Fallout Equestria: Revamp

by midworld1999

Rating: teen
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Original Character, Adventure, Crossover
Length: 47341

>Lifesigns Of Subject Codename: "Harvest" Read: Deceased >Project: Reflection Activating For Subject Codename: "Harvest"

>Analyzing Lifesigns: Subject Codename: "Harvest"
>Analyzing...
>Analyzing...
>Analyzing...
>Lifesigns Of Subject Codename: "Harvest" Read: Deceased
>Project: Reflection Activating For Subject Codename: "Harvest" Read: Deceased
>Project: Reflection Activating for Subject Codename: "Harvest"

Kkat is the author of the original Fallout: Equestria. Go read his/her story first if by some fluke you haven't. If you find any inconsistencies with Kkat's original story or within this story by itself, feel free to leave a comment and let me know. Same goes for any other grammatical or spelling mistakes.

New tags will be added as they become necessary.

Note: Accidentally hit publish for Chapter 3 on 9/1/2013. Say sorry.

Published 2013-08-22 19:40:02 UTC
Last updated 2014-06-11 17:04:01 UTC

Prologue: Under Everfree

Sector: Everfree
1 Year, 11 Months, 4 Days Days Before "The Last Day" [BLD]
Witching Hour

The Everfree is never quiet, even at midnight. The wind whistles its secret songs through the coarse bramble thickets. Small, nocturnal animals chitter to each other through the fog, warning of lurking predators. Creatures of unknown intent squawk and scream in the distance. Whether they're attacking or being attacked is a mystery.

Although the moon shines full in the sky above, shadows permeate the Everfree. Rodents skitter from crevice to dark crevice, moving only when they're sure it's safe. Menacing silhouettes, blacker than even the shadows, wait for their prey, bodies tensed and ready to leap at the moment of exposure.

A sudden, soft glow appears in the distance, steadily growing in intensity as it gets closer. Voices too soft to hear join the light. Soon the light is blinding, a solitary, glaring torch in the gloom. The voices become audible.

"–this place gives us–" "–the creeps, Twilight. Why couldn't we have just–" "–teleported here?"

Three unicorn mares trot under the light of a shining orb. The orb is suspended over the head of the lead unicorn, a purple mare with a graying navy blue mane, carrying a saddlebag. She is followed by a pair of green unicorn mares, twins. The lead mare uses her magic to remove dense thickets of thorns from their path, creating a tunnel.

"I've put an anti-teleportation ward over the facility. It is of the utmost importance that this place remains hidden, and I've spared no magic in making the place as impenetrable and undetectable as possible," answers the mare, Twilight. The branches cleared, the trio walks through the archway of brush.

"That brings up another point we had,–" "–Twilight. If the princesses were so against this project,–" "–why go through with it at all?" ask the mares, voicing their question as one.

"Call it insurance," says Twilight. The group approaches a large boulder in the woods. Twilight knocks on the rock three times, and a panel appears. She taps a code into the panel and a hidden door hisses open, revealing a metallic chamber lit by electric bulbs. Twilight's orb blinks out as the mares step into boulder. The door shuts behind them.

There is an almost inaudible clunk, and the room begins its descent. After several seconds, the metal walls around them become glass, expanding their view to an immense underground cave, bathed in a ghostly blue light.

The light comes from a vaguely circular pool at the cave's center, which has wide pipes extending out of it, for pumping the glowing water from the pool into twin vats. Dozens of other machines and computers line the walls of the cave.

The elevator's bottom finds the floor and the doors hiss back open. Twilight and her companions head for the vats, empty for the moment. Twilight lifts a black case out of her bag with telekinesis, unlocks it with a silver key, and opens it.

Inside the case are two vials. One is filled with a radiant rainbow substance, the other filled with a dark blue, brightly speckled substance. Twilight wraps the first vial in her violet aura.

"Twilight,–" "–wait! Are you one hundred percent sure–" "–about this? If this project malfunctions,–" "–there would be chaos! Hell, even if it–" "–does function correctly, who knows what kind of damage it could cause! Who knows what sort–" "–of adverse effects could present themselves,–" "–things we can't even predict! Please, we implore–" "–you think about this! Celestia must have had a–" "–reason to forbid this endeavor!"

Twilight gives the duo a hard look. "Listen, Mosaic, Gestalt, I've already thought long and hard about this. I trust the fail-safe– the project won't activate itself until there's no possible recourse. As for Celestia and Luna, they're too modest to admit this project is necessary. I'm not changing my mind."

Twilight levitates the rainbow vial into a compartment of the vat's machinery, where it clasps into place. She repeats the process with the blue vial and the second vat.

"Besides," insists Twilight, "with such a small sample, and in order to make a perfect copy, the process takes an extended amount of time. Centuries. If worst comes to worst, the world will have a while to recover before the project completes. Civilization will have time reestablish itself."

Twilight, Gestalt, and Mosaic make their way back to elevator. The door slides shut, and the trio ascends.

Once the group reaches the surface, Gestalt and Mosaic speak up a final time. "We hope you–" "–are correct. We would like to optimistic, but–" "–with the world's current state, it is difficult. But we do trust–" "–in you, Twilight."

The purple mare smiles. "Thank you both for your support. With luck, this project won't even be needed. We can certainly hope."

Twilight's orb of light flickers back into existence, and the trio walk back the way they came.

Sector: Everfree
8 Days Post "The Last Day" [PLD]

The main computer console of the facility activates.

> PERFORMING WEEKLY LIFESIGN SCANS
>ANALYZING LIFESIGNS: SUBJECT CODENAME: "RADIANT"
>ANALYZING...
>ANALYZING...
>ANALYZING...
>?
>LIFESIGNS OF SUBJECT CODENAME: "RADIANT" READ: UNQUANTIFIABLE
>PROJECT: REFLECTION CANNOT ACTIVATE FOR SUBJECT CODENAME: "RADIANT"
>ANALYZING LIFESIGNS: SUBJECT CODENAME: "HARVEST"
>ANALYZING...
>ANALYZING...
>ANALYZING...
>LIFESIGNS OF SUBJECT CODENAME: "HARVEST" READ: DECEASED
>PROJECT: REFLECTION ACTIVATING FOR SUBJECT CODENAME: "HARVEST"
>ANALYZING SAMPLE

The contents of the vial for the second vat begin to glow. Machines hum.

Sector: Everfree
298 Years, 2 Months, 22 Days PLD
97 Years, 8 Months, 6 Days Post "The Day of Sunshine and Rainbows" [PSR]

>PROJECT: REFLECTION COMPLETE FOR SUBJECT CODENAME: "HARVEST"

The glowing water drains from the second vat. The misted glass of the vat drops away, and its contents fall to the floor in a heap.

Chapter 1: Reception

Sector: Bayou-Town
97 Years, 6 Months, 19 Days PSR

Bayou-Town was a misnomer if there ever was one. The patch of a dozen or so hovels, held together by equal parts rusty nails, duct tape, and stubbornness, was somewhere in the middle of the mini-desert known as the Arachna, so named for its eight legged inhabitants. Hell of a place to set up town, and I don't mean that in a good way. Whoever thought that location was a good idea ought to be shot.

There were no foals to play with in Bayou-Town. Just boring old grown-ups doing boring old things. Two old timers, Steel Latch and Crowbar, were bartering over some spare parts. Nightfly, the local courier, and my dad, a dark green earth pony, were discussing something boring. Mom, a strawberry unicorn, was out buying groceries at the Melons' shop. I was dozing on a dirty mattress in our wagon under a patchwork canopy, trying to avoid the sweltering sun.

The radio spouted white noise into the air. There was no way to turn it off. The boring-ness of the day could have been forgiven if it were in range of a music station, but no such luck. Sometimes when we went farther north, a station or two would pop up. Usually we got Radioactive Radio, but sometimes we'd pick up DJ Pon3 too. I liked Radioactive better, but mom and dad always flicked the station to Pon3 whenever he showed up. Said they wanted updates on the situation in New Canterlot.

When we were on the move or in another town, there was always something for me to do. Things to organize in the wagon or chores. On days when my parents were busy, doing business in settlements, they couldn't make me do any work. In most towns this was fine, since there were foals around to keep me occupied. But here, all I could do was ferment in my own sweat.

It was on days like this I wished I had my cutie mark. If I did, my parents would trust me to do something on my own. That would at least be something. Without a cutie mark, it was just, "Stay out of trouble. We'll be back in a few hours." Goody.

I sighed and turned over onto my stomach. The radio lay a few inches in front of my face, blaring static. Volume was broken too, piece of shit. What was the point of even having a broken radio?

I brought my hoof forward and fiddled with the dial, vainly hoping the I'd get some sort of reception... nothing. I pulled the radio closer and turned the volume adjuster back forth. Same level of noise. I grasped the antenna in my telekinesis and swerved it in every direction. Nnnope.

I let out an angry huff. Suddenly, I was determined to get a signal. I put down the radio and scrabbled into our second wagon.

My dad was a "prospector" (basically a polite term for scavenger) and mom was a merchant. As a result of this pairing, we had a surplus of old shit that didn't work with us at all times. Well, that's a bit unfair. Some of our shit half-worked. Anyway, we kept it all in our second wagon.

I rummaged through the garbage, looking for anything that might prove useful in fixing a radio. Not much. I hadn't fixed anything before, so I didn't know what to bring. After a few minutes of scrounging, I finally settled on Dad's toolbox (for small repairs) and a rusting coat-hanger before headed back to the radio.

The endless static pouring out of the speakers was driving me nuts, so I decided to try to fix the volume first. I used the end of the coat-hanger to pry off volume knob. I brought the resulting hole to my eye and looked about inside. The turning mechanism had somehow been jammed out of place, and was misaligned with the knob. I used my magic to delicately nudge part forward, and I heard it lock into its correct location. I snapped the knob back on and turned it left. The static petered out and died. Thank Celestia.

Next I decided to open up the radio from the back, look for anymore problems. I levitated a screwdriver out of the toolbox and removed the back panel after taking out the four fillies-heads securing it. I peered in, looking for anything broken or out of place. After some poking around, I discovered the on/off switch had broken off. The mechanism itself still worked, there was just no way to access it from outside the machine.

Using a pair of pliers, I snipped off the end of the coat-hanger. I took the piece and wedged it into the empty on/off device. From outside the machine, I turned up the volume and gave the switch an experimental flick. The static was gone in an instant. I flicked it in the other direction and the static reappeared. It worked.

Nothing else in the machine appeared to broken, so after a quick battery check (82% CHARGE) I replaced the panel and screws.

Now the only problem was the distinct lack of signals. I turned the dial through all the channels again just to be sure, but still no stations. Time to change that.

Since nothing was actually wrong with radio anymore, all I could do now was figure out how to boost the signal. I remembered a radio in the town of Patchwork (an actual bayou town) had had a radio that could pick up the Radioactive station, and they were south of here, even farther from the signal than we were now. I tried to remember what had been different about their radio. It had been the same model, but something about it was different...

The antenna! Their antenna had been twice as long ours. It made sense. The antenna found the signal, so using a bigger antenna must allow for a larger range. All I needed to do was extend our antenna! (I know this may seem like kiddie stuff, but gimme a break. I was eight.)

I unbent the coat-hanger with my magic, creating a metal rod about twice as long as the current antenna. I held it up against out antenna and heard... nothing. But I wasn't done yet. I turned the tuner through all the frequencies, and finally, finally, I heard something.

"–eports of Sombra's Leg– –lanning to march east to–"

Even with the patchy signal, I recognized the raspy voice as Golden Mike's, the DJ for Radioactive. Excellent. Just by holding the rod up to the antenna, I was enhancing the reception. I scratched my scruffy, blue maned head in thought. If I were to actually attach it...

Two minutes and several strips of duct tape later, the rod was connected. The signal improved substantially.

"–but with elections coming up, President Tongue ha– –omething about them Legionaries right quick. But enough– –depressing ole crock 'a shit. Time– –tunes. Here's an oldie but a goody, sung b– –nchanting Sweetie Belle."

Better, but still not up to my standards. I powered down the radio as I set to work removing the duct tape.

It took me a few tries, but I managed to summon a blue flame from my dad's gas torch. He usually used it for welding, and would sometimes lend it to a professional for trickier jobs, like soldering electronics . I'd seen it used enough times that I felt comfortable handling it.

I held the torch in my mouth while I levitated the extended hanger up to the antenna. Slowly, I traced the tip of the flame from bottom to top of the antenna, firmly securing the extension. The tool grew hot in mouth, but I persevered. I wasn't going to quit this close to success. After finishing, I waited a few minutes for the elongated receptor to cool. Once it stopped glowing, I jiggled the antenna with my telekinesis to test its strength. I was surprised to find that if anything, I'd actually made the antenna more resilient.

And then came the moment of truth. Would I get a consistent signal? I switched the radio on.

"–asn't that a wonderful song, folks? Not many can hold a candle to the lovely Miss Belle."

YES! Finally, something to listen to!

"And I oughtta know, I dated the gal myself. You wouldn't know it to look at me now, but I was quite the looker back then. But enough about this old fart, let's get to my favorite segment: Rumors of the Wasteland!

"If you're just tuning in now, you're listening to Radioactive Radio, with yer host, the Coolest Ghoul in School, Golden Mike, talking Rumors of the Wasteland. But bare this in mind: nothing in this segment is confirmed, so we won't be going into too much detail. Don't take anything said here to heart. With that out of the way: rumors! We got some juicy ones today folks!

"First up are some strange sightings in the Old Canterlot ruins. You know, that huge pile of rubble north of Glyphmark. Multiple reports of Pink Cloud acting strange-like. In this ghoul's humble opinion, gas shouldn't be acting any way at all. But we've got stories here of the individual pockets gas moving against the wind and away from the ruins, like it's got its own plans. Spooky stuff. Hopefully this rumor is just the result of some druggy hyped up on too much dash or an overactive imagination, but since there are multiple reports, seems unlikely. Just another reason to stay away from them ruins, because honestly, you'd do well to be steering clear of there anyway. Pink Cloud is nasty enough without it thinking.

"Sheesh, that was depressing. This next rumor oughtta lighten the mood a bit. Seems that the ole NCR (that's New Canterlot Republic for you neophytes out there) has finally gotten its hooves on a new energy source. At least it looks that way. I got a report from a trusted (not to mention rusted) source that Junction Town kicked its energy cell conservation program last week. Best assumption I can make is that they found something to take the place of energy cells. Maybe they got the Hope Facility up and running. 'Bout time the politicians up there did something about it. We'll probably have confirmation of this rumor in a matter of days, so stay tuned!

"One last rumor before wrapping up this segment. This one's a weirdy. Got a solitary report of some sort of sea monster in the submerged ruins of New Horsleans. The mare described it as some sort of... 'Gorilla Whale'. Now I can't say I've ever come across anything like that in my travels, but with the power of radiation, anything is possible, so be careful out there."

During the last rumor, a weird whooshing noise echoed through my head, and my vision blurred a bit.

"That just about does it for rumors this week. Just to recap, stay away from the Canterlot Rubble-Pile, a preemptive congrats to the NCR on their new power supply, and watch out for Gorilla Whales. And now, back to that sweet, sweet, music I know you're craving."

I was glad to get back to the music. Most of the rumors concerned stuff happening way north of here. The only rumor nearby was the Gorilla Whale in New Horsleans, and I doubted anyone believed that.

A new song was starting up when I heard my mom's voice. "Revamp, honey, I'm baaack! I got you some Sparkle Co... hey, what's that voice? Is there someone in there wit–" she poked her head into the wagon "–oh, you got the radio to get a signal, that's great, sweetie. Now, why don't you help me unpa– SWEET MOTHER OF FUCK! RUMMY, GET OVER HERE!"

"Woah Mom, what–" before I could finish, her arms were wrapped around my neck in a fierce choke-hold, my face squishing up against her's.

"Oh-honey-I'm-so-so-so-proud-of-you-why-didn't-you-come-get-us-I-wish-I-had-a-camera-oh-your-dad's-gonna-be-SO-surprised–"

My dad came running, a look of panic on his face. "Knicky, what's wrong? Is it raiders? Bandits? Sombra's Legion?"

Mom turned to dad, her eyes wet. "Look, Rummage! Look at our son!"

"Is there something wrong with him? What are yo– oh, oh wow! Congratulations, sport."

Mom finally let me out of her snuggly death grip. My parents beamed down at me. After gaping at them a few moments, I found my voice. "Uh, thanks? What did I do?"

Mom's eyes widened in comprehension. "Oh, he doesn't know he's got it yet! So cute!"

"What, what've I got?" I asked, frantic.

"Knicky, stop teasing him. Look at your flank, Revamp."

I glanced back. Among the sweaty, disheveled black fur, was–

"My cutie mark!"

My dad pulled me in a for a noogie. "Nice job, buck. But what does it mean? A blue flame?..."

"Um, I tried working on the radio earlier to get some reception. I got some of your tools and and fixed it up pretty good. The last tool I used was the torchy-thingy. Oh, maybe I'm good at torching things!"

"That might be a bit... specific, honey. Perhaps it's a cutie mark for... repair," my mom piped up.

