open stable door with a longing stare. He had a choice, to leave and let Rose go, to let the both of them move on, or he could continue his futile quest on trying to save the ill-fated filly he could never truly grasp. Would it be selfish to forsake the kind soul that saved his, or would it be more selfish to instead pursue it, forcing both of them to continue making each other suffer on the foolish basis that once it’s over they can truly be together? Steele sighed, returning his gaze into the black abyss that was the inner stable. “Rose!” He called again, saddening as his shout was quickly absorbed by the wickedness within. “I’m sorry.” He said, defeated. He turned to leave, not knowing where to go, but intent on ripping Rose from her place in his heart no matter how bloody or painful it would be. Steele took his first steps toward the exit, toward his freedom, and yet he stopped short, trapped by the darkness within the stable. The shadows themselves slithered from within the deep confines of the stable and stretched themselves to snag Steele in his tracks. Paralyzed by the chilling sensation, Steele was unable to resist the black snakes as they slithered their way up his limbs, encircling his body and tightening their grasp; he could feel the shadows slowly, yet diligently twine themselves around his body, and the largest, thickest of them all encircling his neck. He stood rigid, helpless even as he could sense the shadowy serpent coil itself around his neck, raising itself higher until it had him under its alluring spell. It was not ready to let Steele go just yet, and under its influence Steele realized he was not ready to move on so easily either. He turned to face the darkness once more. His heart bled for the chance to get to Rose, his mind yearned for peace, and his soul plead to be free from the burden of failure. She needed him, he was certain of that, and like it or not he needed her too. Steele advanced toward the shadows lead by either insanity or courage, he no longer cared which, enticed by the tune the dark piper played. Steele it called in that familiar childish voice, edging him to run toward it now. As he ran, his hooves clinking against the cold hard floor, Steele embraced the familiar dread and gut-wrenching despair; he closed his eyes and let his actions succumb to his will. “Steele, Luna dammit!” Hermes shouted, shaking life back into the unconscious body of the dark coated Stallion. To his relief Steele took a single deep breath and began to cough out the remaining toxin in his lungs. Conscious and bitter, the merc sat upright and strained his eyes to adjust to his dim surroundings; he was met with a very relieved looking Hermes towering over him. A quick glance revealed that the courier had been trying to revive him while keeping a distraught Iron Weld at bay with his plasma rifle. Steele’s eyes widened for a moment and he shot a disgusted look toward Hermes. “Don’t tell me I needed…” He began, watching Hermes’s mood shift from confusion to his stupid little grin. “No boss-man, but if you did I wouldn’t be the one standing over you.” He informed, grinning mischievously at Scratch who was keeping Oracle firmly pressed against the lectern with her sword. “You realize I can reach you with this thing from here, right?” Scratch replied. “I’ve even found a plausible candidate for your undertaker.” She added, returning her attention to the frail old pony eyeing her with a blank, grim expression. Hermes laughed and returned his attention to Steele. “You alright boss?” He asked, offering a hoof. “Better knowing you didn’t take your only chance to get a piece of this.” Steele joked, accepting a gawking Hermes’s hoof and bringing himself upright with a grunt. “Did you just?” Hermes began, turning to Scratch who was having a hard time trying to stifle a giggle. “Did he just make a joke?” He asked simply to ensure his own sanity. “Now is not the time for humor! You’ve made a grave mistake, Steele. I’ve done what I can to help you, and I can see you’ve come to realize what burden you carry, but ultimately it is up to you to sever your ties, child.” Oracle boomed, chilling the mood and silencing all. Scratch and Hermes eyed Steele nervously, seeking instruction from the suddenly sullen stallion. Whoever or whatever this Oracle guy was, he was no fool. He had successfully toyed with Steele enough to have him realize the weight his words carried. Mad pony or not, Steele had to admit the old coot might not understand him, but in the very least forced him to finally understand the nature of his psychological torture. “Let him go, Scratch.” Steele commanded. “Wait, you know what he’s talking about?” She asked, hesitant to let the blind psycho loose just yet. “Let him go.” Steele instructed again, this time succeeding in having Scratch back off. “You have valuable friends my son, not many have such a luxury in these times.” Oracle began. The blind mystic approached Steele with a strong sense of importance. “You should cherish them before you get the chance to lose them.” Oracle warned, breathing directly onto an irate Steele’s face. “You should cherish the few teeth you have left before you lose them for playing your little mind games instead of giving us what we came here for.” Steele remarked through grit teeth. Enough of this bullshit. He told himself, he was getting answers. Unfazed by Steele’s remark, Oracle only sighed and gave Steele a pitiful look. “Iron Weld, clean up the ceremonial supplies and fetch our guest his clothing.” He commanded, staring intently at Steele until he heard Iron Weld fulfill his wishes; he turned to walk away from Steele, seemingly defeated in trying to persuade change in the cold hearted pony. “You will find those you came here for upstairs, but you will not find what you seek without change.” He stated gravely. “What do you mean those?” Steele asked, making sure his gear was untouched. When he received no answer he looked up to find the frail old pony had disappeared into the shadows as mysteriously as he had come. “Celestia dammit, where’d he go?” He questioned his friends, but to his frustration they too were surprised by the agility of the old pony. “The stallion you three are looking for visited the Followers upstairs. You can find the staircase over there.” Iron Weld informed, pointing to a corner of the church that hid the dark wooden spiral staircase ascending further into darkness. “Here are the rest of your belongings.” He added, levitating Steele’s saddle bags to him. “Thanks.” Steele answered bitterly, smirking when the assistant let a loosely packed piece of paper fly out of his bags. “Oh I’m sorry about that, here let me-” Iron weld began, levitating the paper to his face for a moment before freezing as soon as his eyes met the aged document. The trio watched curiously as the quiet pony had the color drain from his face while his eyes raced through the paper over and over, reading it with utmost disbelief. “Leave me!” He yelled suddenly, shocking the trio. “I’ve come to this place to escape that hell, and here it is come back to haunt me.” He informed, backing away fearfully and launching the paper into the air, as far away from him as possible. “What are you talking about, what’s on that paper, Steele?” Hermes asked. Steele stayed silent, returning Iron Weld’s disgusted glare for a moment before finally using his magic to bring the paper back to him. He took a quick look at the paper and read a few lines before burying it into his saddlebag. “A note I took from the stable.” He informed, regretting not leaving the damn thing to rot. “Well what’s it say that has you two drama queens so worked up?” Scratch asked. For her, this whole haunted stable thing has long since run its course and quite frankly was getting stale and boring. “It’s the overmare’s last words, including why she made the orders that brought the extinction of an entire stable.” Steele informed gravely, instantly dampening Scratch’s demeanor. “Poor mare, she tried to stop the deaths after her husband's murder, but they wouldn’t let her get away with it.” Iron Weld recounted, shaking his head in remembrance of bitter memories. “Wait a second; you’re the mechanic aren’t you!?” Hermes remembered, pointing an accusing hoof at the distraught stallion. “You’re the one that left a warning message at the stable entrance.” “I had to find some way to tell ponies to stay away.” Iron Weld answered, eyeing Steele with bitter accusation. “Sorry, I forgot to invest in a pipbuck when I last went shopping.” Steele answered scornfully. “Either way, leave me alone. I came here to leave that nightmare; I have no desire to discuss it. Bother the Followers upstairs and leave me alone!’’ Iron Weld concluded, turning to leave the trio’s questions unanswered. “Gladly.” Steele remarked, shouldering his saddlebag and fixing his hat. “Night’s still young and there’s work to do, let’s get a move on.” He commanded. “You sure you’re ok after he drugged you with Celestia knows what?” Scratch asked. “Not the best way to get introduced into drugs, but I don’t think I’ll be doing them anytime soon.” Steele answered sharply. Steele led the trio up the aged staircase using his horn to provide a dim light source; Hermes’s horn added another, blue sparkle and together they illuminated their ascent into the other hidden secrets of the church. A short climb later and the trio found their path blocked by a heavy wood door that dared not show signs of life or light behind it; a small rusted rectangle acted as a sliding peephole. Without hesitation Steele knocked three times and waited for the deep echoes to call attention to his odd little group. Once the echoes died, silence followed, but before Steele could grudgingly knock again the peephole slid open with a heavy thunk and a set of judging yellow eyes appeared. “What do you want?” Their owner inquired harshly. “We’re here to find a guy named-” “Never heard of him. Leave.” The rude stranger responded, slamming the peephole shut and silencing Hermes. Irate and unwilling to cope with anymore bullshit, Steele bucked the door, hard, sending ages old dust into the air. The peephole opened up quickly and the same pony now eyed the intruders with worry. “I don’t believe you were done hearing us out.” Steele said, venom in his tone.” “Look, I don’t want any trouble. If you have no business with the Followers then leave; we have nothing to offer.” The yellow-eyed pony responded; he began to slide the peephole shut, but was stopped by Steele’s magic. “We just want some information and we’ll get out of your way.” Steele bargained. “A lot of ponies that come this way want information, but you won’t find it here. Good day.” The mysterious stallion tried once more to close the peephole, but Steele held it in place with his magic. “I see you’re in a hurry, so let’s make this quick. Info for info.” Steele offered in a bittersweet tone. He opened his saddlebag and retrieved a neat stack of old logs; he slid the pile through the narrow opening and waited as the yellow pair of eyes fell silent while they read. “You’re just full of surprises aren’t you?” Scratch remarked, crossing her arms and cocking a brow at Steele as the trio waited for a response from the now mute pony halting their quest. “I like keeping you guys on your feet.” Steele smirked. “Keeps things interesting.” “What did you give him anyway? More letters from the Stable?” Hermes questioned, rather irked at being kept in the dark when it came to Steele’s affairs. “Research logs that belonged to a pair of Followers; found it with their remains.” Steele glumly informed. Hermes fell silent again, contemplating whether it is best to let Steele’s affairs remain unknown. “Hey, don’t fall asleep on me in there!” Steele shouted, knocking on the door a few times to remind the stallion of their presence. The familiar pair of eyes returned to the narrow opening. “Do you think they suffered?” They asked in a defeated tone, catching Steele off guard with the sudden presence of sincerity and humanity in the deep voice. “I can’t say for certain, but it wasn’t the rats that did them in.” Steele answered heavily. “I see.” The yellow eyes dropped their gaze to the floor and everyone shared a quiet, dreary moment of silence. “Please, come inside.” The stallion said. He unbolted the heavy door and slid it open to welcome his guests into the well-lit sanctuary that was the Followers of the Apocalypse’s home. The trio entered, drawing the unified attention of all the working Followers; they paused for a brief moment; their expressions ranged from worry, to disgust, to fear, but soon they were all working again. The Follower’s home could be summed up in three words: spacious, clean, and efficient. Like bees in a hive each member fulfilled their role to the point. Books lined old, yet well maintained hardwood shelves, medical and scientific equipment either rested on sanitized steel tables, or were under the careful operation of a focused scientist, and the makeshift coffee and water containers that littered the workplace were set aside neatly so as not to hinder progress. A heavy thud, followed by the clink of a bolt drew the trio’s attention to their host just as he closed the door behind them. “How did you find us?” Questioned the sullen yellow-eyed stallion. He wore a white lab coat that held a pair of thick-rimmed glasses over his light blue coat; it did little to conceal the large form of its owner. “The lunatics that run the church below. We passed their little drug test and they sent us upstairs for answers.” Steele answered venomously. “Good to know they’re doing their job then, albeit they might have been a bit excessive given… recent events.” The scientist said; he retrieved his glasses and put them on now that he felt a bit more comfortable with his odd guests. “Their job!?” Steele demanded, stepping menacingly toward the startled Follower. “Good to know you have ponies fuck with you before they see you.” He added accusingly, unwilling to forgive the fact that everything he felt only moments ago was part of some bullshit plan. “Forgive me.” The Follower said nervously; he backed up a bit and gave a reassuring glance to his worried companions before returning his attention to the steaming mercenary before him. “The ponies below only offer to protect us from dangerous folk who threaten our work, but they also run the church below of their own free will. We trust them to do as they please and pass judgment on their own accord. Their actions, no matter how unorthodox, are theirs alone; we simply share a home.” “And who are you lot to require such protection and secrecy? Don’t you have some saintly code of helping all who need it?” Scratch questioned. Or some other bullshit like that. She thought; she wondered what a small team of selective scientists could do for people like her. Steele backed off and simmered down. If what the Follower was saying was true, then perhaps the psycho and his lacky below were on to something; not that he believed them anyway. He brought his head back into his current situation, curious to find out just who these secretive scientists really were. “My apologies, I suppose introductions are in order now that familiarities are out of the way.” The scientist answered, glaring accusingly at Steele while he straightened his lab coat. “My name is Gizmo, and I’m the Head Engineer of the Followers of the Apocalypse.” Gizmo’s introduction was met with unamusement, and he decided to elaborate further. “We are the Followers of the Apocalypse.” He restated, walking to stand in front of his colleagues so that they were seen working busily behind him. “Keepers of knowledge in the Mojave, we follow the shadow of the apocalypse, gathering whatever information from the old world we can to help aid the restoration of life, after the end.” Steele smirked. “Bold quest, but if you’re as saintly as you claim, what has you all stashed away and unwilling to face the public you say you wish to help?” He questioned; he took note of the Gizmo’s sudden loss of face. “We weren’t always like this.” The flustered pony tried to refute. “Really, we’ve helped a few settlements start a life by sharing knowledge on proper farming techniques, provided medical expertise and knowledge to doctors across the Mojave, and gave advice on defenses against the dangerous mutants of the Mojave. We even have an active refugee camp run by our lead medic not far from Las Pegasus!” Gizmo defended, trying not to seem hurt by the smudge on his group's reputation. “But?” Hermes insisted. “With great knowledge comes great danger. Not all ponies out there seek to use the tools of power for the good of others. Some, namely the Brotherhood.” He paused for a moment to let the sour taste of that name fade. “Would go as far as to deem everyone undeserving of such a basic necessity.” “I thought the Brotherhood cared only about pre-war technology. What would they have against survival knowledge?” Hermes wondered aloud. “Don’t be stupid, the brotherhood could care less about the instruction manual on how to water your plants.” Scratch commented sarcastically. “You nosy lot have your fair share of pre-war documents and tech. Don’t you?” She accused. Gizmo adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat nervously. “Well, you wouldn’t be wrong to think so… but, that’s because we can’t afford to let the old world’s mistakes be repeated by greedy, selfless, and power hungry bastards that would cut each other’s throats to get any edge they can! It would be stupid to assume that our ancestor’s actions during wartime were the peaceful, kind-hearted endeavors that our children’s stories portray. They weren’t the saints our history books make them out to be, and the weapons they build out of pure hatred were left behind as symbols of their mistakes. After all, the weapons survived when they didn’t.” Gizmo ended his heated justification and simmered down. Steele’s friends might have begun to understand, but he was having none of the self righteous crap he heard so many times before. “And what gives you the right to decide the fate of everyone else and the uses of our tools of destruction?” He demanded, threatening to remove the pedestal of righteousness that Gizmo had put himself upon. “Well you see.” Gizmo stuttered. His mind raced for an answer, but Steele’s judging glare kept scattering his attention; his face had just begun to turn a light shade of red before another scientist stepped in. “The fact that we’re not using our knowledge to bring more suffering into the world.” The small-framed unicorn explained. She approached the trio wearing a tired frown and placed herself in front of her speechless colleague. “The wasteland ponies will find ways to kill and maim each other without needing to use weapons that won’t distinguish the innocent from the guilty.” “Oh, and what makes someone innocent in this hell hole?” Steele rebutted. “Or is that for the guilty to decide?” He suggested. The grey coated mare’s scowl intensified, but she remained speechless for a moment. “If it is, then don’t you suppose it’s best not to give them the means to decide for others?” “I suppose.” Steele concluded hesitantly. He had successfully given the Followers a chance to re-think their saintliness, and took that as a personal victory. “Good, now you three have made enough noise in your short visit. I assume you came here for more than to just berate us on philosophical ideologies, so what do you want?” The mare challenged blatantly. “We’re after a guy named Lucky Star, and we followed him here.” Scratch looked past the short mare and took a good look at her jumpy companions. “By the looks of it you’ve probably met him.” “The asshole in his fancy checkered suit?” She recalled bitterly; her clear, strong voice now held a bitter undertone. “Yea, he came here and demanded any information we might have on some stupid trinket he had. He never showed us the damn thing, and when we told him we didn’t have a clue as to what he was talking about, he threatened us and threw around our research until we forced him to back off. The cocky bastard told us to fuck off and left for Las Pegasus; told us he’d get that information from us one way or another.” The mare explained. She smirked at the trio’s satisfied looks. “You’re on a manhunt and you question our ideals; ironic isn’t it?” “The bastard stole from us; we’re just going to go get