My dad considered this for a moment before nodding in agreement. "Sounds about right. But honestly, what are we doing out here talking for? Let's celebrate with some grub."

While we were eating the food mom procured at the store that afternoon, we continued the conversation of my new cutie mark.

"This is a perfect set-up, I'm telling you! I find the tech, Revamp here fixes it up, and you sell it! A perfect combo for maximum profit! What do you think, Knicky?"

"I think that sounds just fine. I may need to find him some electronics manuals, though. It's amazing that he got that radio back into such pristine condition without one! If he wants to fix something more complicated, he'll need more than just guesswork and luck to get it up and running."

"Yeah, and maybe we could find someone to teach him spells for that kind of thing. I know this unicorn in Prairieville that I grew up with, knew a great welding spell, bet I could convince him to give Revamp lessons– what do you think, buddy?"

"Pretty cool, I guess." Overhauling the radio had been surprisingly enjoyable. I was more than happy to do get more stuff up and running, and learn to do it better.

"Great! We'll have you doing pro repair jobs in no time! Just you wait!"

Even though I traveled a lot back then, my perspective of the world was small: we stayed in areas that were mostly free of the wasteland's usual horrors. Back then, I would have been perfectly happy spending the rest of my life finding old piles of junk that didn't work and getting them up and running again. I wish that time could've lasted longer.

Chapter 2: Wick

Sector: Sunflower's Trading Outpost
98 Years 4 Months 3 Days PSR

Neon blue sparks spat past my goggled face as I cut through the outer plating of the defunct generator. Several stray flecks sprang into my fur, but I paid them no mind. Over the past few months I'd become accustomed to these minor injuries, and just took them as a matter of course. To be honest, I barely noticed them anymore. The only protection that was really necessary was the pair of dark-lensed welding goggles I now wore. Unfortunately, I'd learned that the hard way (only a hasty healing spell from my mom saved my vision).

Music blared on the radio in the background, effectively blocking out the sound of the flame springing from my horn searing through the half inch of metal. The song playing was a jazz number. Saxes, trombones, and an array of other instruments made themselves heard through the enhanced speaker system of our radio, which had been converted to a shortwave model three months ago, allowing for even longer range reception.

I'd learned a lot in ten months. Scores of moth-eaten equipment manuals and ancient tech magazines, a few dozen lessons from repair ponies, and lots of trial and error nurtured my still growing repertoire of repair skills.

After minutes of careful cutting, I finally finished making the incision. I released my flame spell and removed the plating. I slid the goggles down my head, letting them dangle around my neck where they generally rested, and lit my horn before peering into the newly created cavity.

The generator had been modded (badly) to use energy cells for power. The energy cells were leaking and had to be thrown out. Instead of replacing them, I would hook up a solar panel job I'd come up with a couple weeks ago. I hadn't tested it yet, and I wanted to make sure the rig worked.

Other than that, most of the damage was pretty standard. Half a dozen wires had weathered away and needed to be replaced. A couple bolts ought to be tightened. Some of the energy storage units required adjustment. The hardest part of the job was getting into the stupid thing.

I sifted through my box of parts, sitting next to me. About a year ago it had been my dad's toolbox, but as my I expanded my supply of repair spells, the majority of the tools became obsolete. It was mostly full of common spares.

After retrieving strands of wire and my screwdriver, I set to work. The easy stuff was done in ten minutes. Now for the fun stuff.

I'd prepared the solar panel setup soon after thinking of it weeks ago, so now it was just a matter of attaching adapters and fixing the solar panels to the side of the generator.

I headed to our wagons and levitated out the panel job, as well as the necessary adapters. Back at the generator I resumed my work. I checked and double checked the generator diagram before soldering the compatible wires together and welding the adapter casing over top of them. Then I worked on attaching the panel system to the outside plating, testing to make sure it was secure and picking up the sunlight. The status screen read 67% EFFICIENCY, but it was cloudy out, so that was acceptable. 67% was more than enough to run this outpost anyway.

As an afterthought, I added a handle to the removed plate and reattached the plate with hinges, for easier access to the machine's inner workings.

As had become custom, I moved ten feet away before reactivating the device. After a nasty shock from a previous project, I no longer started anything I'd just worked on without a safe distance between it and myself. I used telekinesis to flip the switch.

The outpost's porchlight sprang to life, and I heard the air conditioner pick up its steady drone. Excellent.

I flicked off the radio and decided to trot inside for a drink. I'd been fixing up little doodads around the outpost all day, so the clerk would have no problem with giving me a freebee.

Before I could step through the saloon style doors, I was stopped by raised voices at the counter. It was my parents and the owner of the outpost, a ghoul named Sunflower. Fearing the conversation would stop if I intruded, I remained outside to listen.

"–telling you, Knick-Knack, it's dangerous out east. Raiders, slavers, fucking dangerous ponies, are out that way. No, you want to head in some other direction."

My dad spoke up. "Well, our options are limited. We're about as far south as we can go. North is devoid of any settlements for 200 miles, and isn't worth risking unless we're in a caravan with five times our number. And we both know what's out west. East is our best bet."

Sunflower's already gravelly voice became hoarser, as she pleaded, "Please, Knicky, you've known me since you we're a filly. Listen to me. No one who's gone out east in the past few month's has come back. I don't want you, your son, or even your mule-headed husband–"

"Hey!"

"–to run into trouble out there. You could wait here a few weeks for a bigger group, then head north. What do you say?"

"Well, Rummy, it couldn't hurt to wait for a little bit..."

Dad groaned. "Oh, I can't believe this! I haven't heard a single thing about this 'disappearing' bullshit. Knicky, we're shoving off east first thing tomorrow morning, and that's final!" He directed his voice to Sunflower. "As for you, I don't know what you're trying to pull on us, but we ain't buying it! Come on, dear."

I hid under the porch swing as my parents walked out to our wagons, my dad seething and my mom looking concerned. What the hell was that all about?

Not wanting my parents to discover me lurking out on the porch, I scampered inside.

Sunflower was turned away from me, cleaning a mug with an oil-stained rag. I clambered up onto a shipping crate repurposed as a stool and waited for her to notice me. She continued cleaning the mug.

After a few minutes it was clear she was ignoring me, so I snorted and started talking on my own. "Um, I finished with the generator, Ms. Sunny."

"Good for you," she responded tersely.

I blinked. Was she angry with me? "I was wondering if I could get a Sparkle Cola?"

"Sure. Here."

She took a bottle out the fridge. Thankfully, the fridge had its own internal power source, so it had worked even without the generator. The soda was nice and cold. I uncapped it with my magic and took a swig.

Sunflower continued to clean the mug. By this point she was just making it dirtier.

"Er, did I do something wrong, Ms. Sunny?" I ventured.

She glanced over at me and sighed. "Naw, nothing you did wrong, dearie. Sorry for snapping at you. Ole Sunny's just frustrated is all."

"Cause we're going east?"

She gave me a knowing look. "Somepony has big ears. Yes, that's why. Scary things happening out there."

"Like what?"

"You heard me. Raiders, slavers, Celestia knows what else. I've known your mother and father a long while. Your mother's a dear, and your father... well, he wants what's best for his family, and that's what matters. Whether he likes me is neither here nor there."

I considered this. "Why doesn't Dad like you?"

"Long story, not worth getting into." It was more than that, I could tell, but I didn't press her any further.

I took another sip of my drink. "Dad said there was something out west, but didn't say what. What is going on out there?"

Sunflower gave me wan smile. "Nothing that won't sort itself out in the next few years. I've been around a long time, seen lots of things come and go. No, it won't last. Nothing for a colt your age to get into a fuss over."

It seemed like she wasn't going to tell me much else, so I got up to leave. "Thanks for the drink, Ms. Sunny. I'm gonna head ou–"

"Wait a minute! There is something else I want to tell you, before you strike out east. If you run into any trouble out there, don't fight. Run or hide. Try to convince your parents to do the same, cause they're more likely to try and sort out the trouble with guns. I know your daddy knows his way around that revolver of his, but that little pea shooter won't do squat against whatever's out there. So I'll say it again: run or hide." Her voice had somehow gotten even more serious. It spooked me.

"Okay, okay, run or hide."

"That's a good buck. Now skedaddle."

I scurried back to wagons as fast as I could, my goggles bouncing against my chest as I went. That mare was pretty gloomy for someone named Sunflower.

Sector: Sanderhoof Power Plant
98 Years, 4 Months, 16 Days PSR

Run or hide. Good advice in theory. But a lot of things sound good in theory, don't they?

Looking back, the battle that transpired that afternoon must have been over within thirty seconds. But while it was happening, everything seemed to be moving slowly. I can remember everything.

We were approaching the power plant when the calm afternoon exploded with surreal suddenness into a cavalcade of thunder. I saw muzzle flashes from the roof of the plant. My body seemed to be frozen. Run? Hide? I couldn't even blink.

A pair of hooves wrapped around my midsection and tossed me roughly into the wagon. My paralysis broke and I rushed to the side of the wagon to watch the scene unfold.

My parents crouched behind our second wagon while my mother levitated my dad's six shooter out of it. Once he had it in his mouth, he raised his head above the cart and emptied the revolver's chamber. With every shot hammers pounded in my ears. Coupled with the relentless "ratatatatatata" showering us from the rooftop, I was left completely disoriented.

Were we winning? We had to be winning, right? We were the good guys! Those were the thoughts running through my mind when my father's head exploded.

It happened in slow motion. One second his head was there, the next it was a wet red balloon, slowly expanding until it popped.

Then there was red. Red dripping everywhere, with chunks of white and pink and grey thrown in for good measure. Blood oozing down the side of the wagon. Dribbling down my mother's screaming face. Painting the ground. None of the blood hit me, but a piece of bony shrapnel gouged into my cheek, drawing its own burgundy leak.

My mind shut down my body, forcing me into a merciless spectator mode. I couldn't move, couldn't scream, couldn't cry: just watch.

My mom wailed in agony and fury. She lifted my dad's pistol (reloading as she went) and brought a shotgun out of the cart with her magic. She raised a pink shield with her magic and charged, firing her weapons wildly as she went.

"YOU KILLED HIM YOU BASTARDS! I'LL CRUSH YOU, FLAY YOU, TEAR YOU LIMB FR–"

All fire from the rooftop trained on her, and within seconds her shield was peppered with holes. A few seconds more and it shattered entirely. Her body spasmed and snapped like a marionette controlled by a madpony. As the bullets connected, gory chunks tore off her body.

By the time the shooting stopped, she was reduced to an ugly crimson stain in the dirt.

I don't know how long I sat there in shock. Long enough for my body to let me start crying, half my tears plopping onto the wedge of skull still stuck in face, sliding down it, and mixing with the blood streaming out of the wound.

I heard voices coming from the direction of the factory, getting closer.

"–you always overkill it, Jitters. I swear, you could take down an army with the ammo you waste."

"Can't help it. I like the way they flop around. Did you see the mare? Looked like someone stuck a live wire up her ass."

A third voice snorted. "Yeah, it was kinda funny..."

I felt like I was going to throw up. I think I would've if my body had let me.

"I hope these motherfuckers had something worthwhile on them. I need some more fuel for Trogdor," said the third voice.

"You named your flamethrower?" asked Jitters.

"Yeah, I wrote him a theme song and everything." A strange whistling sound echoed in my head, and my vision spun.

"You're fucking crazy, Charbroil," said the first voice.

The sound of breaking glass and falling parts filled the air as the trio looted our first wagon. As the three continued their conversation, my thoughts raced a thousand miles an hour.

–oh goddesses im going to die here im going to die theyre gonna find me and shoot me in the face like dad and mom and oh please please please dont let it hurt i dont want it to hurt quick and painless let it be quick and painless please please please–

"Man, there ain't shit in here. The other cart better have something good," said the first voice, getting closer as it spoke.

I couldn't even cringe as the terrifying orange face peered down at me. A curdled grin spread across his face and his bagged, insomniac's eyes bulged.

"Well boys, lookee what I found!" He lifted me out of the wagon. My legs fell limp beside me. "A fresh set of hooves. Ooh, Swing's gonna love this."

Selfish relief flooded through me. They weren't going to kill me.

"Why ain't he moving, Deadbolt?" asked Charbroil, a hulking green earth pony with a machine gun resting at his side.

"He's in shock, numbnuts," replied Deadbolt. "Lucky us, we don't even need to waste tranq on him. Here." He tossed me like a sack of potatoes over to the skinny red unicorn who must've been Jitters, who caught me with his magic. "Gag him, bind his hooves, horn-lock him, and stuff him in with the other one. Charbroil and I'll finish up here."

Jitters sighed. "Fine, but you better save me something good."

He trotted behind the facility, toting me like luggage with his magic as he went. Our destination was the last in a set of three over-sized supply crates with wheels attached underneath. He took out a length of thick rope, a small metal clamp, and a suspicious white stained rag from his saddlebag before tying my hooves together and gagging me. As a final touch he applied the clamp onto my horn.

He knocked carefully on the door to the crate ahead of opening it. He pressed his ear to the crate, listening for something. He let out a sigh of relief as he unlocked the the door and swung it open with his magic. "The little nag must've calmed d–"

Something small, dark, and fast sprang out of the container onto Jitters' face. His magic vanished and I fell.

"I'll rip your dick off, you cowardly, ambushing cocksucker!" rambled a savage voice under its breath. "You've forgotten your father's face, harrier!"

My curiosity broke my paralysis. I lifted my head to watch the brawl.

The rampaging thing attacked Jitters with animal viciousness, biting and tearing and swearing as it climbed all over his body, trying to do as much damage as possible. The creature moved with such speed that I couldn't discern any details of its appearance, other than its primary color, which looked to be greyish in tone.

After thirty seconds wrestling with the thing, Jitters managed to pull it off with his magic (much to my dismay). The assailant writhing helplessly in his aura, he smacked it against the crate with brute force. There was a sharp crack and the attacker went limp, coppery red tinging its head. Now that the attacker was still, I saw that it was a female batpony.

At least the ambush's target hadn't gone unscathed. Jitters was covered head to foot with dozens of nasty looking bruises, gashes, and teeth marks.

"Fucking crazy cunt, hope you got a fucking concussion. When you try to escape, you're gonna make my day, you little shit." He shackled and wing-clipped the pint-sized assassin and chucked her into the container full force.

He then proceeded to do the same for me. I sustained a harsh blow to the head, but unlike my cell partner, remained conscious. With both of us secured in the wagon crate, he shut the door, followed by the sound of a lock turning.

It took my eyes awhile to adjust to the darkness. All the light I had to see by came through bullet sized holes in the crate's side. I hoped our captors weren't planning anymore gunfights while we were in here.

I glanced over at the filly laying in the back of the crate. Based on her size, she couldn't be much older than me, but she was definitely dangerous. I knew I should be frightened of her, but based on how she'd torn apart the raider earlier, I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

I wriggled closer, trying to get a better look. While doing so, I noticed two things.

One, she was still bleeding heavily from the crack in her head. I attempted to spit the white stained rag out of my mouth. After several minutes perseverance, I had success. Using my still tied hooves, I clumsily bound the gash with the rag, slowing the blood flow. It might be gross, but it was preferable to letting her bleed out.

The next thing I noticed was that this wasn't a batpony. She shared some characteristics with them, like the bat-wings and ear tufts, but there were many clear differences. Her mouth was filled with sharp teeth, uncommon for batponies and normal ponies alike. Not the teeth of a herbivore or even an omnivore, but a full on carnivore. Her fur also wasn't the greyish tone I initially thought it was, but a dark purple.

But by far her most striking difference were her legs. Below the knee, her limbs went from violet pony fur to black reptilian scales, ending in razor claws.

She was most definitely not a batpony. But whatever she was, the threat of her bleeding out was passed. It had taken a lot of time and effort to crawl over and apply the bandage, and now I was exhausted. I lay down on the floor to catch my breath.

I sprawled out, letting my mind wander. Bad idea. With nothing to occupy my mind, the terrifying reality of the situation came crashing down on me all at once.

I was so preoccupied with my cell mate that I'd momentarily let the events of the past hour slip my mind.

My parents, the wonderful ponies who'd raised me for the last nine years of my life, who'd loved me, cared for me, kept me safe, were dead. Obliterated in the space of thirty seconds. And I'd let myself forget. You selfish fucking bastard.

The dam broke and the tears returned one hundred fold. Choked and coughed out tears streamed down my face, pressed down to the splintery floor of the crate. They were gone, and I'd never see them again. Never. The finality of it terrified me. All I had left of them were memories and the wedge of skull still sticking out of my cheek. What if I forgot what they looked like?

The moment that thought entered my head, I conjured up their image mentally. Seeing them in mind's eye calmed me enough to slow my sobbing to a quiet trickle. At some point during all of this, the crate prison began to move, rocking the small room back and forth gently. I must've laid there picturing them for hours before my companion stirred. I was yanked out of my daze by the "filly" mumbling in her sleep.

"No Bert, the Lookout's funny... really, I promise... oh Bert, I fell asleep, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry I was tired, please forgive me, I didn't mean to, I'm sorry..." She was having a nightmare. Whoever this filly was, she was in just as much pain as me. I had to help her, if I could.