back what’s rightfully ours.” Hermes explained. “I doubt he stole something you didn’t already take from someone else, so who’s to say it was yours in the first place?” The mare closed her eyes and shrugged, deciding it’s best to not start another conversation. “But as you said, it’s the guilty that decide who the innocent are.” She resolved, silencing Hermes. “Thanks for the information.” Steele exclaimed, eager to ditch these nerds already. “Let’s go.” He commanded, aiming for the door. “Good luck on your manhunt.” The mare called after him. “I thought you disapproved of it.” Steele said. He looked back and raising a brow before exiting. “He was as much trouble for us as he is for you.” Gizmo justified; the color in his face back to its normal hue. “Some saints.” Scratch smirked before she followed Steele out. “No-one’s a saint in the Mojave. Some ponies are just better than others.” The mare responded, ending the conversation by closing and bolting the heavy door shut after Hermes stepped out; plunging the trio back into darkness. A familiar set of lights relit, pushing the shadows back and gave the trio time to plan their next move. “It’s late.” Hermes complained; he let out a long, tired yawn to help prove his point. “But if you feel like getting closer to Las Pegasus, I’m not complaining.” “To hell with that. Las Pegasus is half a days away, we’ll only begin to see the top of the city in a couple hours of walking.” She turned to Steele for support. “I sure as hell won’t go into that town without a good night’s rest. I need my beauty sleep.” She joked, running a claw through the short feathery mohawk as she closed her eyes. She opened an eye to look at her unimpressed companions. “Luna knows you two need it way more than I do.” “Hey I know mirrors aren’t too common around here, and I hate to break it to you, but they don’t seem to be working all that well. It’s best to move on now, when it’s too dark too see you two with me.” Hermes quipped; a goofy smile threatened to overtake his face at any moment. “You’re right, seeing us with you would be rather embarrassing; we should stay so you can get as much beauty sleep as possible.” Scratch retorted, grinning at Hermes’s spiteful squinting at her. “We’ll need to settle down for the night. Lucky could have a number of assets in the city, and I’d rather not take on a city of thieves at night.” Steele instructed, dampening Hermes’s spirits before he could protest. “But we aren’t sleeping here.” He added, crushing Scratch’s triumphant demeanor as well. “This is the best place around! I’m not sleeping out in the open.” Scratch complained. “There’s a sarsaparilla factory not too far from here. It’s close enough to Las Pegasus to let us get there before the sun’s overhead. We can make it there in an hour if you two stop discussing your looks and get moving.” “Fine with me.” Hermes said, eager to get as close to his target as possible. “Place better be warm.” Scratch mumbled. Steele turned to begin his descent. “Not like I expect you two to not be jealous with me around.” He commented casually; he hid a grin underneath his hat at the sound of his friend’s complaints. *** A full moon pierced the shade of midnight and illuminated the abandoned concrete and glass monument. The Sarsaparilla factory stood desolate and alone at the top of a steep hill; the weather-beaten building was only accompanied by a faded billboard that used a happy, pink ministry mare as its mascot. Be sure to drink lots of Sarsaparilla, it gives you extra sass! It advertised, using bold yellow letters on what used to be a cheerful orange background; perhaps its most unusual quality was the mare’s bright, unworn smile. It alone survived the harsh trials of time, and for a reason only disclosed to it, shone brightly in its dreary environment. A trio of misfits followed a lone slim, winding road to the heavy blue iron doors of the factory; they stopped to catch their breath for only a moment. “Hell of a walk. You could have mentioned it was on top of a hill.” Hermes complained.” “I thought you were the one who wanted to keep moving?” Scratched jabbed. “I don’t have wings like you!” He complained. Scratch landed beside him. “Don’t be such a wuss.” She said, rolling her eyes while Hermes caught his breath. “Shut up, both of you.” Steele barked. He levitated Ratslayer to Scratch. “We don’t know if this place is empty; keep your weapons close, your eyes peeled, and most importantly your mouths shut.” “What’s the gun for?” Scratch asked. “The facility has a high ceiling on the bottom floor, where the assembly line is, but every level above that is a tightly packed office; there’s no room to fly above that, so you might want a gun.” Scratch pushed the gun away. “I’ll take my chances. I’m intimidating enough up close, and any mutant that could have wandered into there could be dealt with my sword.” “Have it your way.” Steele shrugged. He shouldered the rifle and drew his revolvers. “Ready?” He asked. “Right behind you.” Hermes notified, his plasma rifle at the ready and eyes lit with a familiar, gentle green glow. Scratch grabbed the hilt of her large bumper sword and nodded reassuringly, signaling her readiness. “Right. After me.” Steele said. He let loose a calming sigh and pushed himself against the set of heavy metal doors. A loud, rusty creak broke the eerie silence within the facility and the open door let in a few rays of light that illuminated the assembly level of the factory; Steele scanned the area with his guns and his friends followed closely, closing the door and waiting for directions. The high ceiling echoed every movement the trio made, but otherwise the facility seemed quiet. Steele made eye contact with his friends and motioned them to follow. Together they made slow progress navigating through the endless rows of dusty bottles that littered the conveyor belts; every direction they looked, their vision was obstructed by another line of abandoned and forgotten bottles that threatened to hide a number of dangers behind them. A single, huge rectangle window that covered most of one side of the facility let in the moonlight that illuminated their path. “Looksss like we have wandered into the wrong nessst.” A voice whispered, breaking the silence. “Shut up, Hermes.” Steele hissed, still on high alert and not in the mood for stupid jokes or cowardice. “That... wasn’t me.” Hermes mustered. Surprised, Steele glanced back to find the courier shaken and searching fruitlessly for the perpetrator using his pipbuck. “Gotten lossst, have we?” The voice asked in its snakish tone. Its owner was nearly untraceable with the echo, and the trio had their backs to each other, searching for the source of their assailant. “Come out!” Steele commanded. This isn’t good. He realized, knowing that they were in no position to give the commands. The source of the mysterious voice was now moving about by using the conveyer belts as cover; Steele could only guess that the hissing sounds were the attacker giggling with amusement. “Ssso brave.” It laughed. “The mice wander into the viper’sss nest and demand authority.” “Steele!” Scratch said, egging him for a command before they end up prey. “Who are you!?” Steele screamed, racking his brain for a solution. You’re going to die here if you don’t act now. He thought for a moment, but forced himself to focus. “Tell me, prey.” The voice paused along with the eerie hoof-steps. “Will you fight or flee?” It asked. The party of three tensed, realizing that the silence was a timer to their deaths if they did not act now. Ten, nine,... Steele began to count; think dammit. He told himself. Five, four… Time was running out when a lone, green reptilian eye was magnified by an empty bottle. “Scratch!” Steele motioned, cocking his revolvers. Scratch wasted no time reacting. The pony with green reptilian eyes made the mistake of bringing his neck above the conveyor belt, and Scratch’s claw tightened around the hilt of her sword. Not a second later the sharp blade was cutting through bottles until it reached flesh, it tore through that too and pressurized crimson liquid stained the nearby glass and rubber red. Steele made eye contact with the still-smug expression on the green mohawked head as it traveled a while and hit the floor with a sickening, wet smack. “They’re everywhere!” Hermes alerted nervously; his vision was being clouded with little red triangles encircling his position. Steele had no time to dwell on the gruesome decapitation, and kicked his brain into gear. “Scratch, fly!” He commanded; he turned to run into the courier once he heard the flap of wings and slammed himself into Hermes, forcing the anxious pony to run with him. “Get to cover!” He ordered, pushing Hermes toward a thick concrete support pillar and branching off in the other direction with the conveyor belts as his cover. The fighting had started with a single bullet shattering a bottle near Steele. The factory was now filled with the deafening sound of gunfire and glass shattering; the sound reverberated off the walls and rang in Steele’s ears, deafening him to the world around him. Glass shrapnel exploded behind Steele as he ran to a large stack of boxes he hoped would act as cover from the son of bitch using a carbine to send a hail of bullets at him. Pieces of glass bounced off his armored garb and he slid the last few feet to his cover. “Shit!” He cursed, the sound of his complaint lost and unheard by even him in the deafening storm of gunfire. Steele checked his leg to find that he slid across a piece of glass, effectively cutting his unprotected leg. Angry, deaf, and with a leg throbbing in pain, Steele peaked from his cover and returned fire in the direction of his attacker, forcing him to seek cover. The gunfire had died down slightly as their attackers were forced to reload, and Steele used the time to hobble over to a neighboring support beam while he reloaded. Once he got there he opened fire on two unsuspecting unicorns and successfully buried his bullets in their chests, ignoring the thin layer of leather they called armor. Thank Celestia for .44 rounds. He thought with a smirk, sinking down behind his cover to reload as the rest of the gangsters sawed thin