I nudged her with my bound hooves, trying to wake her up. Her eyes fluttered open and revealed a pair bright yellow orbs, each split down the middle with a slit pupil.

She pulled on her bindings in futile hope of snapping through them, but gave up quickly. "Damn, they did them properly this time," she said. "Next chance I get, those assholes' throats are getting slash– hey, who're you?" Her gazed flicked over to me.

"Um, Revamp. Nice to meet you," I mumbled.

"Feeling's mutual, I guess." She tapped her throat three times with two talons of her right claw. "You've, uh, got something sticking out of you cheek," she said. She stretched forward and pulled out the shard of bone with her teeth. "That's pretty nasty. I'd patch it up first chance you get, or it could get infected."

"Thank you. Uh, what's your name?" I asked.

"Wick."

"Oh, uh, okay." I wanted to ask her a question, but I wasn't sure how to do it politely. "Um, is it okay if I ask, I mean, if it's okay with you, what, wait, I mean, what kind of–?"

Wick snorted. "Don't hurt yourself. I'm a half pony, half dragon."

"Oh, uh, okay, cool." I decided to change the subject. "Any idea where we're going?"

She shook her head. "Not really. I think a slaver camp's probably a decent guess, though."

"Yeah, probably... oh shit..." I was crying again, reminded of our circumstances.

"Hey, don't do that... it'll be okay... shit, it's fucking hard to comfort someone when you're tied up."

"No it won't," I moaned. "They killed my parents. I can't fix that. I can't fucking fix that! All I can do is cry in here like a fucking baby..."

Wick was silent. After several minutes, I felt a leathery wing drape itself over my body. She'd unclipped her wing to comfort me. I mixture of surprise and gratitude filled me at the gesture. Just the fact that someone cared helped.

We fell asleep that way, strangers huddling close together as light faded from the bullet holes of our prison.

Chapter 3: Shackle

Sector: Shackle
98 Years 4 Months 19 Days PSR

Wick and I went unfed for three days, and were given only enough water to stave death by dehydration. By the time we reached Shackle, we barely had enough of energy to stagger to our feet, let alone fight our captors.

We smelled like hellhound puke. Wick had shat and pissed in the far corner of crate (no easy feat, considering our bindings), and I followed her lead, at least for as long as I had shit to shit. The stench of it (coupled with that of our sweat and blood) had somehow fused itself into our fur.

The unending hours spent in our mobile prison consisted of mostly talking. I told Wick about how my family was ambushed at the Sanderhoof Facility. Discussing it felt wrong at first, like I was sharing something deeply sacred with a stranger. But through our conversations, Wick and I progressed from strangers to friends in record time. Talking with her went from awkward to easy quickly.

I told her of how I'd simply gone rigid after the death of my parents, unable to flee, then cried for hours in sorrow. "That's known as irina, or healing madness. It was you coming to terms with the loss. Irina is an important stage of grief, but it seems yours came at an inopportune time. Be wary that it doesn't control you like that again."

In turn, Wick told me about her life before capture. She'd been raised by a griffon named Bert, who'd taught her how to survive and shoot. A couple of weeks ago, they'd been sleeping outside. That was when the attack came. Bert hadn't survived.

She spoke constantly of Bert's twin revolvers, one of the chambers of which was her cutie mark, a metallic circle with five dark holes revolving about a ratchet. "Those limp-dicked ka-mai killed him in his sleep and took his guns. That's un-fucking-forgivable. They'd best hope I don't get my claws on those carvers, or they'll be burning in Na'ar before long." Wick's vocabulary often eluded me.

As our journey neared its end, our conversation dwindled. Neither of us had energy to waste on idle chatter, so the last few hours in the crate were silent.

All at once, cart stopped, wrenching me out of my doze. I listened to what was going on outside. Voices, more than just the three that captured us, were talking. They sounded jovial and friendly. I was frightened. Whoever was friends with beasts like that was no one I wanted to meet.

There was a click as the crate was unlocked. The door opened slowly. The slavers had learned from the last time to be careful around Wick. I looked over at Wick, and it was clear from her expression that she thinking the same thing. The shared thought brought satisfied grins to our lips.

After spending half a week in near total darkness, the light was blinding. Before my eyes could adjust, I was gripped in an aura and floated outside the wagon. I felt my bindings torn from my hooves and my goggles snapped off of my neck, instantly replaced by something hot, metallic, and heavy securing itself around my throat with a sharp beep, leaving my air passage partially constricted. I moment later I heard a second beep, and I knew Wick had a similar choker around her neck.

I blinked rapidly as my vision became accustomed to the new brightness. Large, vague silhouettes appeared, soon followed by details. Several detritus shacks came into view. A series of two story towers, connected by wire mesh fencing, which had barbed wire circling the top. Ponies moving around on errands through the encampment. I raised my sight to sky, and saw from the sun that it was the late afternoon.

A sudden smack to the face put a stop to my examination. Something sharp dug into my forehead. I fell over, still weak from hunger.

"Up now!" I struggled to my feet. "Look at me when I'm talking to you!" I turned to face the voice, and found myself confronted by the beaked face of a huge griffon in menacing armor, standing in front of half a dozen foreboding guards. The griffon glared down at me with hateful eyes, like I was something that had just crawled out of a rotting corpse.

"My name is Hammer Swing, and this" –he gestured to the settlement behind him– "is Shackle. You'll do as any of my guards say the first time they ask. If they tell you to dig, you dig. If they tell you scavenge, you scavenge." His gaze settled on Wick. "If they want to fuck you, you can bet your sorry life you're gonna let them fuck you. You will not eat, drink, shit, piss, or sleep without a guard saying you can first. Failure to follow orders, do something without permission, or try to escape, that collar around your neck will explode."

Fucking shit! I glanced over to Wick to gauge her reaction. The second I turned my head, Hammer's swift claw met my muzzle, leaving another jagged rip in my face.

"Look at me when I speak! Next time it's your head!" he barked. He turned to one of his guards. "Jackknife, take these two to the kennels. They'll start work tomorrow."

Wick and I followed the grim green unicorn to the gate of a smaller fenced in area, one of five or so I saw scattered around the camp. There were three hovels dug into the ground with a trough beside them, and a firepit in the center. About a score of undernourished foals also wearing collars, their ages ranging from toddler to teenager, were lazing around the hovels, sleeping, having soft conversations, or just staring into space.

The gate opened and we were thrown unceremoniously inside. I rolled in a somersault before coming to an awkward stop. I looked back to watch the guard leave. Once he was out of sight, I turned to Wick.

Over the last three days I'd learned her personality. She wasn't going to just stay here. She was going to fight back. Sure enough, she was already raising her wings.

"No!"

I used my remaining energy to tackle her to the ground before she could take off.

"Hey, what's the big idea?"

"Are you stupid? Didn't you hear them? They'll kill you if you try anything!"

"But–"

"Come on, this isn't worth your life. We can wait for rescue or something! Besides, you can barely stand. How're you gonna take on an entire camp of slavers!?"

Wick glared at me through slitted eyes. I glared right back. I wasn't going to let her throw her life away.

After a minute she gave up. "Fine, I'll cooperate for now," she grumbled.

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you. Now, let's find som–"

"psst!" someone whispered.

We glanced around, looking for the source of the voice. Wick saw him first, and signaled me to look. A small, pale yellow pegasus colt was beckoning us from behind one of the hovels. Curious, we walked over to meet him.

"You two are new here, right?"

"Duh," Wick responded.

"Then I'm gonna need your special talents, please."

I eyed him quizzically. "What?"

The colt allowed himself an apologetic smile. "For Eniac. She needs to know all the variables."

"Who're you?" asked Wick aggressively. "And why can't this Eniac talk to us herself?"

"She likes to be alone," said the colt, a sad look replacing his smile. "She thinks better that way. Keeps to herself most of time. Oh, and I'm Swiss." I noticed his cutie mark was a triangular slice of holed cheese.

"What was that about variables?" I inquired.

Swiss ignored the question. "All I know is she needs to know your talents, and it's important. Can't you tell me?"

I glanced at Wick. "Why not? Nothing to lose."

Wick sighed. "Yeah, sure. I'm good with guns, but revolvers especially."

"I got a knack for fixing things. I can do some electronics and guns, but could probably do more stuff if I had time tinker with it."

"Okay, thanks! I'll see you later." Swiss turned to scurry into one of the hovels, but stopped halfway. "Uh, you can get food and water from the boxes and barrels by the third shack. Just don't take too much; everyone's gotta eat. Bathroom's in the corner. You can sleep where ever you want! G'night!" With that, he disappeared into the burrow.

Wick spared me a sideways glance. "Well that was weird."

"Yeah. But at least we know where the food is. Let's go get some, I feel like I'm about to pass out." That wasn't an exaggeration.

We found the crates and opened them without trouble. Unfortunately, the radhog inside was covered in about five hundred flies. Still, it was better than nothing, and we could cook them. The water in the barrels seemed clean enough, and since we didn't have any means to carry it, we drank straight from the drum.

We trotted to the firepit with the meat. I hastily fashioned some bits of wire lying around into a makeshift rotisserie spit over the pit, then jabbed the slabs of radhog onto it.

Meanwhile, Wick set to lighting the fire. To my surprise, she was clacking a pair of stones together over kindling, minuscule sparks springing from the friction and eventually lighting the tinder. As she did this, she spoke: "Spark-a-dark, where's my sire? Will I lay me? Will I stay me? Bless this camp with fire." After a few minutes of effort, the meat was roasting over a healthy fire.

As the smell of sizzling hog entranced us, I voiced a question. "Why didn't you light it with fire breath? Can't dragons do that?"

Wick snorted. "If I could do that, do you think I'd be here now?"

"Oh, right. Duh."

"Yeah, haven't figured that trick out yet. For all I know, whatever species I classify as can't breathe fire. Either that or I'm too young. If I can, I wish it'd happen already."

I laughed. "You and me both! That would be pretty badass."

She cracked a smile. "Yeah, I guess so– oh, I think the food's ready!"

She reached over the swelling flames with her flame-retardant claws and brought out the still-sizzling meat. After three days without food, anything to eat made my mouth water.

We wasted no time digging in. Wick was done with her piece in about four bites, bones and all. I had to take my time, carefully balancing the meat on my hooves (I couldn't use magic) and strategically gnawing around the hard bits of bone.

By the time we were done, night had fallen completely. Although bulbs shown from the shacks inhabited by the slavers, our primary light source was our fire. Other foals had begun cooking their meals on it, and were chatting in groups. Wick and I had no desire to join in; we only wanted to rest.

"Let's find a spot to crash. I'm beat," said Wick. I agreed, so we explored the camp for good spots to sleep. There were sacks of moldy hay inside the hovels, but it was too cramped in there. We settled on dragging two of these "mattresses" outside to sleep on.

As we were laying down, I heard a familiar noise.

"psst!"

I turned over to face Swiss, crouching behind a broken crate.

"What is it?" I groaned. "I was about to sleep."

"Eniac wants to see you."

I moaned. "Now?"

He nodded. Wick and I sighed and got up.

"No, you stay," said Swiss, indicating Wick. "She just wants to see him."

Wick looked like she wanted to protest, but I put a hoof to her shoulder to stop her. "It's fine. I'll be back in a few."

"Better be," she huffed, returning to her cot.

I followed Swiss into the second of the hovels. It was hard to see, but by no means impossible. We dodged between cots, carrying the sleeping forms of foals, to a raggedy curtain, sectioning off a small section of the hut.

"She's in there. Head on in," said Swiss, motioning for me to move forward. "I stay out here."

"Why?"

"I don't know. But I trust Eniac's reasons. She has a good reason for everything she does."

I shrugged and walked through the divider. The "room" I came into was much barer than the rest of shack. As opposed to all the floor space being donated to "beds", there was one solitary cot, upon which sat the seemingly unimposing figure of a griffoness. She couldn't have been over five years old.

Her face was expressionless, eyes trained on me as I entered, like I was something under a microscope. Something to be studied, then found a proper use for.

I stood before her several moments. The moment should have felt awkward, and it sort of did, but another feeling overpowered it. Dread. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was in the presence of something vast and and beyond me. Something that could peel apart every layer of my being guiltlessly, without blinking. Feeling these things in regard to a toddler only added to the creepiness.

Ugh, must still be tired from the trip here.

I cleared my throat nervously. "Err, you must be Eniac. You... wanted to see me?"

Eniac smiled. It was painfully forced, a gesture performed only because it was expected of her. Seeing it, I wanted to grimace. "Yes, I am Eniac. I'm afraid Swiss neglected your name. You are..?" Her voice was toneless, without inflection or emphasis.

"Revamp," I answered.

"Revamp. Appropriate name for someone of your talents." Her faux smile vanished. I almost sighed in relief. "But enough with introductions. To business. I've summoned you here for a reason, so allow me to clue you in to your role.

"You are to reveal your talent to the guards of this outfit as subtly as possible without them overlooking it. Fix something small. Maybe an old toy. However you do it, prove to them you can fix complex machines without letting them know you're showing them you can do it. Subtly is key.

"Once you've done this, they will recruit you as a repairpony. Take this position without seeming too eager. Upon reaching this step, approach me for further instructions."

I frowned. As much as this griffon creeped me out, I wasn't going to let someone else boss me around without any discernible reason, much less some little pipsqueak half my size.

"Why do you want me to do this? What makes you think I'll do what you say?"

"I'm afraid I cannot yet reveal details. All I say for now is that doing this will be greatly to your benefit. I can, however, provide an alternate incentive, if you require a more tangible reason to follow my orders."

Eniac got up from her cot and moved it aside, exposing a dug out compartment beneath her bed. She reached into the hole and plucked out a cylindrical metal device with a green screen. My eyes bulged.

"Considering your talents, I suppose you know what this is, and what a benefit it could be to you."

"Yes. I know."

"Do what I say, it's yours. I don't care whether you believe me or not, but I speak truth when I say it will be the least of your rewards if you follow my instructions."

I considered these terms. "Okay, just a few more questions. How long is this going to take?"

"Hard to say: too many variables to account for. Could take months. Could take longer." At least she wasn't sugar coating it.

"Are you the leader of us slaves?"

This time the smile she cracked seemed genuine, amused. It was almost pretty, a stark contrast to her false one earlier. "I work in our best interests, but to do that, I need to order some people around. So I can see why you'd get that idea. If anyone's our leader, it's Swiss. He's more charismatic, empathetic. Not to mention a great judge of character, knows who to trust and such."

With that, I settled on my decision. "Alright, I'll do as you say. But once this step is over, I want to know what's going on."

"If everything goes as planned, you learning what we're doing in the next step is inevitable." She gestured to the exit. "You may leave. I advise you fulfill your end of the deal as quickly as possible. The faster we move things along, the less risk for everyone."

I walked out, unsure how I felt. Eniac had asked me for nothing dangerous, and had even offered a serious, tangible benefit. At the same time, I had no idea why I was really doing any of this.

I needed some clarification. I decided to talk to Swiss tomorrow, learn more about Eniac. He seemed to know her well enough, so he was a natural starting point.

With these worries running through my head, coupled with the impending horrors of whatever lay in store tomorrow, sleep was difficult to find.

Sector: Shackle
98 Years 4 Months 20 Days PSR

We were woken early in the morning, before the sun rose. I hadn't gotten much sleep and was still considerably weakened from the three day fast, so I was sluggish. The guards wasted no time in changing that. Using barbed whips. I had no doubt there would be scars.

The slaves from all the kennels shuffled into a yard in the center of the settlement. By my estimation, there were around two hundred of us, all filthy, emaciated, scarred, and, on the surface, broken.

Once in the courtyard we were organized into smaller groups. I was in a group with ten other slaves, one of which was Swiss. Wick was in another group, all of them fillies.

My group was given empty saddlebags and led outside of the camp. The landscape surrounding our prison was mountainous and rocky, with only the occasional shrub or patch of devil weed poking out from the stony earth. We were brought into a nearby valley. Inside the small dale was what used to be dump. Now it looked more like a scavenging ground, a labyrinth of tunnels crisscrossing through the rusting metal.

The guard in charge of us was one I recognized, Deadbolt. "Alright kiddies, you know what to do. Get on with it."

The foals scattered into the maze. I was about to follow their lead when I was yanked back by my tail.

"Don't get so excited there, Fire-ass. Let me explain. You go on in, find anything that looks sell-able. Go in deep to scavenge anything new, since we've been working this scrapyard awhile. Get back here every two hours or so I know you aren't escaping." Deadbolt grinned savagely. "If I think you're trying anything, your gonna get a real bad migraine." His grin grew wider, uglier. "Just like daddy."

I was torn between biting his lip off and bursting into tears. The wound, although not infected, was still fresh, and painfully so. I think I actually hissed, like somepony'd just touched new bruise. It took all of my willpower to keep my composure.

Deadbolt smile faltered at my lack of reaction. "Well, what're you waiting for? Get in there!" He bit me by the scruff of my neck and hurled me in.