the concrete protecting him. In the small breaks of fire Steel could hear the steady fwomp, fwomp, fwomp of a plasma weapon; the bright green flashes reflected from the shards of glass near him proved his assumptions of Hermes being alive to be true. A loud, spine chilling scream pierced and halted the gunfire. Steele peaked his cover to see a pony glow a burning red and orange as the poor mare was liquefied and turned into nothing more than a steaming, glowing pile of goo. Her companions, mortified by the sudden transformation, had halted their gunfire to watch in awe, but now turned with renewed hatred to engage a reloading courier as he hid behind his battered column. Three angry gang members were now making steady progress, suppressing the courier while they advanced. Luna dammit. Steele holstered his revolvers and withdrew Ratslayer; he lay down at his pillar’s corner and aimed the rifle. Three trigger squeezes sent silenced shots toward the assailants; he tore a hole in one of their heads and knocked the wind out of another as the bullet made a thick dent in his steel armor. Hermes respond by emerging from his cover and effortlessly ending the confused final gangster and stealing the last breath from the other pony before he could take it. Satisfied with himself Steele holstered the rifle in time to find a smug looking mare with a bladed gauntlet towering above him. She brought down her hoof quickly, and Steele’s instinct took over. He rolled onto his back, allowing her to shred some of his garb and the flesh behind it, eliciting a scream of pain from him. The mare stepped closer, using her nonbladed hoof to hold him down while she prepared to strike again; she did, but Steele grabbed the underside of her hoof and used his rear legs to keep some distance between them. He was stuck in his little dance, each partner struggling and shifting to try and gain the upper hoof. Steele gazed into his attacker’s blue eyes, hating her shiny, silver lip piercing as she ran a snakish tongue over it and her lips. Like a mouse in a viper’s gaze, Steele couldn’t find his strength, and the rusty twelve inch blades neared the precious life carrying veins in his neck with every moment. At last, Steele found his window of opportunity; he brought his bleeding rear leg up to the unsuspecting mare’s chest and delivered a firm kick, wincing from the pain. The mare backed off, but collected herself quickly and pounced at Steele again as he drew a revolver toward her skull. Inches before her head could connect with the barrel of Steele’s revolver, blood flew from the mare’s neck as the tips of sharp yellow talons protruded the front of her throat. Steele looked past the panicked blue eyes of a young, blood stained mare and saw Scratch heave the pony in front of her; her claws never withdrew from the back of the gangster’s neck and a sickening gurgling sound escaped the living corpse. The griffon used the mare as a meat-shield and dropped the corpse before once more disappearing into the shadows of the high ceiling. She was an easy kill, Steele. Get it together! Steele regained his footing and found that Hermes had moved and once more stole most of the attention from the remaining gangsters. He watched the wood splinter from the stack of boxes Hermes commandeered and took a deep breath to collect his thoughts in the ear-splitting noise that was the firefight. The conveyor belts could act as sight breaks, and he could use them to mask his movements. Steele readied his revolvers and bolted out of his cover, keeping low to hide his head behind the bottles. He fired at and downed a few gangsters before ducking low behind one of the belts. Shit. He cursed, realizing that he was sandwiched between Hermes’s attackers and his own. He peaked for a moment to unload on the gangsters attacking Hermes, but was forced down when they opened fire. Luckily, Hermes took the moment to liquefy the gangsters and Steele vaulted the belt to gain better cover; he cursed as he landed on some glass. How could I not, the whole damn floor is covered in it! He reloaded his revolvers and waited for the gunfire to stop and allow him to advance. By now, both sides were running low on ammo, and some of the cleverer unicorn gangsters were hurling glass shards at the trio in an attempt to conserve ammo. Steele was forced to wait, glancing up to see parts of his bloodied reflection in the wall of glass above him. Once they stopped, Steele moved again. Firing, waiting, moving; Steele played this little game of patience until the gangster numbers were dwindled down and he and his friends owned the majority of the ground floor. Another pass of glass stopped and Steele emerged again. He brought up a revolver to return fire, but was stopped by a bullet slamming into his thick breastplate. He fell, sucking for air after it had been forced out of him. Helpless, he lay exposed and gasping like a fish out of water. Get up, get up! He kept telling himself, unable to follow his orders because every time he tried to stand he was forced down by a hail of glass just barely missing him. Steele could have sworn he heard screaming, it wouldn’t be surprising considering the only thing he heard in the past twenty or so minutes was either screaming or gunfire. His head rang, but with enough coaxing, air once more found its way into his lungs. The screaming he heard was closer now, and he realized there was a crouching figure next to him, pulling his body behind cover. The darkness around his vision cleared, and Steele recognized Hermes returning fire next to him. “He’s hit! He’s hit!” The courier screamed. “I’m alright.” Steele replied in vain, his response out-shouted by the fighting. Steele regained his footing in time to charge another melee fighter behind Hermes’s back, thrusting his whole weight into the poor bastard and knocking him onto his back; he punched the attacker until he drew blood, and ended the fight with a strong final blow to the neck, leaving the pony to choke on his own blood. He returned his attention to the courier when a small glint from the corner of his eye caught his attention; he looked up to find it came from on top of a sheet metal housing that used to be some kind of office, and realized the high level threat. Hermes! Hopped up on a wavering supply of adrenaline, Steele backtracked to the courier, praying he would make it in time. Hermes had taken down yet another gangster with the help of his trusty pipbuck and checked his back in time to see Steele’s chest smother him and pin him to the ground; he heard a muffled bang follow afterwards. “Sniper!” Steele explained, backing off to allow Hermes to regain his footing. To the duo’s relief a sharp cry signaled the end of the sniper as Scratch’s blood-coated blade tore its way into another victim. The few remaining gangsters saw their chance to flee and tried to make a break for the door; Steele gladly spent ammo on disposing them as they fled. “Silence.” Steele confirmed happily, as he slid down to rest against the conveyor belt. “What?” Hermes asked, itching an ear in a vain attempt to clear the ringing. Steele laughed and rested his aching head against the cool metal for a moment. Hermes grabbed a seat next to him and together they waited for Scratch to find them; it didn’t take long. “That was a hell of a lot of ammo. Collect anything that we can use. We’re too weak to carry more than we need to for tomorrow's journey. Grab some carbines though, they’re worth some medical supplies.” Steele instructed. He rose and helped his friends scavenge. Together the trio collected silently, embracing the welcoming silence of dead gangsters. Once done, they met up at the staircase to the upper floors. “Who the hell are where these guys? Just some gangsters?” Hermes asked bitterly. Steele couldn’t stifle his laugh; he brought a hoof around the courier’s neck as he laughed. “You alright, Steele?” Hermes asked, fearing his friend had finally lost it. “Hermes, we just killed a whole team of one of the most dangerous raider-tribes in the whole Mojave.” He explained, withdrawing his hoof. “If the reptile eyes and snake emblems didn’t give it away, they’re called the Vipers.” As Steele explained he motioned his friends to follow him upstairs. “These religious zealots worship snakes for whatever reason, and their initiation process is incredibly difficult to survive; almost as hard the Goth’s actually, but while the Goth’s is a physical challenge, these crazy fuckers poison each other and recruit whoever survives.” “Explains why the bastards needed a few bullets to take them down.” Hermes groaned, struggling to climb up the steps. “They weren’t that bad.” Scratch remarked jokingly. Although not as battered as her companions, she too was covered with nicks and wounds that painted her body red. “Tell that to their other friends.” Steele answered. “You mean there’s more!?” Hermes asked fearfully, looking alert and anxious again. “Doubt there’s any here now, but let’s just hope that no other group comes in for a checkup.” The trio finally reached the top floor and found it mostly barren; another large rectangular window provided a great view of the night, the quiet Mojave below, and the top, cloudy layer of Las Pegasus in the distance. “Let’s set up camp here.” Steele suggested, dumping his gear and loot against a wall near the window. “I left a warm, insane church for this.” Scratch complained, only half-joking. Steele left his friends to manage their haul while he limped around searching for anything useful. He didn’t find anything, but a broken, grimy mirror resting on its side. Out of curiosity, he faced it toward himself and smirked at the reflection. Cuts, gashes, and sear marks from bullets that barely missed littered his skin and garb; a few glass shards were still embedded into the dark material. Where flesh was not covered by a red outer layer, it was covered by dirt. Only his face was spared; well… mostly. There was a long gash running horizontally along his cheek where glass had left its mark. Steele’s attention was caught by his rear leg, instinctively he had raised it without paying much mind, but now he could see the bloody mess he had to tug along. He brought his attention back to his reflection and sighed; he searched for something meaningful. He was exhausted, wounded heavily, psychologically tormented, and worst of all part of a quest he was never too enthusiastic about undertaking. He smiled. But I’m alive. He reminded himself. And I’m not alone. That’s what the most important part was. He had two unlikely companions with whom he just conquered certain death with, and no amount of damage could outweigh how much better it was than being in good health and alone. It was odd to say it, but he was a hella glad to have the courier fighting alongside him today, and Scratch played an irreplaceable role as well. “Steele!” A voice called for him. Steele gave a last look at himself and sighed again. He was different now, and only time would tell whether that was a good thing; for now, it was, and he turned to leave. “I’m here.” He announced, returning to his little band of misfits. “We were just about to assume you got lost.” Hermes said. “Pass me our meds.” Steele commanded. “You lot look like hell.” Scratch wasn’t off too bad, she had escaped most of the fire by flying, but she too had her fair share of wounds. Hermes on the other hoof was cut up pretty bad; his white coat red with his own blood, but his armored vault suit seemed to do its job otherwise. “You don’t look better yourself, “mister lady-killer”.” Scratch replied sarcastically. “Who died and made you doctor anyway.” She asked. “I had a combat medic buddy when I worked for the N.L.R.” He taught me enough to get by with more than just the “suck it up and deal with it” medical expertise that Legion goes by.” “Then patch me up, doc.” Hermes joked. Steele got to work, cleaning cuts and digging out glass shrapnel with his magic; he applied magic bandages accordingly and gave each patient a bottle of healing portion to top it off. "Sloppy, but it'll do." He commented. He looked at his bloodied hooves and decided to leave them be. “You’re not going to make a comment on wasting supplies?” Hermes remarked. He was mummified, but for the most part alright. “Shrapnel must have pierced his skull.” Scratch remarked, looking no better with her blood stained bandages. "Again." “You two are going to have to drag me around tomorrow, so I rather get there in once piece.” Steele answered bitterly. He began to pack up their meager supply of meds before he was stopped by Scratch. “You’re the one that’s going to hold him down, right?” She asked Hermes. “You know more than me.” He confirmed. “What the hell are you two talking about.” Steele asked, backing up on three legs. “Returning the favor.” Hermes answered; he pushed Steele onto his back and used his magic and weight to hold him down. Scratch grabbed the remaining medical supplies and took her position at Steele’s wounded leg. “This is going to hurt like hell, so keep him still.” She warned. “Fuck off, both of you.” Steele protested; he tried to fight back, but as soon as Scratch grabbed his leg he was immobilized with pain. "Try not to break your teeth." Scratch advised, shoving a wooden stick into Steele's mouth; he protested with a muffled growl, but Hermes kept him in place. Unable to decline the sudden medical procedure, Steele regretfully accepted his fate. An hour of him attempting to scream, curse, and make death threats passed, and he was covered leg to neck in the group’s last bandages; small, bloodied glass shards lay stacked in a pile next to him. “That was a hell of a lot of glass.” Scratch said, wiping the sweat off her forehead. “Least you’re not the only one with some medical know how.” “Thanks.” Steele answered sarcastically, throbbing in pain after the sudden surgery. Hermes yawned loudly. “That's enough excitement for one day.” He suggested; he plopped down next to the large window and stared at the bright city in the distance. “More than I asked for.” Scratch replied, yawning as well. She grabbed a section next to the wall and collapsed on a makeshift pillow. Steele hobbled over to his mummified companion and took a seat. Las Pegasus, as the name suggests, was a safe haven for all pegasi looking to flee their army’s oppression after the Great War. Dashites, loners, refugees, and any other form of survivor fled to the great city and rebuilt it when it was spared the mega-spell bombing of the war. From here, Steele and Hermes could only see the top layer of the city, or rather the thick clouds that hid the tall buildings inside from view; what lay above them only the pegasi knew. The clouds kept the important tall buildings out of view from any invaders, namely the Lucky 38 weather control tower/casino that was rumored to be the home of the infamous Mr. House. Rumors claimed it was the reason behind the immobility of the clouds. From here the duo could see the faint glow of a city that never slept, just barely visible behind the thick clouds. “We’ll get there, rest up, and kill that son of a bitch.” Steele assured, tapping Hermes on the back reassuringly before choosing to retire for the night. Hermes stole another glance at the city, and took his spot near his friends. Tired, battered, yet alive Steele and his misfits enjoyed a deep sleep. Author's Note First time linking from google docs.(Still can't believe I've spent all those hours re-italicizing everything.) Let me know if anything seems off.
Chapter OneIt was hot, smelled like shit, and an aggravating ringing sounded through the room. A black hoof sent the rusty pre-war alarm clock flying; the wall it hit silenced it. Just another shitty morning in the Mojave Desert for Steele, another miserable unicorn trying to survive. "It's so dam hot I must have finally gone to hell." He mumbled, still groggy from an uncomfortable night spent on a pre-war mattress. The dark coated figure got out of his bed and scratched his back while leisurely staring out of a nearby window. Outside promised nothing more than heat and misery. "Yup. Still in the Mojave, still in hell." He groaned, dragging his groggy self toward where he suspected the bathroom would be. Upon entering, Steele was met with an intact toilet, sink, and bathtub; luxuries that he didn't take for granted considering he smelled as bad the 200 year old abandoned house he spent the night in. He took a moment to examine himself in the cracked mirror above the sink. Through the dirt and grime, a blue eyed pony and his roughly cut grey mane stared back. Steele smiled, revealing a surprisingly intact set of teeth, another miracle considering the amount of abuse his face gets on average. Once done examining himself, he pondered as to whether or not it was safe to turn on the faucet and use the potentially radiated water. He sighed, regretting not having one of them fancy schmancy pipbucks the "Stable Dwellers" had. That Geiger counter would sure as hell come in handy right about now. But no, he was just a fatherless bastard born to a gypsy on the surface. While stable folk pranced around blissfully ignorant and safe in their steel caskets, his childhood was a constant fight for survival as he traveled with his mother's caravan. It was rough, unpleasant, and ended on the night he woke up to smoke and flames choking his lungs while the shrieking of his fellow travelers stung his ears. Steele ran out of his tent and was met with the sight of burning bodies and screaming ponies, who were gunned down as they tried to flee. Some nights he could still smell the smoke and feel the heat of the flames as his tears blinded him, blurring the memories of his mother's lifeless corpse as he begged her to flee with him. The voice of the bandit leader robbing his caravan was forever imprinted in his mind, along with his sadistic pleasure as he leaned in close to Steele’s shivering, tear-stained face and whispered: "Run kid." Laughing maniacally with the rest of his crew as Steele scrambled for his life. Steele ran. He ran until his legs gave out and his tears ran dry. He became a Stallion that night, and he never looked back. He learned to survive, to shoot, and to never forgive. Over the years the Mojave had made him many things; a prospector, a mercenary, a heartless bastard, but above all he was a survivor. And he intended to keep it that way. "Fuck it." He exclaimed, concluding that he'd rather use radaway than smell like a corpse. Once clean, bathed, and possibly irradiated, he returned to the living room and took a large swig of a radaway pack. He coughed a few times and reached for a half empty Apple Whiskey bottle to help wash down the bitter taste. "Much better." He said, wiping his mouth and tossing the empty bottle toward the floor. What did he care, not his house anyway. Morning routine complete, Steele donned his signature outfit, a black leather trench coat that had armored plates sewn into it, and a vintage black cowboy hat he had bargained for a long time ago. Next came his worn saddle bag, whose contents consisted of nothing more than 300 caps, a few medical supplies, and spare ammunition for his twin .44 magnums affectionately named Mustang and Sally. Not much, but he never did have a lot of possessions to begin with. Lastly he re-holstered his two prized pistols; he had found them on a dead prospector’s body and used them to save his life countless times over. The old door to the outside groaned and refused to open under Steel’s magic and began to agitate him. It wasn’t long until a few heads turned, alerted by the loud crack of splintering wood. Steele stood in the barren doorway, his hat covering his eyes, and began to quietly walk toward the bar, past an aged and broken wood door. Goodsprings was a quiet ghost town, and none of the few residents wanted to question Steele’s actions. He didn't look like someone you wanted to mess with, especially not after their multitude of problems with coyotes, mutated lizards, and a local gang by the name of The Powder Gangers. They had enough to deal with, and so long as this guy didn't cause any real trouble and paid his tab, no one cared what he did. Steele made his way up the old wooden steps of the “Prospector Saloon”, the letters of its weathered neon sign consisted of various separate parts. Upon opening the door Steele was nearly knocked into by a fast unicorn with a bandaged