By Celestia's grace, I didn't land on anything sharp, although a fresh wave of agony tore through my lashings from earlier, tiny pebbles wedging themselves into the deep cuts. New blood wet my fur. It took a few minutes to get myself under control, to stop trembling from a potent combination of pain, grief, and rage. I got up, brushed off the dirt, and trekked forward.

I kept careful track of all landmarks, knowing it would be easy to get lost in here. Getting lost would mean being late to see Deadbolt, something I did not want to be.

As I walked, I picked up any baubles still intact and stashed them in my saddlebag. The farther I went into the maze, the more stuff I found. A salvageable keyboard. A snowglobe advertising "Detrot Zoo!", that by some miracle hadn't shattered. A grimy mannequine head. A scarf whose color had faded to a light shade of blegh. Screws, nuts, bolts, and washers.

I hoped I'd bump into somebody soon. It was tedious to do this individually. Someone must've been reading my mind, because it wasn't long before I ran into Nebula. I found the dark blue earth pony scrounging through an ancient dufflebag.

I trotted up to her casually, unsure how to start the conversation. I'd never thrived at small talk.

"Um, hey, what's your name?" I ventured.

"Huh, wha–" the filly started. "Oh, hi. I'm–" she yawned "–I'm Nebula. I've never seen you before today. New?"

"Yeah, unfortunately."

"Mmhmm." She'd already gone back to rummaging through the bag.

I glanced at her cutie mark, a bright, colorful splotch accented with stars. "Uh, I guess you got a thing for astronomy."

"Used to, until about a year ago," she said, not looking up.

I waited for her to elaborate. She didn't. "Uh, why not anymore?"

She shot me an annoyed look, and I saw her eyes had heavy bags under them. I hadn't noticed before because of her fur pigment. "Don't even bother asking, you wouldn't believe me."

This only piqued my interest further. "You can't just leave me hanging like that! Tell me!"

"You'll think I'm crazy." Her voice wavered. "Just leave me alone." She was on the verge of tears! How did I upset her this badly in less than a minute?

I didn't want to aggravate her anymore. I silently trotted away.

"They scream," came a muffled voice.

I spun to face her. "What?"

She was sitting on the ground, her face buried in her hooves. "Every night. The stars, moon, comets, planets, even the empty space, the space between spaces. Scream. Loud. No one else can hear them but me. I can barely sleep."

I blinked in surprise. Then I turned forward and kept walking. She'd been right. I had nothing else to say.

Behind me, I heard a faint, defeated whisper. "Don't blame you..."

My throat tightened, but I kept walking.

I didn't come across anyone else in the labyrinthine junkyard. Every two hours I'd head back to Deadbolt and drop my load onto a sledge, which had been hauled over while I was scavenging inside the maze. Deadbolt continued to taunt me, and to his chagrin, I held my tongue.

We finished our foraging in the late afternoon, probably around four o'clock. Once all of us had returned from the dump, we were harnessed to sledge, where we began the tedious task of dragging the fruits of our day's labor back to the camp. I tried not to notice Nebula glancing my direction every few seconds.

The sledging, exhausting and intense as it was, did provide me an opportunity to speak with Swiss.

"Hey, kid! Swiss," I whispered.

Swiss grunted. "How old're you?"

I shook my head, confused by the question. "Uh... nine."

"Then don't call me kid. I'm eleven."

"Woah! Why're you so small?"

Swiss shifted uncomfortably. "Lack of proper nourishment."

"Oh, sorry. I guess now it kind of makes sense that you're the leader, though, with you being that old."

"Leader? What're you talking about?"

"Last night, Eniac said–"

Swiss snickered. "Eniac's modest. I'm more of courier of words than anything. Tell the others what Eniac suggests, and they usually do it."

I took advantage of the turn in conversation. "Actually, I wanted to talk about Eniac."

"Why do you wanna know about her?"

"She's ordering me around. I wanna know what her reasons are."

"Like I told you yesterday, I have no idea. But she knows exactly what she's doing."

"How can you know that?"

Swiss took a moment to gather his thoughts. "You felt her presence when you talked with her, didn't you?"

Startled, I nodded. "I just thought I was still dizzy from hunger."

"I feel it a lot stronger, and I've been around her awhile, so I know her well. Her brain... it's like a fucking super-computer. She can figure things out quickly with little information, and is almost always right. But the thing is, it comes at a price. She's socially and emotionally distant. It can come across as her having a cold personality, but trust me, she's got feelings. Whatever it is she has you doing (don't tell me what, she has people keeps secrets for reasons), it's for the good every slave in this camp."

We pulled silently for a few minutes before I answered. "Thanks for telling me. And I'm Revamp, by the way."

"I know. Eniac already told me." We were finally nearing the shantytown we now called home. "Once we're released for the evening, you're gonna want to find your friend..."

"Wick."

"Yes, her. Find her quickly. She'll need you."

I was about to ask him what he was talking about when we were unlatched from the sledge and roughly herded into our respective kennels.

I was worn out from the day's work, but the urgency in Swiss's tone spurred me to find Wick as soon as possible. The enclosure wasn't very big, so it didn't take me long to spot her.

I actually glanced over her at first, but when my eyes did catch her, my mind didn't immediately register what I was seeing. Wick, curled up into a silent, fetal ball, just staring into space. She looked disturbingly similar to the slaves we'd seen yesterday. Hopeless, unthinking, not wanting to think.

I sprinted to her side, stopping just short of her. I lowered my head to look at her face. I was right in front of her face, and she wasn't looking at me, but past me, at something an inconceivable distance away. Dry riverbeds from tears polluted her cheeks.

I looked her over. Bruises. Lacerations. Fur matted with cracking black blood clots. I got to her flank, and noticed four distinct incisions on either side of her hind legs. My gaze went lower, and–

No. No they fucking didn't. I started to put the puzzle pieces together, forming a picture that grew more horrific the closer I got to the solution.

Wick's group had been all girls. Swiss's warning. "She'll need you." Wick's current state: the distant look, the gashes, the tearing of her–

Stop! You'll make yourself sick! She needs you! You can't help her if you're puking!

It took all of my effort to steady myself. I was breathing like I'd just run a marathon, my mouth gaping stupidly. I was still having trouble accepting it. I–

I needed to fucking suck it up. Wick needed me, and whether I was okay didn't matter for the moment.

I sat down beside her, put a hoof on her delicately, like she might break if I pressed too hard. The instant I made contact, her head flinched upward to face me. The faraway look was gone, replaced with an expression I didn't expect. I'd anticipated a look of grief, defeat, and loss. What I saw was a mixture of shame and murderous intent.

She wasn't broken. Injured, both in pride and body, but still working. Nonetheless, what had been done was unforgivable. Someone was going to pay.

I finally found my voice. The horror of earlier was replaced with boiling rage, which came out in a low growl I hadn't have thought myself capable of.

"Who?"

Her eyes never lowered. She met my gaze with steady, stubborn eyes. Eyes filled with invincible malice for those who had hurt her.

"Hammer Swing."

My eyes narrowed.

"Let me help you to bed."

"Kay."

I let her lean on me, acting as a living crutch. She swung one of her reptilian forelegs over my back. Her scales scraped at my lashings, and she was heavier than me, but I persevered. Once I had her on the mattress, I laid down, panting, staring at the early evening sky.

"Thanks."

I reclined in silence before replying. "I'm not gonna waste your time with 'I'm sorrys'. They aren't worth shit for something like this. But I'm gonna make you a promise."

"What?"

"We're gonna kill that bastard."

I could almost hear the heavens' shriek.

Chapter 4: Rattling the Chains

Sector: Shackle
98 Years, 5 Months, 12 Days PSR

I spent my first weeks in the slave camp learning the ropes.

Every morning we were woken by the hungover shouts of the slavers. Whoever didn't get up and to the gate of their kennel quick enough of was whipped. We would be escorted to the courtyard and divided into groups, different every time with few exceptions. Unfortunately, Wick's group was one of these exceptions. Once in our daily groups, we'd be given a job to do for the day.

The difficulty and danger of the jobs ranged. Among the most sought after jobs was acting as servants for the off duty guards, as it meant being out of the sun and minimal work, usually just cleaning guns and getting food. Easy stuff.

Jobs in the middle of the spectrum were things like scavenging and repair.

I learned that the labyrinthine dump I'd searched my second day was one of nineteen in the vicinity, which slaves were rotated through regularly. Scavenging through these sites was the most common job to get. While it was by no means easy, it was at least relatively safe.

When I heard of the repair group, my first thought was to wonder why Eniac hadn't mentioned it. I decided she'd probably been joking by suggesting I fixed something on my own time. The repair group was an obvious opportunity to catch our captors' attention.

Repair took the scraps from the scavenging crews and turned them into something salable. Most of the stuff they rebuilt was simple, like flashlights and cobbled together furniture. The slavers then took the newly refurbished items to other settlements and sold them. Whether these towns knew the stuff they were buying came from slave labor, no one knew.

The job everyone dreaded to get was hunting.

Hunters were given makeshift spears and made to kill any edible animals in the area. They always received a strict warning that any violence towards guards would result in immediate detonation. Hunters usually tried to nab smaller animals, like molerats, bloatsprites, and the like, which wasn't a big deal. The dread of the job arose when the roles of the hunter and prey were switched. It wasn't unusual for a hunting party of ten to come back with nine.

Once I learned of this unfortunate fact, it weighed down on my mind constantly. I knew if I got picked for hunting, I'd be one of the lost of ones, one of the ones who screamed uselessly for mercy from a mindless animal. I was no fighter. I didn't know how to handle a spear. My family always bought our food, we never killed it ourselves.

This wasn't my only source of nightmare fuel. What Nebula said to me about her insomnia affected me on a subliminal level I hadn't anticipated. Combined with my fears of the hunt, my mind birthed new horrors. There were few nights I didn't dream of shrieking constellations and roaring supernovas, yelling hellish, indecipherable gibberish at me while I begged for them to stop. After a few days I came to realize I'd drive myself insane if I let these terrifying visions persist. I forced myself to think of other, more practical endeavors.

Over the course of getting used to the sadistic routine of the camp, I began to internally plan what I'd create once I got grouped in repair to impress the guards. There were several things to consider, like what parts I'd have, how much time I'd need, and what tools I'd have at my disposal. What I eventually came up with was, in my mind, sort of poetic.

After about three or four weeks of waiting, I got my chance. One morning, I was selected for the repair group. Myself and fourteen other foals were led under a long line of canopies. Beneath them was a series of tables placed end to end, stretching from the first to the last tent. On the tables were piles of random parts, looking as though they'd been slapped down without a second thought.

A gruff, sand-hued mare glared over us. "Alright, you have until the end of the day to build something I like. I see anything fishy, guns or the like, you get 'sploded. Now get to it."

That's it? They didn't want anything specific? That made my job a whole lot easier.

I spent the first hour digging through the garbage, looking for usable parts and tools. Now that my magic was blocked, tools were important again.

I eventually found everything I needed. A solderer, screwdriver, copper wiring, speaker, antenna, receiver, energy cells, other odds and ends (dials, switches, and the like), and metal casings to hold it all together.

The work was more tedious than usual, due once again to my lack of magical assistance. Using my tools with my mouth while holding the parts together with my hooves was slow, wasteful, and less efficient.

Still, my project slowly began to take shape. I added parts to the base at a humble but steady pace, soldering the correct wires together accurately, fitting incompatible parts with some makeshift adapters, adding sections of the outer shell as I finished different portions.

I noticed the sandy mare sparing me glances more than the other foals. My project of complex electronics must have stood out among the unsturdy apparatus being fashioned by my peers. The constant stares made me nervous, but I told myself ignore them, this is necessary, they're supposed to notice you.

The sun had almost reached its peak when I attached the final components. The dial, on/off switch, and antenna were soldered into place. I hooked up the energy cell, tuned the dial to the Radioactive station, and flicked my machine on.

The radio sputtered to life, filling the air with faraway sounds. Chatter between guards and slaves alike slowed and died.

"–eer clear of Repentance. I swear, those Children get crazier with each passing day. I know they mean well, but damn.

"Now I know what you folks at home are really dying for. Some tunes! Today we got some of that classy cello shit, courtesy of the late Octavia. Quiet mare, but trust me folks, she was a real screamer in b–"

The music started before Mike could finish his sentence. It was a haunting melody, a single instrument weaving webs of emotion. I'd heard the song before, of course: most radio stations had a very limited selection, and I'd listened to Radioactive a lot. But even so, it was like I was hearing the song for the first time. The sad, mournful chords almost seemed to speak, and strangely, offer comfort. We've been here, they seemed to say. We know.

I was brought out of my trance by a smack to the back of the head. It was the sandy mare. "Come with me," she said curtly, lifting and turning off my creation with her magic. I followed, careful to look dismayed. It wasn't hard. I had weeks of practice.

She led me to an imposing shack, easily the largest I'd seen in the camp. Inside was the griffon I'd met only once before, and hated with all my being. Hammer Swing, shed of the armor I'd first seen him in, sitting on an antique wooden chair. A pony's skull had been mounted above it. Around the monster lay a couple of mattresses, actual mattresses, not the hay-stuffed bags us slaves slept on. And on each of those mattresses lay a slave, wearing an assortment of sultry saddles and scanty dresses.

My eyes found Wick with a ball-gag in her mouth. I wanted to scream.

Hammer must've seen me looking at her. "You're right to admire my harem. The ancient horses of Saddle Arabia would have harems of five hundred mares. My harem is more modest, of course, but it serves its purpose." He grinned. "Quite well."

He turned to the sandy unicorn. "Sandstorm, why'd you bring this pup to me? So he could get a half inch hard-on for my fillies?" I wanted to strangle him.

Sandstorm lifted my radio. "Because of this, sir." She turned it on. Octavia's melody was still playing.

"So he found a working radio? You disturbed me for that!?" His sophisticated tone, a far cry from the brute he'd shown himself to truly be at our first meeting, was now coated with malice.

To her credit, Sandstorm maintained composure. "He built it, sir."

Hammer's eyes widened. "He built that?" Sandstorm nodded. "With scraps from the shit pile?" Another nod. Hammer swung to face me. "What's your name, slave?"

"Revamp," I said without hesitation. I couldn't afford to show fear now.

"How did you know how to put together that radio?" His tone was hard, calculating.

"I used to rebuild things before–" I stopped for a moment, choosing my words with care "–I arrived here. It's my special talent."

"Pfft, you ponies and your 'talents,'" he laughed. "You put so much stock in those talents, you're all so proud of them! Must be convenient, having your entire life's meaning spelled out on your ass, right?"

He was trying to get a reaction. I wasn't biting. "I've never seen it that way before, but I guess that's one way to look to at it."

His grin grew wider. "I like you, boy. I think I got a job for you. Just follow me now."

On our way out of the tent, Wick and I caught each other's eyes. I saw confusion, so I raised my mouth in a quick, reassuring smile before stepping out.

I followed Hammer across the slaver's side of camp, a place I'd seen up close only briefly when I was first brought in. The buildings were dilapidated shacks, but still a good tier better than what us slaves were living in. Slavers and slaves were interspersed throughout, performing their daily chores or (in many of the slaver's cases) relaxing.

I was wrong about Hammer Swing's cabin being the largest in camp. The prewar building he led me to was at least three times the size, and mostly intact. Inside, the floor and walls were covered in the electronic remnants of an old Equestria, dark consoles and broken robots littering every room.

As I tried to reel in my awe, Hammer spoke. "We've been trying to get the security system of this place up and running for months. My guards are too thick to do right, and I'm too busy with other things." Yeah, right. "I want you get the system working, able to recognize friends and enemies, and respond accordingly. Do that, you'll have permanent job in advanced repair, and maybe some other perks."

My mom once told me that the best time to barter was when you had something your customer could only get from you. I might not get another chance to set conditions. "Let's talk perks now."

I could see Hammer trying to keep his temper; he'd probably never had a slave talk to him like that. "What do you want?" A grin forced its way onto his face.

"A pick from your harem."

He couldn't hold it in anymore. "Who the fuck do you think you are, you little shit?"

"Someone who has something you want." I kept my tone cool, but inside I was panicking. At this point, backtracking was just as dangerous as moving forward. I was dancing in a minefield.

"I ought to kill you."

Shit.

"You need me for your security system."

"We've been getting by without it for years."

Double shit.

"You wouldn't have brought me here unless you had good reason for wanting it fixed."

"I should just make you fix it and kill you afterwards."

Celestia's shit on a motherfucking biscuit.

"I can fix more than that security system. I can repair anything you need. At least I can if my head isn't blown to bits." I needed to keep pressing. The more desperate he thought his position was, the less he'd think about how much I was bullshitting him. "If my head's gone, I'd be pretty useless, and your guns would be pretty useless, and your security would be less than useless."

For a moment, I was sure Hammer Swing was going to tear my head off. Then the moment was over, and his face was neutral. But I'd seen.

"Alright, I guess I can give up one of my whores if it means getting my security up and running." Trying to act nonchalant, like he was doing me a favor. He even changed his wording, from "harem" to "whore." I knew I'd won.

"Alright, I guess I'll get started tomorrow," I said. He nodded stiffly. I was tempted to allow myself a victorious taunt, but decided not to push my luck.