head; the crazy bastard paid Steele no mind and instead headed straight toward gas station up ahead. He looked determined, and Steele immediately noticed the stable suit complemented by the glowing pipbuck on his left arm. Steele opened his mouth to say something, but instead just shook his head and walked toward the bar. No need to cause unnecessary trouble, especially not with any stable dwellers. He told himself. Once he cleared the door an aggravated stallion wearing a Powder Ganger prison outfit stormed out. Steele ignored him as well, knowing better than to mess with the easily angered imbeciles. He took an empty seat in the corner of the bar and waited for Sandy Shake, the cheery, red haired bartender with a southern accent. “What’s his problem?” Steele asked, nodding his head toward the exit. "Damn bastard." Sandy began, waving her cleaning cloth as she spoke to help emphasize her point. "Wants to kill some traveler we hid in the gas station. He's just mad cause we refused to tell him where the poor guy is hiding." She took a moment to simmer down and returned to wiping a mug. "I'm just worried he might be back and cause some trouble." Sandy Shake finished, obviously flustered. Seems like she had been the one to talk to him. "Not the Powder Ganger; those idiots are always looking for trouble. I'm asking about the stable dweller, idiot nearly knocked into me on the way out, didn’t utter a word either." Steele said. “Oh, him. Poor fellow." Sandy Shake began, a calmer tone in her voice. "He’d just been shot in the head, and wouldn't’ ya know it Doc Mellowgrass patched him right up after that Victor fellow dug him up." "Shot it the head huh? Whoever it was must have been a lousy shot." Steele answered, taking a sip of his whiskey. "Guess so. Lucky him though, he seems like a nice guy. He wants to help some crazy wanderer named Rango, who's been running from the Powder Gangers; we let him hide in the gas station uptown." Sandy Shake answered, absentmindedly wiping an already clean mug. "So what's he bugging you for?" Steele asked, mildly curious about this new do-gooder who had just escaped death. "Well, he wants Goodsprings to help, and since I'm the mayor he came to me. It sure broke my heart having to let down such a sweetheart-- especially after he just fixed my radio--, but I'm afraid it's too darn dangerous to confront them head on. I can't risk everyone’s life like that." "So he actually wants to die." Steele answered coldly. "Well, as far I know he's a courier, and they're pretty tough considering they have to carry all those important packages across the wasteland. Heck, if you ask me. I reckon his ordeal had to do with a package he was carrying. The trio that shot him took off soon as they got what they wanted." A courier? So, chances are he did have a death wish. Steele thought, taking another sip of his rust colored drink. Few couriers live long enough to retire, and most die trying to deliver their precious packages. Whoever this new guy was, he must have been carrying something valuable to get a hit squad on him. Steele processed the idea of following him considering if he was going to go get his package back, then there might be a good deal of caps involved. "And this Victor guy you mentioned. Who's he?" Steele questioned, forgetting about his drink and listening intently for any useful information than might lead to profit. "That's the strangest part." Sandy exclaimed, finally putting down her mug and reaching for a dirtier one. "Victor’s a securitron. Now what he's doing this far out of Las Pegasus is a mystery. He rolled along one night, and dug up the courier soon as his attackers left. Why he took particular interest in him sure beats me, but whoever he is has to be important to get that kind of attention." That settled it. Steele wasn’t going anywhere near this "courier". If he had House's bots on him, then he was a nothing but a hazard. The mysterious head honcho of Las Pegasus was never involved in what didn’t particularly interest him, and if something did, then whatever stood in his way would be thoroughly removed. No-one ever saw him, but everyone but the NLR and Solar Legion feared him. Locked away along with the secrets of the Lucky 38 tower, House controlled Las Pegasus and its three strongest families via his securitron robots. He was a force to be reckoned with, and even the NLR who had been stationed at Las Pegasus tried to avoid causing him problems. If this courier had beef, or worse, business with Mr. House, that was his problem and Steele wasn’t about to get involved. "Say, you look like a hardened traveler. I'm guessing the Mojave hasn’t been kind on you, has it?" Sandy Shake asked, lowering her overly clean mug and bursting Steele's thought bubble. "More than you'd like to know." Steele answered gruffly, his icy shield coming down to protect him from his painful past. He was reminded of his drink and proceeded to tend to it. "I see. Don’t suppose you'd be willing to help him out. I mean, if you don’t have any nice relations with the Powder Gangers that is." Steele winced underneath his hat. Being accused of affiliation with those heartless bandits and rapists hurt, especially with his past. Sandy Shake had pushed the wrong button, and the look on her face showed she regretted doing so. She began to apologize, but Steele cut her off. "I learned to not risk my tail where I don’t need to." He answered, silencing Sandy. She didn’t look pleased, but apparently she had decided to not cause any more damage and remained silent. Steele ordered some squirrel stew, paid his tab, and left without uttering another word. Once outside he stretched for a bit and considered his path. Nipton seemed like the town to go to. Always filled with thugs, whores, booze, and most importantly, jobs. Many weren't pretty, but this was the Mojave. Nothing was pretty. His direction marked, Steele began to leave, but couldn’t help but notice the courier leaning behind some cover; a worn out varmint rifle floating beside him. He shot Steele a quick glance, but not finding anything that might convince him of striking up a conversation, he returned to inspecting his measly gear. Poor fool. Steele thought. Going against someone even as poorly equipped as the Powder Gangers was a bad idea with his gear, but whatever; he wanted to play hero and that was his business. Steele smirked and set out toward Nipton. A few hundred meters past town and Steele ran into a group of Powder Gangers. By their appearance he could tell they were the group going to assault the town in hopes of finding their target. Knowing them, they’d probably burn the place down looking for him. There were six total. No real armor, but they were all equipped with guns, enabling even the most dim-witted bandit to be dangerous. Their leader, a unicorn, led the group; his varmint rifle floating beside to him, he didn't look like the kind of pony you want to start a problem with. Out of his men he looked like the only relatively sane one. Out of his pitiful brigade, three of his men were armed with rusty single shot shotguns that they held in their mouths; Steele caught the sour stench of drugs and realized they were high on jet, their movements twitchy, fast, and unpredictable. The other two were equipped with no more than machetes and appeared to be the least stable of the group. They paid Steele no mind. He looked like someone who could put up a fight, and he didn’t seem interested in them so he could be ignored. His hat covering his eyes, Steele navigated around them. An able unicorn and 5 earth ponies; a sizable threat considering their enemy had nothing more than a stable suit and a rusty rodent gun. Steele stopped. The years had taught him better than to try and play hero --the small scar on his lower chin reminded him of that--, but he wasn't one to like watching good ponies die. The Mojave took many lives every day and death was just an unpleasant inconvenience in the Mojave; it had stopped fazing Steele a long time ago, but watching good ponies die brought back a painfully familiar grief. No way in hell was he beginning to consider risking his life for some wannabe hero with a deathwish. Steele stole another quick glance at the bandits from under his hat in time to catch the gang members spreading out. Not long until bullets would start to fly, he should get a move on before ending up the victim of a stray bullet. He was getting eager to move on, but a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach stopped him; Steele knew all too well the feeling meant he was about do something he considered to be very stupid. He forced himself to look forward and continue walking, but froze shortly as gunshot rang through the air, the blood-curling scream stole his attention. Steele’s gaze darted back in time to see a machete wielding gangster fall, blood leaking from a chest wound. The courier had apparently shot first and successfully landed an effective shot. He had dropped the machete wielder quickly enough to shock everyone but the group leader, who nonchalantly swung his rifle and returned fire. "Well you morons, shoot him!" He ordered, sending more lead the courier's way; it wasn't long before they were keeping the courier pinned under a hail of bullets. Steele swallowed hard as his mind began to race. He was actually nervous, and it drove him insane. Common it’s just another stupid kid that isn’t cut out for the Mojave. Leave him; he won’t make it out there anyway, might as well let them put him out of his misery. Steele reasoned. Another scream filled the air, and Steele snapped back to reality. He quickly scanned the scene to found that the scream came from the courier; It appeared that he tried to peek out of his cover to return fire and ended up with a bullet in his shoulder. The gangsters were closing in on his position quickly, but the lone machete wielder was what troubled Steele more than he liked. While his gang mates slowly made progress from the Courier’s right, the sly bastard had made quiet progress around the couriers flank and gripped his machete tightly with exited anticipation; his eyes boldly radiated his eagerness to kill. Fuck. Steele would regret this later, but he had