We headed back to Hammer's shack, walking in silence. I no urge to break it. Once we were inside, Hammer Swing spoke: "Take your pick."

I pretended to take my time. All of the fillies had fear plastered on their faces; they had no idea what was going on. That is, except for Wick. She was stifling a grin through her gag. She had some idea of what was happening.

After about a minute, I pointed my hoof at Wick. "I want her."

Hammer smirked. "Like exotic girls, do you? Didn't strike me as that type." When I didn't reply, he walked over to Wick and snapped the gag roughly out of her mouth. "You follow him and do whatever he says," he growled.

He turned to face me. "Now get out of here, before I change my mind." His tough guy front wasn't fooling anyone, not even his personal slaves. I'd gotten under his feathers and walked away without a scratch.

Sandstorm walked us back to our kennel. We were the first ones back today. Before leaving she gave us a suggestive grin. Once she was gone, Wick tackled me in a hug.

"How?"

So I told her. I told her everything, even about Eniac. I was too happy to leave anything out, and besides, Wick knew the threat posed by speaking about this better than anyone.

"Are you really going to fix their security system?" she asked when I finished.

"I don't know," I replied. "But I get the feeling I'll find out from Eniac once I tell her I finished this step. I think she knew about the security system needing to be fixed."

"You think she's gonna have you perform a bit of sabotage?" Wick grinned.

"That's probably not a bad guess. Either way, I'll find out tonight. And unless Eniac gives me a good reason not to tell, you'll find out too. I should've told you about her instructions the first time. We could've organized something even better."

"Yeah," she said, punching my shoulder. "You should've told me."

"Besides, you'll probably learn about it from being with me anyways. You're my 'whore' now. Hammer will expect it."

"Hey, I'm not complaining, especially if I get to wreck their shit."

That evening Swiss let me into Eniac's chamber. We had become decent friends over the past few weeks, mostly due to our common interactions with Eniac. He looked curious at my appearance, but he didn't pry and I didn't tell. I remembered the conversation about that.

Her face didn't register any surprise on my entry. She met my gaze with a cool, controlled stare.

"I fixed up a radio," I stated.

"Good."

"They want me to fix their security system."

"Mmhmm."

"Now what?"

Eniac's eyes glinted, and her smile widened. As she told me her plan, I grew a smile of my own.

Chapter 5: Falling Into Place

Sector: Shackle
98 Years, 5 Months, 13 Days PSR

By the next morning, I had explained Eniac's plan to Wick. She loved it. Even so, she requested two small favors in regard to the plan. I had no problem with these minute changes. They wouldn't seriously jeopardize the overall result. Still, we decided to keep these changes to ourselves. Eniac didn't need to know.

We spent our first week organizing our new workplace. There was a lot to go through. All the turret parts went in one area, sentry-bot parts in another pile, and so on. From there we further segregated the parts, dividing individual components into piles. Knowing where everything was would move everything along at a quicker pace. This turned out to be indispensable later on.

Even with the advanced organization to help us, the next nineteen months were spent putting the machines together. We had many things slowing us up.

First off, we had no blueprints, schematics, or circuitry diagrams. We were working purely off of trial and error. We almost got into trouble early when we activated the targeting system on a turret while the gun was attached. Only Wick's fast reaction saved us from being pumped full of holes. After that, we always left the guns and ammunition aside when fiddling with the targeting system.

Wick did most of the actual building while I directed her. I had the know-how, and she had opposable thumbs. She learned a fair bit about robotics and technology while working with me, but it was clear she'd never gain a mastery over it like I could. Her talents lied elsewhere.

Anyway, because of the lack of instructions and the precautions we took, it took us nine months just to finish our first sentry and turret. Of course, once we'd done it once, replicating it wasn't too hard. Just a matter of remembering where everything went. Over the next ten months, we got six sentries and thirteen turrets up and running.

There were other things slowing our pace too. The next big one was gun repairs. At least half a dozen times a week, some slaver would come in with a gun malfunction, or a jam, or even just whining that it was dirty. I think that Hammer Swing told his crew to bring their weapons to me for even the stupidest, most trivial reasons. A sort of personal revenge for defying him. Over those nineteen months, I must have seen every pistol, rifle, flamethrower, and sledgehammer in the entire camp. I didn't mind in the slightest. It slowed our progress, sure, but it was also part of the plan.

Our work was further delayed by the other requested Eniac made. There were a lot variables involved in her plan, and I was responsible for all technical aspects, which was one of the most important parts of her scheme. I did what I could with the parts I had, but occasionally had to request a part or two from her. She always got them. Like the robots, these mini projects took plenty of trial and error, and so took a fair bit of time to get them up and running.

It sort of bothered me that Eniac, someone so smart, put most (if not all) of her eggs in one basket with Wick and I. One day I worked up the courage to ask her. "Why put so much trust in me and Wick? We'd just gotten here when you let us in on your plan. We could've ratted you out to Hammer for some perks or something. Why'd you trust us so quickly?" Eniac kept her silence.

Once the robots were put together, we began the programming process. This process was, once again, purely guess and check. I had no idea how to program, so Wick tried typing commands with my instruction and seeing what happened (without loaded ammunition, of course). It took us another six months (in addition to the nineteen we spent building the bastards) to get the robots into a combat ready state. Thankfully, the sentries and turrets read the same language. If they hadn't, it might've taken another year.

All of this work was bound to pay off in a big way. There was also the added bonus of gaining familiarity with Stable-Tec machinery and code. No doubt that would be useful once we escaped.

When we told Eniac that our plan was complete, her only reaction was a small, confident smile. We knew we'd done good. She told us to be ready, because she was sending Swiss out to let the rest of the slaves in on the plan. Once everyone had been notified, we would strike. Ten days later, the labor of the past two years bore fruit.

Sector: Shackle
100 Years, 6 Months, 22 Days PSR

The day prior to the battle, Eniac had rallied a series of trustworthy ponies and gave them devices she'd had me develop as one of the mini-projects. She had them distributed to each of the kennels, with instructions to use them after nightfall. After ten o'clock, all unicorns of my kennel gathered into Eniac's tent. It was her plan, so she had the honor of removing the horn-locks from every unicorn slave in our group. Like a ritual.

When mine came off, it felt like an overbearing weight had been lifted from my back. Like I if I wasn't careful, I could float to the moon. I tried to focus. There'd be time to celebrate later. For now, it was best to keep my head clear.

Once the unlocking was finished, Eniac led us outside to the fire pit, where the rest of the kennel's population was waiting. Here she had Swiss reexplain the more vital aspects of the plan, highlighting what was expected for us during each phase. Wick and I already knew the plan inside and out, so we talked quietly to ourselves at the back of the crowd.

"You nervous?"

"No, we're only about to take on an entire camp of slavers with a bunch of undernourished, unarmed children. Why the hell would I be nervous?"

I ignored her sarcasm. I'd gotten well used to it. "I'm nervous too. I know we triple checked everything, but I can't help it. So many things could go wrong!"

"Well it's a bit late to stop now, in case you hadn't noticed. I said I was nervous. I didn't say I was going to drop out now."

"Neither did I."

"Then what's the problem?"

"You're impossible." I sighed and turned back to Swiss, who was just finishing up.

"That's about it. If all goes well, we'll barely have to lift a hoof. Even so, stay focused. Be ready to run or fight if something goes wrong. We won't have a second chance at this." With that, he leapt off the box he was using as a podium and trotted away.

Wick turned to me. "Guess we better turn in."

"Yeah, don't want to be tired tomorrow."

We were almost to our beds when Swiss came calling again. "Revamp. Hey!"

I turned to face him. We'd become decent friends over the past two years, mostly due to the fact that he was involved in Eniac's plans. He'd taken to tagging along with Wick and I after we got back from repair duties. It was a bit annoying to have him around at first. He acted like such a little kid, it was hard to believe he was two years older than me. But over time, he sort of grew out of it, matured. He must've hit a growth spurt or something, because now he almost matched me for height.

"What's up?"

"Just wanted to talk real quick."

"Do you want to talk to me?" asked Wick.

"Not specifically."

"Then I'm going to bed. G'night." She collapsed onto her mattress.

Swiss and I walked in the opposite direction so we wouldn't disturb her. "What did you wanna talk about?"

"I just wanted to thank you."

"Thank me? What for?"

"You're so dense! None of this would be happening without you!"

"What? Don't be stupid."

"You're just humble. That's why I like you. You've done so much for us, and you don't want to take any credit for it," Swiss insisted.

"No, really, it was all Eniac's–"

"Yes, really, without your help, your talents, you enacting Eniac's plan, we wouldn't be free tomorrow!"

"But we might not be free tomorrow! What if our plan falls through? It'll be my fault! They'll die because of me!"

Swiss expression grew softer, more comforting. "You don't want to take responsibility. You're scared. Why didn't I see it." He frowned. "Listen, we all chose to follow this plan. We could've said no. We didn't. Don't put all that weight on your shoulders. Our choices are not your responsibility."

I sighed. "You're right. I'm worrying too much. I... I think I needed to hear that. Thanks Swiss."

"No." He reached up and pecked me on the lips. "Thank you."

And then he trotted away, a huge grin on his face.

I just stood there, trying to figure out what just happened.

"The fuck?" I whimpered.

Sector: Shackle
100 Years, 6 Months, 23 Days PSR
0400

I tried sleeping, I really did. Around midnight, I was still awake. Dammit Swiss, of all the times to spring this on me! By that point, it wasn't even worth trying to sleep anymore.

I didn't to think about the battle. I definitely didn't want to think about Swiss. I settled on thinking about the future, as uncertain as it was.

There was no doubt in mind that Wick and I would strike out on our own. We'd always been a bit outcasted from the majority of the slaves because of our families' nomadic nature. Most of the other slaves knew each other before they'd been slaves, had lived in the same towns, even if those towns were burned to the ground now. They still had each other down here. What families we'd had were gone, killed by the masters of this hell. There was nothing for us down here in the south. So where would we go?

I thought our best bet was north with the NCR. The NCR was reputedly the hub of civilization. Surely they had need for ponies like Wick and I, keeping order and repairing machines.

At the same time, I knew reaching the NCR could be dangerous. According to what my parents had said, there was at least 200 miles of wild wasteland separating the southern lands from the northern ones. Making the journey with only two people would crazy. Who knew what was out there?

One detour I planned on making was to Sunflower. She'd been a friend to, if not both my parents, then at least my mother. If we went to her before venturing north, she might be able to give us some valuable information, and maybe even supplies in return for some repair jobs.

I was just beginning to consider what the next step might be when I saw Eniac emerge from the darkness. I sat up to greet her. "Couldn't sleep. Is it time?"

She nodded.

"Alright then."

I roused Wick from her sleep and helped Eniac wake the rest of the slaves. Within ten minutes we were all crowded around the door to the kennel. Eniac had someone signal the rest of the kennels with a flashlight. In thirty seconds every kennel had responded.

Eniac handed me the device controller I'd put together. "You can do the honors."

I smiled. "With pleasure." I pressed the first button on the remote.

On the other side of the camp, seven sentry-bots sprang to life. I flicked a switch. The sentries' primary program shut off. With the main objective gone, the robots fell back on hidden subroutine I'd snuck in: to seek and kill any organisms tagged as slaver. With one exception, every slaver had been tagged by Wick while getting their weapon fixed.

With that done, I threw the next switch. Everyone's collar gave a harsh beep. For the moment, the particular frequency that caused the collars to explode was jammed. If the slavers had enough time to realize that we were behind this, we would be safe from having our heads exploded.

Once our collars were deactivated, we cut through the lock on the kennel door and streamed out, making our way to the slaver's side of camp to watch the action, and intervene if necessary. As we crept closer, a sudden wave of gunfire and screams reached our ears. The sentries had found their targets.

By the time we got to the slaver side, many of our captors were already out of their beds, defending against the seemingly spontaneous robot uprising. The sentries were screaming prewar battle cries at them.

"Equestria will never fall to the zebra invasion!" "Freedom is the sovereign right of every Equestrian!" "Zebra Victory: Impossible!" "Zebras detected on Equestrian soil! Lethal force engaged!" "Exterminate!"

My head swam and vision blurred at the last one.

For a few minutes, it seemed the robots had the upper hand. At least a dozen slavers were incapacitated, and not one sentry had fallen. The slavers were being torn to shreds, their bodies performing a spastic red dance before tumbling motionless to the ground. But before the last slaver could fall, a new, fully armed and ready group joined the fight. The sentries had only taken out one group of slavers, and at least one more remained.

I recognized one of the attackers as a member of the trio that killed my parents. I couldn't remember his name. He was wielding a flamethrower and singing his own battle cry. "Trogdor! Trogdor! Burninating the countryside, burninating the peasants, burninating all the peoples!"

Again my head ached.

With the sentries' focus still on the original set of slavers, the new slavers opened fire on the bots. Their backs were to the slavers, their vital exhaust ports exposed. In thirty seconds, four of the seven sentries were out of commission, their inner working smashed by bullets or fried by magical energy. Through the gunfire I could make out grins of triumph on the attackers faces.

I turned to Eniac, the question evident on my face. She nodded. I flicked the next switch.

Every slaver holding a weapon (save one in particular) felt their weapon turn scorching hot. Before they could drop it, it exploded in their mouths, faces, or sides. My eyes were on the flamer-slaver when his fiery legs and head were launched in five different directions. A stray thought made me smile. Trogdor burninated him.

In the space of three seconds, every slaver but one was dead or dying, their own guns turned against them. Already I could hear slaves yelling, crying out in triumph.

But Wick and I's job wasn't done yet. There was one enemy we'd made sure we would face personally.

"You ready?"

The look on Wick's face said it all, but she responded anyway. "Fuck yeah."

Sector: Shackle
98 Years, 5 Months, 13 Days PSR

I'd just finished explaining Eniac's plan to Wick. "So what do you think?"

"I think it sounds like we're getting out here."

"So you're going to help me?" I asked.

"Of course! I only got two requests," she said.

"Let me hear them."

"First, don't put an explosive charge in two guns."

"Got any particular guns in mind?"

"A pair. I told you about them before. Carvers." I remembered her telling me about them on the journey to camp. "They'll be pistols, the most beautiful pistols you ever saw. Nickel plated revolvers. The cylinder will hold five high caliber bullets. And they'll look old. Ancient even." As she spoke, her eyes took on a nostalgic light.

"Why do you want me to save these guns?"

"They were Bert's. Now they're mine. They're not taking those from me too."

"You sure they'll even be here?"

"I'm sure. These guys know something valuable when they see it, and those guns are one of a kind."

"And if they sold them?"

"They haven't," she said, her voice filled with otherworldly certainty.

I decided not to question her about it further. "What's your second request?"

"Make sure Hammer Swing survives the onslaught."

I grinned, knowing exactly what she thinking. "To save him for us."

She nodded. My smile grew wider.

Sector: Shackle
100 Years, 6 Months, 23 Days PSR

We galloped around the camp, searching for the lone survivor in the carnage of bloody craters. It was still nighttime, so I lit my horn with a lighting spell to aid in our search. After a quick lap around the encampment, there was still no sign of him. We stopped to catch our breath back near the kennels.

"He's not outside," I panted.

"Do you think he flew away?" asked Wick.

"It's possible, but I don't think so. That guy's got more ego than brains. He wouldn't want to admit defeat so easily, especially if he figured out his entire operation was destroyed by a bunch of foals. If he retreated at all, it wouldn't be far."

"Maybe he's hiding in one of the buildings," Wick suggested.

I nodded in thought. "Yeah, that seems right. He could hide out until he figured out what to do."

"But which building?"

I thought I knew. "Wherever he felt safest, whether it was really safe or not," I prompted.

Her eyes lit up. "His shack!"

Without waiting for a response, she sprinted in the building's direction. I hastily followed suit. By the time I reached the shack, she'd already broken down the door and gone inside.

I ran in and almost fell into the scuffle. Hammer and Wick were wrestling over a gun. One of the guns. A carver. The one's I hadn't rigged.

All the faux sophistication Hammer usually displayed had shattered. "You fucking cunt, get off me! I'll fucking kill you!" he snarled, straining to get control over the weapon.

Wick was equally vicious, biting and clawing any flesh she could reach. "Don't you dirty his guns with your claws, ka-mai! You don't deserve to touch them!"

I stepped forward to help Wick, but a flailing limb caught me on the muzzle. I fell backward hard, and lifted my head just in time to see Hammer brain Wick with the butt of the pistol and throw her aside.

With Wick out for the count, Hammer Swing's attention turned to me. "You..."

"Me..." I moaned, getting to my hooves.

"This... all this... you did this!"

I'd already resigned myself to death, so I didn't bother holding my tongue. "That's right. Your entire operation, all of your little underlings, destroyed by a kid. Destroyed by a kid you put in charge of fixing gun-toting robots. Brilliant move there!"

"SHUT UP!" He grabbed me by the scruff of my neck, his sharp claws drawing blood as they cut into flesh. He picked me up and slammed me against the wall, his face inches in front of mine. "I'm gonna kill you, you little cocksucker!"

I smiled spitefully. "That much is obvious. Go ahead, shoot me. Do it." I hocked a bloody loogie in his face.