to act now or that courier was going to end up back in the grave he just so narrowly escaped. Moving swiftly, Steele drew his revolvers in one well rehearsed, fluid motion. The hammers had been pulled back by his magic in the process of drawing the weapons, and Steele had nothing left to do but aim. He fired twice, sending red hot lead into the back of the machete wielder. Silence followed as the gangster dropped a mere few inches behind a surprised courier; crimson leaking from the two pronounced holes in his back. The gunshots ceased as the remaining gangsters assessed their new threat. “What are you imbeciles waiting for!? Kill him!” Shrieked their leader; he had finished reloading his rifle and began to shoot at Steele. “Nice going Steele.” He muttered, sprinting to a large boulder for cover. Steele hid, counting the number of bullets his attacker had left. One...two....three....four, just one more left. He counted. Steele waited for the metallic clink of an empty magazine and stepped out of cover, his two magnums floating in front of him. He might not have had the assistive aim a pipbuck provided, but years of learning to conserve his ammo made him a crack shot and he didn’t need it. He managed to bury three shots into the leader’s body, tearing flesh and breaking bone before one of the three remaining shotgun wielders pelted him with shrapnel. Shit that hurts! Steele cursed, gritting his teeth as his armor absorbed the shrapnel and let the kinetic energy bombard his body with pain. His magic never wavering, Steele scowled at his attacker, an earth pony who’s fear leaked through his high state; Steele cut his reload short with lead. The last two had turned to confront Steele, leaving the courier to cower behind the boxes he sought cover from. Steele hid once more, cursing the pain coursing through his body and the equally painful reload time for his magnums. As he fished out more ammo from his saddlebag his attackers drew nearer, unnerving Steele with the sound of their bullets hitting his small cover. Why the fuck did I have to help that damned courier? He wondered. By the time he finished reloading sweat had accumulated on his forehead, but thankfully his nerves remained intact. He could hear his attackers getting closer, but without the help of a pipbuck’s detection system he couldn't pinpoint their exact location. He set his mind on diving out of cover and fire at the first thing he saw, but to his relief a foreign rifle shot filled the air with the sickening sound of grey matter painting Steele’s cover. The last gangster had dropped his gun and began to run away, but Steele dove out of cover and pelted him with lead. Looks like the courier wasn’t completely useless after all. Steele smirked. Steele reloaded and re-holstered his magnums, checked his armor for any serious damage, and applied a magically enhanced bandage to his forelimb upon finding shrapnel that penetrated an unreinforced piece of armor. Once more Steele regretted his lack of a pipbuck and its medical expertise. Nonetheless he referred back to his old rule of “If you can feel it, you’re fine.” He began to loot the Powder Ganger corpses, salvaging ammo, weapons, and medical supplies for keep or salvage. The courier, apparently surprised that this mysterious figure had the heart to help --and with good reason-- just watched him from his cover, holding his bleeding shoulder. Once finished with salvaging for gear, Steele made another kind decision that he knew he would kick himself for later. He approached the courier and removed a healing potion and a bandage from his bag, dropping them and the unicorn gangster’s well maintained varmint rifle at the courier’s hooves. “Take them.” He instructed coldly. What the hell is wrong with me? Steele thought. Why in the name of the goddesses was I wasting supplies and risking my life for this stupid traveler? A piece of shrapnel must have penetrated my skull and hit my brain because there was no reason I should be this kind. To Steele the courier had nothing to offer, and that made him worthless. “You’re lucky I forgot to get some water.” Steele lied, reverting back to his old heartless self. “Th... thanks.” The courier replied, probably as scared of Steele as he was thankful. “Who are you?” He asked, wanting to at least know the name of his savior. “Don’t push it.” Was the reply. Steele walked into the bar for the second time that day. A few residents futilely tried to hide the fact that they had been staring out the window and began to loudly whisper amongst each other, pausing only to momentarily steel a glance at Steele. They were beginning to agitate Steele. The word of you being a do-gooder gets out, and you just might have a hit squad called on you. In the Mojave, no one liked to have their dirty business threatened by some goody two shoes, and murder was a popular solution. He took his seat and ordered a bottle of whiskey and some water to go. Sandy Shake’s beaming smile drove Steele to hide deeper under his hat. “Don’t worry these are on the house. We all kindly appreciate what you did out there." She said, placing Steele's goods in front of him. "Thanks to you Goodsprings won't have any Powder Ganger trouble for a while.” “Thanks.” Steele answered, taking three water bottles and his whiskey; he sure as hell needed a drink right now. He left without another word and sold his salvage to the Goodsprings General Shop. When he left he caught another glimpse of the white, light beige haired unicorn he knew as the courier returning from the gas station; a relieved, scruffy looking traveler was behind him. The courier smiled as he neared Steele. His shoulder was bandaged and he seemed to have full use of it again. His new varmint rifle was neatly secured on his saddlebag; no doubt the work of his pipbuck’s inventory manager. Steele snickered and paid him no mind. He set off toward Nipton once more. He had wasted enough time and resources on this guy, and hated him already. *** Steele took another swig of water and levitated the bottle back into his bag. What I wouldn’t do for a nuclear winter. He bargained, cursing the Mojave's never ending, relentless heat. Steele had made steady progress toward Nipton, but as he neared heavy smoke filled the air and seemed to arise from the town's center. Steele drew his weapons. Nipton was a shithole, but it could sure as hell keep its ground against random bandits. Unless they were having a pleasant BBQ, then whatever was burning the town meant business. Steele considered just leaving the town, but he came there looking for a paycheck and whatever this mystery force was just might provide one through salvage. The town was now within reach and the air was thick with the smell of burning flesh and death. With no walls to contain them, an occasional scream and gunshot was heard through the empty streets. This doesn't look good. Steele thought, slowly creeping along the wall of someone’s home, pistols floating readily nearby. He peeked around the corner to catch a sickening sight; a Solar Legion decanus was calling out names, and once called, the poor pony stepped forward only to be executed via quick decapitation by the all too eager Legion recruits. There were nine total. Two recruits, three prime legionaries, three veterans, and finally an all too familiar decanus leading it all. A sizable group that was extremely dangerous. It was no surprise that they were able to take the town without a fight. Steele slid back into cover behind his wall. As another scream filled the air, followed by the sound of crimson painting the floor, Steele drifted into remembrance. The Solar Legion was the largest force from east. Having survived the bombing from the great war, the survivors of the badlands resorted to a brutal way of life following that of ancient zebra tribes. Knowing of the zebra’s success with using brutality, physical strength, ruthless military tactics, and the most powerful weapon of all, fear, the Solar Legion had ravaged the west, conquering surviving civilizations and seeking more land and power. Their military had been slightly adjusted after the model of pre-war royal guards of the Solar Empire, and their existence thrived on slaves, terrorism, fear, aggression, and mercilessness. It was from them that Steele had learned to never forgive. Back when he was just a lonely colt the Legion saw potential in his pain and anger, and took him under their protection. Here Steele learned how to suppress emotions, survive the wasteland, and most importantly, hate the Solar Legion. This phase of Steele’s life consisted of brutal training and torture. Like all recruits of the Solar Legion he had two choices: become a slave, or survive long enough to become a soldier. He chose to survive, but a few years of hell and being treated like a piece of shit, set his mind on desertion, branding him a traitor. He was lucky though, his performance during his training gave him a positive image in the eyes of Celestia, the heartless bitch with a glare colder than her non-existent heart. Of course Celestia wasn't her real name, but anyone who would question the self proclaimed princess would suffer a fate far more gruesome than the standard decapitation. Steele’s melee training and adaptation to pain helped him kill his competitors in his rise through the ranks, but in the end it was his good nature that pushed him out of the testosterone filled hell known as the Solar Legion. His good standing with the princess was what had kept a bounty off his head, but now that he was older his Legion relations were questionable. The fact that he had worked jobs against them only made things worse. The Solar Legion often patrolled the Mojave in hopes of gaining territory from the NLR so that they could more easily attack the Las Pegasus dam, a vital source of power both figuratively and literally. Their actions mainly consisted of spreading terror and fear, and spying on the NLR. Occasionally a skirmish would break out between the two mortal enemies, but no large battles have been fought since the first great battle for the dam. Since the NLR victory, Celestia has been collecting forces and preparing to strike again, and the NLR have been on the defensive