It was Hammer's turn to grin. "No, no, that's too good for you. You're gonna suffer, little whelp!" He threw me across the room, where I landed on his pathetic throne. I crumpled into the seat, a limp marionette.

He strode over to strike me once more. "Little pup!" He picked me up, slammed me into the back of the chair and got in my face again, his head inches below mine as he held me up. "Wanna say anything else clever, smart-ass?" His whole face cackled with insane mirth. Even his eyes seemed to laugh. His eyes. His eyes...

The thought that saved my life came from nowhere. Eyes are squishy. Then I had it.

I threw all my weight forward, fell towards him, willing his grip to slip. It did. I angled my head. My horn tore through his eye.

He didn't go down. Instead he screamed and began thrashing. I wrapped my forelegs around his head, holding on for my life and Wick's. "GET OUT OF ME," he screamed, his desperate shrieks forming coherence. "GETOUTGETOUTGETOUT!"

As he churned his head around, I felt warm liquid dribble down my face and spray it at the same time. He's lost at least a gallon already, he's gonna go down! I had time to think.

But he wasn't going down. In fact, he would shake me off soon. Oh, he'd die alright, but not before killing us.

Through the thrashing and spraying blood, I couldn't even begin to think, let alone plan a course of action. I was once again saved by my instinct taking over. I lit my horn with blue fire.

His screeches reached an unholy crescendo, then abruptly stopped. He fell to the ground mid-thrash, my horn still stuck in his face.

I laid there unmoving for some time, not quite believing. Not believing the ordeal of the past two years was over, that our final tormentor was dead by my own hooves. After several minutes, I forced myself to move. It took considerable effort to pull my horn out of his eye. It was only when I looked up and saw blood, eye mucus, and cooked grey matter coating my horn that reality sunk in.

We were free. We were fucking free. We were out of the fucking woods, we'd done it!

I forced myself to my hooves, wobbling from exhaustion. One step at a time, I made my way over to Wick, who was still unconscious on the floor. Once I was close enough, I let myself fall over next to her. I looked her over, saw her chest rising and falling regularly. Good.

"Hey. Hey Wick," I croaked. When she didn't respond, I poked her her nose. "Wick? Wake up!"

After a few minutes, her eyes finally peeked open. "What?"

"We won."

"Oh," she said, nodding as if I'd just told her the weather. "Good."

That about summed it up. "Yeah." I smiled. "Good."

She breathed out slowly. "I'm gonna sleep now. G'night."

"You mean 'good morning'."

"Whatever."

As it turns out, we both fell asleep there. Our first morning free was spent sleeping in. Nothing could compare.

Author's Note

Small retcon, made Swiss two years younger (was originally four years older than Revamp). Make it a bit less weird. A bit.

Chapter 6: Packing Light

Sector: Shackle
100 Years, 6 Months, 24 Days PSR

Wick and I didn't wake up until the next day. I came to first, and found that we had been moved. The ceiling of Hammer Swing's shack was gone, replaced with a cloudless sky. I tried to sit up to look at the rest of my surroundings, but felt brisk pain in my head and abdomen. I lifted a hoof to my chest and found it covered with bandages, and further search revealed a tight wrapping around my forehead as well.

When I turned (with effort) to my side, I discovered Wick was similarly bound in medical tape. Her bandages consisted of several smaller patches all around her body and one large dressing covering her head. I made an instinctual check on her breathing. Steady, unlabored. I let out my own breath of relief and returned my gaze to sky.

"That was really stupid," a voice stated.

I grunted as I subtly maneuvered by body to look at Swiss. "Good morning to you too," I said.

"Really stupid," he repeated.

"Redundancies are redundant," I replied.

"Do you think this is a joke?" he exclaimed. "You didn't just risk your life, you risked Wick's, not to mention every slave in this camp!"

"It was Wick's idea. We both knew what we were doing. We knew the risks. For us, there was a lot of risk. As for for you guys, it would've been around 200 angry, just freed slaves and some gun-toting robots against one griffon."

"That doesn't make it okay for you risk your life on a whim."

"A whim?" Now I was getting angry. "You know what he did to Wick, and you call that a whim?"

"Oh, so this was revenge. Killing every slaver in the camp wasn't enough for you, you had to do it yourself, make it more personal."

"Yes, yes we did," I growled. "He deserved what we gave him."

"Argh! You're fucking impossible! Why'd I have to fall for a dunderhead li–"

"Will you two stop arguing like an old married couple?" groaned Wick. "My headache's bad enough without listening to this."

Swiss lowered his voice to a whisper. "Fine. I'm going. But once you're well again, you're both getting an earful!" He shot us a final glare and trotted away, but just before he left earshot, he said, "Eniac will be by to talk to you in a few minutes."

"He on his period or something?" asked Wick, once Swiss was fully out of hearing range.

By now my demeanor had softened a little. "He's only angry because he cares." Maybe a bit too much. "He's right, what we did was really dangerous."

"I guess. I don't regret it though."

"Neither do I."

"Good."

We fell silent for awhile; there was nothing left to say. We stayed that way until Eniac came, wearing a scavenged travel bag.

"Good morning," she said curtly, businesslike. "How're you feeling?"

"Meh."

"Like a 400 pound griffon smashed me in the face with a gun."

"Alive then," she said. "Fantastic. We'll be breaking camp in five days, so make sure you're okay to walk by then."

"I can barely life my head," I said. Wick grunted an affirmative.

"Should've thought of that before taking on the leader of a slaver camp by yourself. Hope the satisfaction was worth it," Eniac said.

"Well aren't you the Queen of Sympathy," Wick snarked.

"You've got five days. I think you'll be fine to walk by then," said the Queen of Sympathy. "By the way, here's this." She opened her bag and removed a glowing cylindrical device, which she set down by my side. "Even with your suicidal escapade, you still earned this."

I picked it up in my hooves and held it in front of my face. A few small scratches here and there, but overall unharmed and, if the healthy green glow was any indication, fully functional. I slipped the it onto my right forehoof, where it clamped on snugly. My poker face broke, and I erupted into a series of effeminate squees. Wick snickered in amusement and Eniac cracked one of her rare smiles, but I didn't care. I had a motherfucking PipBuck.

Once my adorable noises ceased, Eniac approached Wick. "Even if I didn't intend it at first, you played just as big a roll as Revamp did in making this happen. I don't have anything as lavish as another Pipbuck to offer you, but I did manage to get my claws on this."

She reached into her bag again, this time pulling out a black belt with twin holsters. The holsters were buffalo-woven hoofcraft, each bearing a detailed fire-breathing dragon on the side, identical except for the color schemes. The left dragon was green with red fire, the right red with green fire. On the belt itself was a much simpler design, white numerals embedded into the center of the belt:

XIX

It took Wick a few moments to form a coherent sentence. "Uh, holy shit. Wow."

Eniac nodded. "I thought so too. Believe it or not, I found the thing in an old bowling bag. It must be jinxed, cause that's how I found it, perfectly preserved. Definitely prewar, you don't see craftsmanship like this anymore. Anyway, I remembered your cutie mark, so I thought this might be an appropriate reward." She handed the belt over to Wick.

"Wow," she repeated. "I can't wait to put my carvers in these." She glanced around for her guns. "Where are they, by the way?"

"Your revolvers are somewhere safe," Eniac said. "You can retrieve them as soon as you're well enough."

"Quick question," I said. "You said we were leaving in a couple of days. Where are we planning on going?"

"In five days, we'll be setting off east. Most of the towns these slaves are from are that way. As we go on, I expect several factions will break off, go their own way. I've heard them talking around camp. Some want to look for their families, some want to find out what became of their towns. Anyways, other than our general direction, we're not heading anywhere in particular."

"I have a suggestion."

"What did you have in mind?"

"I knew a ghoul that lived about two weeks walk out east. She's not loaded with supplies, but if these foals go off on their own like you say, we could probably stay a few days. If we stop by, she could give us some advice on what to do next. She knows every settlement in the region, who's friendly and who's not."

Eniac mulled it over a few moments. "Sounds promising. Unless I hear a better idea, we'll be meeting this ghoul friend of yours. She is friendly, right?"

"She won't turn us away," I promised.

"Alright. Trusting you paid off big once. I'm willing to trust you again." She turned to leave. "Until then, just focus on recuperating." She left without another word.

Once she was gone, Wick voiced the questions I'd asked myself the previous night. "What are we going to be doing? Just us two, I mean."

"What did you want to do?" I asked.

Wick sighed, staring at the empty sky. "I don't know, Revamp. I got nothing against the people, but I get the feeling they're gonna wanna settle down. It's just, I've been stuck in here for two fucking years, grounded. I don't like staying in one place. I wanna keep moving. I wanna stretch my wings and fly."

It struck me that the only time I'd seen her fly was when stopped her from escaping our first day in Shackle.

She turned to look at me. "But I don't wanna go it alone, either." She fell silent, unsure of what to say next.

The quiet lingered until I spoke up. "Like I'm gonna let you go alone." Her smile said it all. "If you haven't any preference, I say we head north."

"Why north?"

"Civilization. Nothing but backwater country down here. Biggest city we've got is New Horsleans, and that's half underwater. Up there's the NCR and Manehatten. We're bound to find something interesting up there."

Over the years, I've learned being right can really suck.

Sector: Oil Can's Tune Up
100 Years, 7 Months, 8 Days PSR

Eniac settled on stopping for the night in an old repair shop. Over the course of our journey, I noticed that she'd been taking charge more often, voicing her own decisions instead of having Swiss parrot them. Her commands were a bit awkward, as she was still getting used to issuing the orders in person, but no one complained about following her. Most of the former slaves hadn't even realized she'd been giving the orders at all back in Shackle, but instead thought she was one of Swiss's underlings.

I was glad she was finally getting recognition as a decision maker. Using Swiss as a mouthpiece back in Shackle made sense, when the risk of your escape plans being discovered meant catastrophic consequences for whoever was doing the planning. Now that we were free, getting respect and authority from those you led was more important.

Wick and I had taken to scavenging wherever we stopped in the evenings. Surprisingly, there hadn't been much to find in Shackle. Any weapons worth taking had been rigged to explode by yours truly, and most of the stuff we'd been forced to scavenge had already been sold or was worthless. The best thing we'd taken as a group were the three surviving sentry-bots, which I'd programmed to guard our troupe (so far, only from radroaches and bloatsprites). Eniac had also taken the liberty of distributing all caps found in the camp equally among us. We found about 1400 caps scattered around, so we each got about... seven. Talk about winning the lottery.

Over the past week of travel, Wick and I managed to scrounge together patched saddlebags to hold the rest of our cobbled together supplies. Wick found seven .45 rounds for the carvers under the floorboards of a shed, adding to the six that had already been loaded (probably by Hammer). I found some unopened carrot cakes in the back of an old fridge, kept magically fresh by their packaging. Other than that, I just picked up broken down doohickies and spare parts, to play– I mean, experiment with whenever I had a spare moment. Most of these places had already been stripped of any useful stuff, so there wasn't much else to find.

For the moment, Wick and I were picking our way through the garage of the repair shop. Since Eniac had elected that we sleep in the entirely indoor lobby of store, Wick and I had the entire room to ourselves while everyone else slept. This place was already yielding much more than any of the other nightly stops. I managed to break open a jammed desk drawer and find old blueprints for a radio transmitter, while Wick found a pair of binoculars in one of the lockers. It had a broken lens, but once we made it to a town I could learn a spell to fix it.

"Anything left?" asked Wick, closing the toolbox she'd just sifted through.

"Nope. At least there won't be once I get this stupid workbench open," I grunted, trying to pry open the bench as quietly as I could. I didn't want to wake the others.

I gave a hard final tug. The tray snapped open and kept going, flying past my head. Wick jumped to catch it before it slammed into the wall. She brought it down to eye level and gave its contents a quick examination.

"Anything good?" I asked.

"Nothing much. Nuts, bolts, a copy of Wingboner (well, maybe I'll take that, I'm sure we can sell it), a few springs, some goggles–"

"Goggles?"

"Yeah, you wanna look?" She took them out and tossed them over. I caught them with my magic, which I was trying to use often. After being horn-locked for two years, I was rusty.

They were welding goggles, high quality and in good shape, probably from being locked in a drawer for three hundred plus years. I slid them on, and the strap magically conformed to my head, so there was zero chance of them slipping off for no reason. The thick lenses were one way, the outfacing side completely opaque while the inward side toned down the lighting.

I pulled the goggles down to hang around my neck. "What do you think?"

"You look absolutely fabulous!" she said in a high falsetto voice.

"Alright, alright," I said, heading for the door to the lobby. "I think we found all we're going to in here. Wanna turn in?"

"Sounds good."

I opened the door and found myself face to face with Swiss, a frown on his brow and his eyes set on mine. So much for turning in.

I turned to Wick. "Remember that earful we were promised? By Swiss?"

"Yeah."

"It's happening now."

"Joy."

I backed up to let Swiss in. He trotted past and flapped up onto one of the tables. Wick and I sat down next to him.

He took a minute to find his voice. "How could you?"

"How could we not?" countered Wick. "You know what he did! To all those fillies! To me!"

"He deserved what he got," I added.

"I'm not saying he didn't!" Swiss said. "He did deserve it, all of it! But that doesn't matter when you two are putting your lives at risk. He deserved what he got, but it wasn't worth risking your lives!"

"We've already been over this. We both knew the risks," I explained.

"It isn't easy giving the orders," said Swiss. "It's lonely."

"What does that have to do with anything?" asked Wick.

Swiss went on, ignoring her. "Even if I didn't make the orders, I had to give them. I wasn't their leader, but they thought I was! And leaders don't have friends, they have followers!" Tears glistened at the edge of his eyes. "You two were the first to really know I didn't make the rules, just repeated them. You two were my first real friends in that hellhole! And you risked your lives to get personal revenge on some fuck that wasn't even worth it!"

Wick was at a loss for words. I tried to speak up. "We didn't mean–"

"I don't care what you meant!" The tears were streaming now. "You two almost got yourself killed, and you didn't even think about what that might mean for your friends! You were going to leave me alone! I lo-like you a lot, okay?"

"Swiss–"

"And you didn't even say goodbye! You treat it like it's nothing! Do I mean anything to you? Do I–"

I grabbed him in a hug. He buried his face in my shoulder and sobbed. Wick flapped over to his other side and wrapped her arms around him. We held him until his crying subsided into sniffles.

When he let go, he surprised us with a hiccupy chuckle. "S-sorry Revamp, I got your sh-shoulder all snotty."

"No, we're sorry," said Wick. "We didn't even realize what this might mean to you. I feel like a fucking moron."

"Yeah, me too. From now on, we'll let you in on our plans. Okay?" I said.

"Okay."

"Listen, go on to bed, and Wick and I'll be in in a couple minutes."

"Kay," he mumbled. "That was pretty tiring." He yawned, got to his hooves, and went back to lobby.

As he left, two thoughts entered my mind. First He really acts young for his age. He's older than me, and I'm comforting him. He's afraid of us leaving. Then the second thought: He looks taller. I shook my head to clear it. There were more important things to think about.

We were quiet for several minutes, going over what he said again and again in our heads.

I broke the silence. "He's coming with us. North, I mean."

"Oh, no doubt. After that, I don't think I could leave him behind. Besides, three's better than two any day."

"Tell him tomorrow?" I asked.

"Yeah, better sooner than later. Give him time to say goodbyes, if he has any. Maybe to Eniac."

"You know, before that... outburst, I probably would've agreed. But now, I'm not so sure."

"What do you mean?" asked Wick.

"He said leaders don't have friends. Only followers. Eniac was Swiss's leader all along. I think Eniac and Swiss probably have respect for each other, but not friendship, at least from Swiss's point of view. Also, does Swiss see us as leaders? Cause he definitely sees us as friends, and by his way of thinking, that makes us living oxymorons."

Wick groaned. "Stop making my brain hurt! I'm tired."

I yawned. "Yeah, lets turn in. I'm even tireder than earlier."

Wick returned the yawn. "No kidding. Let's go."

We fell asleep without further incident.

Sector: Sunflower's Trading Post
100 Years 7 Months 17 Days PSR

We arrived at Sunflower's mid-morning, 10:09 by my PipBuck. By that time, our group of ragtag former slavers, originally over 200 strong, had been reduced to 29. Those that left had generally done so in the middle of the night, in clans of anywhere from five to thirty.

What remained of our group seemed to have no intention of leaving, with the exception of three. The difference with these three was that they informed Eniac of their intentions a week in advance, whereas the others just up and left.

In case you're stupid or weren't paying attention, I'm talking about Wick, Swiss, and I.

Yeah, the whole thing went over pretty well. Swiss was happy just to stay with Wick and I, and when we told Eniac, she took it without a hitch. I almost think she knew we were gonna leave before we did.

"So, this is the place you were talking about?" asked Eniac as the shop came into view.

"Yeah. If you don't mind, I'd like to talk to her first. She'll be more willing to listen to someone she knows than a stranger begging charity," I explained.

Eniac nodded. "Sure, sure. We'll wait outside. Just don't take too long."

"No problem."

As we got closer, my PipBuck made a soft whirring noise, announcing that I'd discovered a new location: Sunflower's Trading Post. It did this whenever I came to a new structure or area, and honestly, it got annoying pretty quick. Unfortunately, there was no way to shut off the indicator from any of the menus, so until I found a way to code out the noise, I was stuck with it.

Once we were all at the building itself, I went up the porch by on my own, took a deep breath, and stepped through the swinging saloon style doors.

Sunflower was playing solitaire on the counter top, casually flipping cards and rearranging them as new moves presented themselves, all the while blowing smoke from a dying cigarette. She didn't even look up when she spoke.

"Whatcha looking for?"

"Hospitality."

Sunflower cackled. "I'm afraid we're fresh out. Try the next town over."

"Look up, Sunflower."

She glanced up. The cigarette fell out of her mouth.

"Holy shit."

She got to her hooves and and walked up to me, placing a shaking hoof on my shoulder.

"Holy shit, you're alive. Are... is Knicky... your parents..?"

I shook my head.

She didn't cry. Her face just sagged for a moment, like another year had been dropped on her back. "I'm sorry. The wasteland is a cruel place, as I'm sure you've learned."

She made her way to the front window. "You can't have made it here on all your own."

"There are about thirty of us. We need to stay a few days, get some supplies and some advice, if you're willing to part with it, then we'll be on our way."

She stared out the window at our band. "Alright. A few days. I may be old, but I'm no gramma. Not a charity either. You'll be paying for any supplies you take. Half price, cause I'm feeling generous. The knowledge, however, is free."

I nuzzled her in a quick hug. "Thank you."

Sector: Sunflower's Trading Post
100 Years 7 Months 18 Days PSR

We spent the rest of that first day resting. Everyone was so happy for a prolonged stop that there were no complaints about paying for the food. We spent the night huddled around campfires. Even if it wasn't totally safe, it felt like it was. It was like our whole caravan breathed a collective sigh of relief. For now, the worst was over.

Wick, Swiss, and I had our own fire. We talked and joked and ate. We played cards on the new deck I'd bought from Sunflower, playing poker and blackjack over the last few scraps of meat. Wick won, if that matters. Swiss did voice imitations of the old slavers, making them have stupid conversations for our amusement. The imitations were so good, I was surprised he didn't have a cutie mark for it.

We woke up in the late morning. Many of the others were already awake, playing around the store or talking in groups. After packing away the cards and burying the food scraps from last night, we decided to get breakfast inside. After spending the night in the hot outside, the air conditioning of the indoors would be a welcome change.

We found Sunflower playing solitaire again on the counter top. When she saw us, she swept up the cards and put them away.

"Breakfast?" she asked.

"Yeah, can we get a box of Wonder-Os to share?" asked Swiss.

"Sure. I'm feeling nice, so bowls and spoons are on the house. Just don't break 'em." She distributed the bowls, we paid for the cereal, but when we turned around to eat on the patio, she said, "No, eat in here. I wanna talk withya."

We complied without complaint. She was giving us free bowls, after all.

"You said yesterday you wanted some advice. I've had my eye on you three, and I get the feeling you want a completely different set of advice from the rest of your crew."

"It's not my crew. If it's anyone's, it's Eniac's. She's a young griffon, and'll probably be by later for her advice. You're right, though, about us needing separate advice."

"Better be later today, then. I'm kicking you all out tomorrow."

"How generous of you," said Wick.

"It is generous," replied the ghoul. "My isolation puts me at enough risk as it is. Having a bunch of helpless–"

"We're not helpless!" interjected Wick.

` "Fine, helpless looking foals around isn't exactly good for business. Or staying alive, for that matter. Any sign of generosity is taken for weakness by certain ponies. The kind that would exploit such weakness. I'm doing all of you a big favor just by letting you stay here for more than a day."

"Can we get back to the advice?" asked Swiss.

"Yes we can," said Sunflower. "I got no idea what you wanna know, so just ask away, and I'll answer if I can."

"Alright then. We're trying to head north, to the NCR."

"Good to know you've inherited some of your mother's sense. That's about as good a place as you'll find in the wasteland, and I know a lot about it. Lived up there until about fifty years ago."

"We want to know what to expect out there. The wildlife, what settlements are safe, what we should bring. Anything that could be useful."

It never crossed my mind to ask her why she left.

"That covers a lot of ground. Let me see... did you wanna know what animals to steer clear of, or what's good to eat?"

"Both."

"Most of the stuff up there is just as common down here. A lot of the stuff I know about them is pretty basic. Radhog's can be dangerous in packs, but if you only got two or three, they're usually worth hunting. Radigators are just plain nasty, not to mention they taste awful. Steer clear. Same goes for bloatsprites, just good for nothing pests. Bloodwings are more common up north, giant bat creatures. See a bloodwing, even one, run for cover. They can suck you dry in seconds, and where there's one, there's at least three more. Feral hellhounds too, just one is enough to rip a small group like your's to shreds. Radroaches and radbits are harmless. Radbit will make you a nice stew, and roaches'll do you fine in a pinch. Nothing else I know of worth mentioning."

"What about northern settlements?" asked Swiss through a mouthful of cereal.

"For the first 200 miles, you got slim pickings. When I traveled down south, the last leg of the journey was the hardest. For you, it'll be the first leg. It's not exactly thick wilderness; it's mostly long, tedious grasslands. Easy for you see anything coming, but also easy for it to see you. There might be some towns that popped up since I been through, but I haven't heard of any myself. I did hear a rumor that that feller from the Radioactive station has his set up out there, but I've never met anyone who's been to it.

"Once you're past the grasslands, you shouldn't have too much trouble finding someplace to stay. That's not quite NCR territory, but you're almost there. Off the top of my head, Kleco, R-7 (the NCR capital), Manehatten, Shattered Hoof, Glyphmark, Fillydelphia, and New Apploosa were pretty friendly when I left, if a bit thick-skulled. Ponyville was a dump last time I saw it, a sanctuary for those hellhounds they've 'tamed'. Wasn't exactly a friendly place for the hooved. Tenypony Tower is... harmless, I guess. Snobby bunch, but harmless."

"Damn. I thought there might be at least a few towns between here and the NCR," I said.

"There are. Just not any I know of for the first 200 miles. There're also some settlements out east and west of the NCR. I heard out in Baltimare they got–"

"We're not interested in Baltimare," Swiss broke in.

"Alright, alright. Now, what was it you wanted to know next..."

"Supplies."

"Right, supplies. Let's see... water's your most valuable resource. Best to have at least three waterskins per traveler, just to be safe. Most of the rivers in the grasslands, what few there are, are heavily polluted, so having a way to purify it is invaluable. Talismans are out of your price range, but I can teach you a spell that'll make it safe to drink (won't help the taste, though). You're also gonna want something you can use for a funnel."

"A funnel? What good's a funnel?" asked Wick.

"Good for catching rain. Stick the thin end in your waterskin, you can fill it in a few minutes.

"I would say a map and compass are useful, but you already got them on your wrist there," said Sunflower, indicating my PipBuck. "Uhm... alright, you'll need a way to hunt. You don't wanna waste ammo on food though, since I doubt you have much... I don't know, you might just have to improvise on that one. Learn to make traps or throw spears or something. Oh, a knife'll be a good idea too, they're useful for just about anything.

"Speaking of weapons, guns are another thing you oughtta have. That's out of your price range, so as soon as you get the chance, snag one. Animals will be your primary danger in the grasslands, but raiders and their ilk will need dealing with too. Even so, try to avoid combat if possible. You'll save ammo, and probably your life.

"Probably don't need to tell you this, but don't be shy about picking up anything else that might seem useful. I only covered the basics. Anything that seems useful or valuable, take, as long as it doesn't slow you down.

"Can't think of anything else, so I reckon that about covers it."

"Thanks Sunflower. Your advice won't go to waste, I promise."

"Just make sure you don't bite the dust before I see you again, Sugarcube."

Since we didn't have enough to pay for three waterskins, apiece, we spent the rest of the day helping around the shop as a trade for them. At some point, Swiss told Eniac about tomorrow's imminent departure, so she could get her advice. That evening, Sunflower explained how to use the water cleaning spell as she'd been told, since she couldn't show me herself. By the time I went to bed, I knew enough that I could practice on my own.

Sector: Sunflower's Trading Post
100 Years 7 Months 19 Days PSR

There was no big send-off. Only three people actually showed up to wish us luck. Two of them were expected. One wasn't.

Eniac talked to us first.

"I want you all to know that if you ever need somewhere to stay of you head back down here, you can count on us. We'll take you in, help however we can. We all owe you that." Then she spoke to Swiss individually. I didn't hear what they said, but it was followed with what looked like a genuine hug.

Sunflower's farewell was even shorter. "Be careful and be safe." Curt, but you could hear the stifled emotion behind her voice. With that, she trotted back to her store. I hoped it wouldn't be the last time I saw her.

Then came the final fare-thee-weller. She spoke specifically to me.

"You gave me the opportunity to sleep. Now that I'm not under the slavers' schedule, I can get rest during the day, when they're not screaming. I can never repay that. Even so, I need to ask one favor. Please, make the screaming stop. It all started up north. I don't know how I know, but I do. If you can, make it stop. Please."

I swallowed in discomfort. "Uhm, I'll try."

"Thank you. That's all I ask." Without another word, Nebula made her exit.

"What was that about?" asked Wick. "She was talking crazy!"

"Yeah, yeah, crazy... I've got no idea what that was about," I lied.

"Well, no sense in dawdling," said Swiss. "Ready to hit the road?"

"Yep."

"Why wouldn't I be?"

We began our journey north, the sun peeking over the eastern horizon.

Chapter 7: Slap on the Hoof

Sector: Southern Grasslands
100 Years, 8 Months, 6 Days PSR

Trekking through the grasslands was slow going, mainly due to the fact that I couldn't fly. For the first week, Wick and Swiss teased me about it, but their friendly taunts soon died down. But just because they couldn't fly ahead didn't mean they didn't fly at all. Both my friends were glad to finally stretch their wings, especially Wick. Eniac had suggested we keep a low profile while travelling with her, and while there had been complaints, no one had disobeyed.

Now that we were on our own, Wick flew at every opportunity, performing loops and barrel rolls for our amusement. Sometimes Swiss joined too, although his flight skills were much more limited than Wick's. Sometimes he'd try his hoof at a trick when Wick pressured him, but I think he just liked being up there to fly, without the aerial stunts.

Their flying also proved a useful tool. More than once Wick warned us of raiders or bloodwings up ahead, so we had time to take cover or change direction. It also let her spot food from far off, and whenever she had the chance she flew off to hunt. Her claws and sharp teeth (and not to mention her draconian instincts) made her an effective predator, and it was rare that her prey escaped.

We spent the daylight hours travelling and the night hours eating, resting, and planning.

We didn't stop for lunch, instead having big breakfasts and dinners so we could spend the entire day on foot. Sometimes we'd save a few scraps to eat on the road, but usually all food was gone the time breakfast was over. The meals was almost always stew, cooked over the fire in a pot Swiss had taken from Shackle and served in bowls begrudgingly donated by Sunflower.

After dinner, we'd play cards and talk. After Swiss gave up trying to teach us Caravan for the night, we'd fall back on poker, blackjack, or some other game. We discussed what we were gonna do when we got up north, which was a mystery for the moment. We'd all heard stories of life being good up there, but none of us had the slightest idea what to do once we got there.

During these conversations, I was usually tinkering with some of the doodads I liked to pick up. My current project was trying to compact the radio transmitter (from the diagram I found) into a smaller package, eliminating redundant parts or reconfiguring them to take up less space. The parts I was missing I tried to fabricate using what I had, with mixed results. My hope was to integrate the transmitter into my PipBuck, which already had a long range radio.

When we finally doused the fire and turned in for the night, we always set a watch, alternating who started every evening. Thus far, nothing had approached, much to our relief. We tried not to let our guard down, telling ourselves that just because we'd been lucky so far didn't mean it would stay that way. We tried to keep ourselves awake with solitaire (or tinkering, in my case). Even so, our nightly vigils gradually lost intensity.

Our luck ran out about two and half weeks into our journey.

The day had been a typical one. Just the endless grasslands, at one point broken by what my PipBuck identified as Featherdown Creek, where we filled our water skins. We had some of the radhog Wick caught for dinner, shot the shit for a bit, then turned in. Swiss had first watch.

I woke up to a soft rustling noise. I might not have woken up at all (I was normally a deep sleeper), but I must've rolled on a rock or something.

I raised my head slowly, careful not to make a sound. In the crescent moonlight, I made out two silhouetted figures. Further inspection revealed they were going through our saddlebags, carelessly chucking stray items to the ground. I glanced around for Swiss and found his form unconscious close by. He was breathing, but I couldn't tell if he'd been knocked out or was just asleep.

I decided to play it safe and wait to see what the intruders did. Listening carefully, I picked a few stray bits of whispered conversation.

"Barely enough food here to last a day."

"We'll still be better fed than when we were with Sombra."

"Anything in that one?"

"Just some old scrap parts."

"Nothing much left here either, let's check the foals."

I heard them creep closer, so I put my head back down.

"Holy shit, look at those guns! We can't pass those up."

"Hey," said the voice right above me. "Shut up and look at this!"

"Woah, is that a–?"

"Yeah, a fucking PipBuck!"

"Where do you think he got it?"

"Who cares, it's ours now."

"But wait, I heard once they're on, they're stuck on. Who do we get it off?"

"How do you think?"

I knew if I waited any longer, I was done. With as much force as I could muster, I bucked straight up, catching one of the thieves in the chest, shouting as I did.

"WICK, SWISS, UP NOW!"

"Wah–?" I heard Wick mumble, still waking up. I didn't hear anything from Swiss. Not a good sign.

Meanwhile, the thieves tried to get their bearings. The one I'd bucked was still wheezing, so I gave another kick in his general direction. I couldn't aim well in the dark, but I felt something crunch wherever I'd hit.

The other thief was screaming. "What's going on? What the fuck's going on?" I heard the distinct sound of a gunshot, and briefly saw the camp illuminated in a burst of light. One thief was just behind me, clutching his chest. The other was waving his head wildly over Wick, a gun in his mouth, panicking. Wick was staring up at the would-be assailants, eyes wide and mouth gaping.

I kicked again, this time aiming for where the stallion's face had just been. There was a yelp, and moment later I felt him crumple to the ground.

In Wick's direction, I heard a clicking noise followed by a deafening bang, this shot a thousand times louder than the first. The camp was bathed in fiery green light. I saw the unlucky thief's head caught in a single monotone image. His head was whipping back, green tinted blood spraying from a messy hole between his eyes. Wick was laying on her back just in front of him, holding her carver toward his face and snarling.

Just like that, it was over. The fight lasted a total of ten seconds flat.

It took Wick and I a moment to catch our collective breaths. Still breathing in heavy gasps, I used my welding spell to light the campfire. Once it was going steady, I turned to Wick. While my breathing was still uneven, her's was relaxed.

"Holy shit, Wick," I managed. "I– I heard them talking. They were going to kill us!"

"Yeah, it's a good thing you woke up," she replied in eerie calm.

I called her out on it. "How can you be so calm after all this? You just survived a firefight and killed someone!"

She ignored my question. "We'd better check up on Swiss."

I decided not to press her on her unsettling nonchalance. "Uh, okay, okay. Good idea."

We carried Swiss to the fire to get a better look at him. He had an apple-sized welt on the back of his head.

"They must've snuck up on him."

Wick crouched over him to examine the injury. "Yeah, that bump looks nasty. Doubt he's getting away from this without a concussion. Hopefully it'll teach him to stay more alert on his next watch."

"That's a bit harsh, Wick."

"He'll be fine to travel in the morning." She got up from Swiss and went to sit on the other side of the fire. "Besides, it's not as harsh as being dead. If you hadn't woken up, all of us would be bloodwing food now."

"I don't know about you, but I was dozing a little on my watches. This is a wake up call for me too. What about you?"

Wick bristled. "You really think I would doze on a watch? Really? All it takes is one lazy night and your ass is grass!" Her hostility was jarring. Still, it was better than the unnerving calm she'd displayed earlier.

"Okay, Wick. You're right, obviously. I'm just saying it's better a warning than being dead."

"Some people don't even get a warning," Wick muttered. "Like Bert..."

It all suddenly clicked together. I wanted to slap myself for being so stupid.

I tried to think of something comforting to say, but everything I thought of felt shallow and forced. Instead, I let the quiet linger.

After fifteen minutes without speaking, I wordlessly trotted over to the stallion Wick had shot. I remembered hearing a gunshot before Wick's, and sure enough, I found a duct-taped twelve millimeter with 23 rounds of ammo. Further search yielded little else but useless knick-knacks. When I searched the pony I'd kicked, I found a few scraps of jerky and a crudely drawn map. If their markings were any indication, they'd been heading east.

When I finished, I sat back down next to Wick, ready to talk again if she was. "Had a twelve mil on them, and some jerky." Silence. "They were heading east. Wonder, uh, what they were looking for." Nothing. "What... what should we do with the live one?"