ever since. Now what Legion could want from such a worthless town was the real question. It held no useful resources, and was too far away from Las Pegasus to be of much strategic use. All Steele knew was that Nipton was a viable source for dirty jobs, and served both the NLR and Legion. Could Legion have caught onto this and now wanted to make an example of this town? He wondered, remembering the Legion's passion in making bloody examples out of others. “Knew I saw something.” Said a Legion veteran, causing Steele to aim his revolvers at the veteran's face. “WE GOT AN INTRUDER HERE!” he yelled, alerting his brethren. “Shit.” Steele muttered. Legion soldiers were focused primarily on melee combat and had some pretty tough armor. Steele could probably hold them off at a distance, but there were too many of them to consider an actual attack. The Legionaries now turned to face Steele as he holstered his weapons and came out of his hiding spot, his spotter following proudly. Steele kept his hat down, mostly to avoid having to watch the fear-stricken citizens. He eventually stopped in front of the unicorn decanus whose earth-pony subordinates lined up behind him. “Well, if it isn’t the traitor known as Steele.” He said, his voice eerily calm, too calm for a ruthless murderer. The familiarity of the calmness however, was the most unsettling part for Steele, and he looked up to meet his captor’s eyes. “Glad you still remember me after all this time Vulpes. I’m guessing you still aren’t one for pleasantries, are you?” “Right now, pleasantries are the thing keeping you in my presence and not in line with the rest of the garbage.” He answered, motioning toward the Nipton citizens behind him as if they couldn't hear him. He maintained his unsettlingly calm voice. “Well shit, consider me lucky then.” Steele answered, spitting onto the ground. He took caution as to not spit near Vulpes’s feet. He needed to remain tough, but make it clear he wasn't here for a fight. Any disrespect would be a death sentence. “You thought you could escape this judgment?” Vulpes asked. “The fuck are you talking about? I just got here wanting to grab some water and move on. I saw smoke and wanted to make sure I could still get what I needed and go.” Steele answered. He knew he was lying, but whatever the Nipton folk were being punished for suggested that he did not want to be a part of it. Vulpes leaned in close, his brown muzzle nearly touching Steele’s, and maintained eye contact. It was an attempt to intimidate him, and oddly enough it was slightly working. “Why were you hiding then? Are you sure you weren’t spying?” He pressed. “When I got close enough I heard gunshots and screaming.” Steele answered, backing away and straightening his neck. “I guess it was wrong of me to not immediately assume Legion. Anyway, I hid behind that house because last I remember you and I aren't exactly friends, and by your standards that apparently makes us enemies.” “Oh, Steele it’s quite the opposite with you. If we were enemies as you suggested, then one of these recruits would have had the opportunity to bring down a dangerous traitor.” He answered, keeping his calm voice. He was beginning to unnerve Steele more than ever, but being on friendly terms did mean he might get to live, so he tried his luck and pressed further. “Oh, and what in your opinion makes me friends with a monster like you?” Vulpes laughed an uneasy laugh. One that had no emotion behind it at all. Such an action from a man like him was truly terrifying as high ranking Legionaries only laughed when they had just finished ruthlessly decimating their opponents, and that meant Steele wasn’t exactly on safe ground just yet. The uneasiness of Vulpes’s men behind him suggested the same as seeing their emotionless leader fake a laugh must have been utterly horrifying. “I have a lot to thank you for Steele. If you had not run off to become the traitorous scum you are now, then I would never have been able to surpass you in training. I have my position thanks to you, and intend to return the favor of sparing your life in return. The next time we do battle, I can rightfully spare you no mercy.” Vulpes answered, a mad eagerness in his tone replaced the eerie calmness. Steele cleared his throat. He knew what Vulpes was talking about. Back in his days as a Legion soldier Vulpes was a fellow competitor and an actual friend. They shared food and stories, but eventually became nothing more than competitors for better ranks in the army. He had ranked up equally with Vulpes and was supposed to fight him to the death for a higher position, but left before he could compete. Steele was far more ruthless back then, and would have easily killed Vulpes if given no other choice. His larger build would have ensured that, but with him gone Vulpes easily took care of his equal and progressed through the ranks, gaining body mass in the process. With further legion training, Vulpes now possessed a bulkier, more earth pony like build and posed a serious threat Steele if he decided to strike now. “Well alright then. Glad I could help an old buddy out. Now, if you excuse me.” Steele said, turning to get the hell out of there. “Not so fast. You have earned my mercy, but not the mercy of my subordinates.” Vulpes said, his eerie calmness once more present in his voice. Shit. Steele knew this wasn't going to be that easy. He turned to face Vulpes once more. “You say you do not know why this town deserves its punishment, and that you have no part of it. If so, then you will not mind taking part in the execution of justice. This town was full of thugs and criminals. Its residents whored themselves out to all, even Legion soldiers. This town deserves to be punished for its sins, and it will be made an example of the chaos and evil that the Solar Legion will not tolerate.” Damn, he should have known this was part of the Legion’s terrorist campaign. Steele couldn’t lie, Nipton was full of a lot of assholes and thieves, but even they did not deserve such punishment. “What do you want me to do?” Steele questioned. Anything that Legion would want him to do couldn't be good. “I have designed a lottery. Based on their numbers, the players will be rewarded with a different fate. Those with a certain set of numbers will be given swift deaths, others will be crucified, some will have the honor of becoming Legion slaves, and the winners will live. All I ask is that you show your support to Legion’s movements toward peace, and give one of these sinners the fate that they deserve.” “So you have me do your dirty work again, fine. I’ll bite, but only cause I see some of these bastards are Powder Gangers and deserve what they’re getting.” Steele lied; in truth he felt uneasy and bare in front of the doomed citizens. Vulpes smiled and motioned toward a recruit. He had brought him a bag of random paper clippings. Each was numbered, and Vulpes used his magic to select a random paper. “Looks like we have a winner.” He announced, sending a desperate wave of hope through the pitiful citizens. “Number five hundred forty two.” “That’s me!” yelled a Powder Ganger. He was waving his ticket around, but was soon restricted by two legionaries and brought forth before Steele; Vulpes watched gleefully behind him. “Hey what gives? I thought you said I won?” He complained, squirming in his captor’s tight hold. “Yes, you did win. You won second place. And the prize for second is you get to live.” Vulpes began. “Then let me go!” The Ganger begged. “You won second place, than means you get to live, but we certainly can’t have you running around committing crimes anymore. You weren’t that lucky.” Vulpes teased, not showing the sick pleasure he was getting from watching the color drain from the unfortunate pony's face. “What are you going to do to me!?” He panicked, earning a strong punch to his head from one of the legionaries restricting him. “As I said, we can't have you running around anymore." Vulpes paused, boring an icy stare at his victim. "So we break your legs.” He finished, taking a sickening satisfaction in dealing out the fate of the gangster. A legion veteran dropped a large hammer at Steele’s feet and grunted. Steele grasped it with his magic and glared at Vulpes. “This is sick.” He said. “This is justice.” Vulpes answered. Steele returned his attention to the scared gangster; he felt sick. “No man, no. Please man, you’re not one of them man. You can’t do this, please I beg you. YOU CAN’T DO THIS!” He pleaded. This was the sickening behavior that forced Steele out of the Legion ranks to begin with, but this was also his ticket to freedom. He sighed, raising the hammer higher, this guy was a monster and deserved death, and although he might not deserve this cruel of a punishment, he stood between Steele and survival, and that was a bad place to be for a Powder Ganger. The hammer came down quickly, and the sound of bones shattering was masked by the agonizing screams of the gangster as he struggled to break free. A few more strikes, and the gangster had passed out from pain, his body carelessly tossed to the side by the Legionaries. Steele dropped the hammer and glared at Vulpes for a moment before taking off. “Spread the word of the Solar Legion Steele; let the people know their liberation approaches.” Vulpes shouted after him. Fucking bastard. Steele thought. He had crippled a man, and left a whole town to die. The nagging sickness in his stomach finally got to him, and he vomited once out of the town’s borders. He was going to make Vulpes pay one day, but for now he did what he had to in order to survive. Unlike the stable dweller, he knew when not to play hero. Jobless, no destination in mind, and night approaching quickly, Steele decided to hunker down at some ranch shack. The owner seemed to be missing, and the bed was more than just a mattress, so this was more that what Steele could have asked for. He plopped down onto the mattress, sending dust everywhere, and fished out his old beat up alarm clock. The dam thing wasn’t worth half of what the old gem powering it was, but it was better than nothing. Steele placed it on the drawer next to him and forced his eyes shut. He just wanted today to end.