I waited a long time for a reply, and I was about to ask again when Wick spoke. "We don't have enough rope to spare on him. Don't want to waste a bullet on him either." I felt a twinge in my stomach at her coldly logical reason for not killing him. "Maybe tie him up before he wakes up, then when he does, knock him out again and take the rope back."

I sighed with relief at this idea. Made sense, and didn't require any needless killing. My traitorous thoughts reminded me that I'd had a hoof in killing an entire camp of people and hadn't even blinked, but I pushed these back, insisting this was different. The slavers were monsters, these guys are just desperate travelers, I told myself.

I thought that with the weight of the night's events weighing down on me, I'd never get any sleep. I found myself proven wrong when Wick shook me awake in the morning.

"C'mon, help me break camp. Swiss is still playing Sleeping Beauty over there, and so's our 'guest'. I wanna let Swiss come around on his own, so just let him sleep."

"Alright," I said with a yawn. I got up packed up the few belongings we had, erasing our presence as much as we could. I buried the pieces of burnt scrap wood from the fire, munching on some of last night's leftovers as I did so.

I considered that now that morning had come, I was taking the whole "almost dying" thing much better. Maybe it was the rest that did it. I settled on that explanation before I could think of a less pleasant answer.

Within fifteen minutes all the chores were done.

Wick scooped Swiss up and slung him over her back. Apparently she'd changed her mind about forcing him travel today. "Swiss can rest here until he wakes up. I'll be careful not to jostle him around too much," she reassured. She turned to our other unconscious resident. "Damn, I thought he'd be awake by now. Do you wanna wait for him to come to?"

I thought about it. "Nah, just leave him. Looks like he'll be out a good while more."

"Alright, just a sec." She walked over to the raider, raised her leg in a dramatic swing, and brought it down on his head, eliciting a soft "oomph" from its victim. "Like the fella once said, ain't that a kick in the head? Thought he deserved a little extra for making me carry Swiss."

My vision blurred for a moment, accompanied by a whirring noise.

I debated telling her off for it, but I couldn't deny that it was appropriate. Instead I said, "I think you just made a couplet."

"A what?"

"Never mind, let's hit the road."

Swiss came to later that afternoon. He apologized profusely for not detecting the raiders in time. We let him feel guilty for the afternoon (I'd come to understand Wick's reasoning a little more by then), but by the evening we were playing cards again.

In retrospect, our first encounter might've actually been a stroke of luck. We got a sort of slap on the hoof, receiving minor consequences for something that could've killed us if things had gone differently. At the same time this had the effect of putting us all in a more guarded stance. Being put in this state was a blessing in disguise, especially when you consider our later encounters. A bit of healthy paranoia and nervousness can go a long way.

Chapter 8: Lambda Complex

Sector: Southern Grasslands
100 Years, 8 Months, 23 Days PSR

The next three weeks were relatively uneventful. On occasion Wick saw figures traveling in the distance, but other than that, every day was samey. Even the songs on the radio seemed intent on reinforcing the monotony of the journey. The same music looped every few hours, always in the same order. After about week Swiss and Wick insisted I wear earblooms.

I didn't mind the radio as much as they did, primarily because I listened just as much for the news as the music. Sometimes I'd flick over to Pon3, but usually I stuck to Radioactive. Over the weeks I noticed his signal (already clear because of the PipBuck's radio quality) was getting stronger. I held a secret hope that we might be able to spend a few days resting at Golden Mike's station, and the strengthening signal only fueled this hope.

I at least had something to keep my mind occupied. My friends didn't. We all soon tired of contrived, forced conversation. Their boredom only increased. At nights this alleviated a bit by the card games and Wick teaching me how to aim my new weapon properly (I never actually fired, as bullets were precious), but even this started to lose its luster.

I considered sharing my hopes for visiting the radio station, but decided not to get their hopes up until I knew it could actually happen. For all I knew, the station could be to the east or west of our path, and we could miss it completely.

In the middle of one of the days, about three weeks following the night attack, Wick caught sight of the buildings.

Wick was a speck in the distance, scouting our path for potential dangers, leaving Swiss and I to our devices a few miles to the south.

I had heavy thoughts weighing me down that afternoon. For some reason or another, my brain decided to focus on Swiss's actions from the night before our escape from Shackle. The kiss in particular. I don't know what prompted this train of thought, but once it was there I couldn't get it to leave.

I kept passing sideways glances over Swiss, wondering if I should bring it up. Certainly Wick wasn't around, so it would be opportune moment as far as privacy was concerned. On the other hoof, he hadn't acted any further since that night, at least not overtly enough that I noticed it.

I was still working myself up over it when Swiss spoke for me.

"Sweet Celestia, you're giving me a headache. Just spit it out, what do you want to talk about?"

I jawed stupidly, caught off guard. "Uhh, what? How did you know I–"

"You're fidgeting," he replied a little too quickly. "Anyone can see you're upset, sheesh."

I tried to figure out where to start. "Uh, that... that night we escaped Shackle. You... uh, you wanted to talk to me after you and Eniac finished explaining the plan. And, uh, you..."

"Is that was this about? That kiss?"

"Yes!" I blurted. "I mean, uh, yes, it's about that."

"Well, what about it?"

"Uh... why?"

"I like you, that's why. Duh. Obviously, though, it made you uncomfortable. That's why I backed off. Decided I might try again later, when you were more at ease to the idea."

"Oh. Oh, okay." I considered how to proceed. "Well, um, I'm flattered and all, but I'm not... gay."

I cringed, waiting for the waterworks to start. But they never did.

"Yeah, I kinda figured from your reaction."

"Oh. Well, uh, good. I'm... I'm sorry it didn't work out."

He flashed me a smile. "Who said it's not gonna work out?"

"But... you heard me say I'm straight, right?" I asked incredulously.

"Yeah, and that's fine. Doesn't mean a relationship won't work out between us."

I stopped, trying to process what he was saying. He kept walking, and I couldn't help but feel he was quietly laughing. After a minute I ran to catch up with him.

"Wait, what are you talking abo–"

"Hey, it's Wick!" he said, ignoring my question.

I looked up and found he right. The speck that had been Wick was approaching, and fast. Swiss and I got ready run. The most common reason for a speedy return was danger. But as she got closer, we realized she was grinning.

She landed in front of us, skidding through the grass, kicking up dirt and plant debris. She was still beaming.

"What's up, Wick?"

"I found something!"

"Something."

"Yes, something!"

"What is something?"

"Something is buildings."

"Well, that is something."

"Yup, that's something alright."

"How far away is something?"

"Something is about ten miles north by northwest. I say we make camp in something for the night."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Let's go see something."

The conversation with Swiss abruptly dropped in favor of something, we made our way towards something.

Sector: Ministry of Arcane Sciences: Lambda Complex

100 Years, 8 Months, 23 Days PSR

The complex was in a state on disrepair, but not nearly as bad as we expected. Some of the windows were cracked and bashed in. Grime and overgrowth coated the entire exterior of every building. Some smashed bottles littered the ground and faded graffiti was smeared on a few of the walls. Even so, every building in the complex was standing. It was something.

As we approached, I noticed the sign in front of the facility. I hoped it would be legible so I could find out where we were. My PipBuck beat me to the punch.

"Ministry of Arcane Sciences: Lambda Complex," the device chirped.

"An MAS facility? We're bound to find something good in there!" said Wick, still grinning from the break in the monotony.

I was a bit less encouraged. "Yeah, there could be, but it looks like this place might've been looted already. Don't know what'll be left to find."

"Don't forget to be careful," warned Swiss. "There could still be raiders in there, or old security systems. Don't just barge in."

"Okay mom," snarked Wick.

The buildings were arranged around a circular plaza. In the center of plaza was a mosaic of a six pronged pink star, the Ministry Mare's cutie mark. Paths from the plaza branched off to each of the buildings. We referenced a nearby map to get our bearings.

"Okay," I said, directing my hoof at different portions of the diagram. "That building's Arcane Combat and Tech Development. Let's see... Inter-Ministry Projects, Stable-Tec Cooperative, Public Relations, Security Offices, Archives, Dormitories. Which one do you guys wanna check out first?"

"Arcane Combat Development," said Wick instantly. "I'm a good shot, but you still need work with your aim. Having some combat spells under your belt could be useful."

"Sounds good."

We headed toward the respective building. Its locks had been broken long ago, so we walked right in.

Upon entering I noticed several things at once. Bullet holes in the walls. Shattered skeletons crumpled on the floor. Oh, and the trio of turrets activating at the far side of the room.

"Intruders Detected. Locking Targets."

"Find cover!" I shouted over the rumbling machines. We dove behind sturdy looking desk, hoping it wouldn't crumble to dust the second it was hit. It held, but the sound of splintering wood made it clear it wouldn't be there long.

"Told you!" yelled Swiss.

"Now is not the time!" screamed Wick. "Revamp, I saw a terminal on the far left side of the room. I'll draw their fire, you try to disable them."

There was no time to argue. "You got it. Do your thing."

Wick proceeded to whip out one of her guns and take aim over the top of the desk. Once she had a clear shot, she took it, red fire exploding from her revolver.. The sound was deafening, even louder than the last time now that we were in a confined space. One of the turrets went haywire, spinning wildly and changing directions at random.

Immediately after Wick got her shot off, the remaining turrets aimed for where her head had just been. With their gunfire directed elsewhere, I sprinted to the far side of the room.

The console was in the turrets' blind spot, blocking their view with a cubicle wall. I turned on the computer as fast as I could and quickly began scrolling through the main menu.

>MEMORANDUMS
>SCHEDULES
>PROJECTS
>SECURITY

I selected >SECURITY and got a new menu.

>TURRETS
>OFFICERS ON SITE

I entered >TURRETS. A message popped up.

>MUST HAVE SPECIAL PERMISSION FOR THIS OPTION
>ENTER PASSWORD

Shit.

Back in Shackle, I'd been building the robots from scratch, and passwords had never been a problem, so I had zero experience with cracking passwords. I knew the ins and outs of the programming, but it would take way too long to find a work around.

"Hurry up over there, this desk is getting torn to shreds!" shouted Wick. I could still hear the merciless pounding of bullets on the weakening desk.

"Trying!" I replied. Time was running out and I was getting frantic.

A sudden beep from my PipBuck broke my paralysis. A message was flashing on the screen.

>HACKING OPPORTUNITY DETECTED
>WOULD YOU LIKE TO USE PIPBUCK'S HACKBUCK TOOL?

>YES

>NO

I clicked >YES, and a new screen appeared on the terminal. A series of random keystrokes, a few intelligible words scattered within. There was no time to experiment. I clicked one of the words.

>STAPLER
>1 OF 7 LETTERS CORRECT
>TWO TRIES REMAINING

I tried another.

>CRACKER
>3 OF 7 LETTERS CORRECT
>ONE TRY REMAINING

I scanned the potential passwords for one that might fit. I selected the first one I found.

>CROWBAR
>CORRECT

The turret screen took the hacking screen's place.

>ACTIVATE
>DEACTIVATE
>MORE OPTIONS

I slammed on the second command with my magic. The second I did, the final two turrets sputtered and died. I collapsed to the floor with relief.

"You guys alright?" I called.

"Yeah, barely," said Swiss.

"A couple more seconds and Swiss would've become Swiss. You know, like the cheese," teased Wick.

"Your joke is bad and you should feel bad," replied Swiss.

My head swam.

"Alright, calm down, you're giving me a headache now, Swiss. Let me just look through this terminal before we move on. There might be a map or something."

After a few minutes of thorough searching, I found a backdoor to shut off all security bots in the complex. According to the console, the only one damaged was the Wick had just shot.

"Good news. Security's shut off, so that shouldn't be a problem. Also looks like we're the first ones to get past the turrets, so there should be some decent loot."

Further scrounging through the system yielded a list of projects that were being worked on in the building.

>SPELL ENHANCERS
>ZERO POINT ENERGY MANIPULATOR
>SPECIES DETECTION DEVICE
>BALEFIRE EGG CONTAINMENT

"Spell enhancers look promising," said Wick, looking over my shoulder.

"Yeah, when are we going to need to contain a balefire egg?" I agreed. The terminal had downloaded maps of all buildings in the facility onto my PipBuck, so I marked the enhancers room. "Let's have look."

On our way to the first room, we had to go past a security checkpoint. A poster was hanging beside it, reading "Only you can prevent changling espionage." The warning was accompanied by what I assumed was a changling opening a filing cabinet. As I stepped though, there was soft beep, followed by a cool female voice.

"Equine."

I glanced over the machine. "I guess this is the 'Species Detection Device.'"

"Let me try," said Wick. She hopped through.

"Indeterminate."

Wick shrugged. "Worth a try."

Swiss stepped toward the device, then stopped. "I forgot something in the lobby. You guys go ahead, I'll catch up in a second."

"Sure, take your time."

Wick and I continued on to the first room. Spell Enhancers.

We began searching the room. Swiss joined us a few minutes later. There were what looked like equations scrawled on a whiteboard, illegible by this point. Some vials and empty beakers sat dusty on the tables. In one of the cabinets, I found an audio-recording. After examining it, I found it fit into my Pipbuck. I downloaded the recording and pressed play.

"Spell Enhancers, test results for trial number 42." It was a stallion, his voice young and excited. "Finally made some headway today. Dr. Stream was right. Using two spells at once puts too much strain on the average unicorn. Therefore, the enhancers can't be spells, like our first 41 trials. Dr. Stream inscribed the spell into a talisman, and that seemed to do the trick. We'll still need to conduct a few more tests, but this is our most promising trial yet, and we hope to go into the prototyping stage by the end of the week." The recording cut off.

"Alright, now we know what we're looking for, sort of. Either of you know what a talisman looks like?" I asked.

"It'll be small gemstone. They might be keeping it in a lock box or something," answered Swiss.

Wick ended up finding a safe tucked into the wall, hidden behind the layers of grime and dirt. "Anyone know how to open a safe?" she asked sheepishly.

"Yup," said Swiss. He grabbed a pen and paperclip from the table and set to work. After thirty seconds of angling the two, the safe clicked open.

"Where'd you learn to that?" I asked. "That was kind of awesome."

Swiss blushed. "Just something I picked up before Shackle. Let's have a look inside."

The safe's contents were minimal: a cardboard box and a note.

The note was short.

Hey Doc, glad to hear you got over that bug. Here's the Spell Enhancer for the presentation on Tuesday. The guys in advertising decided to call it Maxi-Spell. Made up a box and everything. Hope the presentation goes well.

-Frayed

The box featured a picture of a small silhouetted unicorn lifting a train. Above the image "Maxi-Spell™" was written in fancy cursive. Beside that was the slogan "Wear, Cast, Repeat! It's that easy!"

I turned the box over and found a set of instructions.

Wear the Maxi-Spell™ somewhere on the body.

Choose a spell.

Cast spell.

Whenever you wear Maxi-Spell™, the spell's power (and the wielder's ability to control it) will be multiplied by ≈50.

It's that easy!

Pro-Tip: Once a spell is assigned to Maxi-Spell™, the assignment is permanent. Choose carefully.

"This can only be used for one spell at a time."

"Better than nothing, though," said Wick. "You oughtta choose a spell that can be used in combat."

"Might be a good idea to choose something that could have multiple functions," added Swiss.

I had no idea what spell to augment. "I think I'm gonna sleep on it guys. Figure it out later."

"Okay. So, where to now?"

The next building we checked was the Stable-Tec Cooperative. The layout of the building was much like the first, but the listed projects were completely different.

>STABLE LONGEVITY
>PIPBUCKS AND ACCESSORIES
>EFS INTEGRATION
>[REDACTED]

"What do you think?" I asked. "Stable longevity sounds useless, but the other three might be worth checking out. Well, they might be anyway. No idea what 'EFS' means."

"Do you know what 'redacted' means?" asked Wick.

"Edited. In this case, looks like it was removed or made classified," answered Swiss.

"So like, top secret and all that shit?"

"I guess so."

"Revamp, try and check what it is," said Wick eagerly. "Hack it or whatever. If they were hiding something, it's gotta be good!"

"Sure, I'm curious too." I hooked my PipBuck up to the terminal and brought up the HackBuck program. I could've done a work around without it, but this would probably make it go faster. It took me a few minutes, but I finally got to a description page.

"Alright, I think I've– what the hell?"

The screen suddenly went pixelated, then went back, then all the paragraphs describing "[REDACTED]" began to flicker and reorganize. Words blended into constantly shifting clumps of nonsense.

"Okay, that's fucked up. Let me see if I can get any further. How about... I command it to look for the most common words in the original text, minus normal words like 'the' and 'and'. Sound good?"

"No fucking idea," replied Wick.

"Sorry, just thinking out loud," I sighed.

Once the commands were typed in, I hit enter. Five words appeared on screen.

>MANEFRAME
>PONY
>ARTIFICIAL
>INTELLIGENCE
>CRUSADER

I read the words aloud. "'Artificial Intelligence.' 'Maneframe.' A maneframe isn't small, so I think we can rule out whatever this project was as being helpful."

"So that leaves PipBucks and whatever EFS is."

"Yup."

We checked the PipBuck station first.

It was a mixed bag. On one hoof, there were tons of extras for my PipBuck. I managed to scrounge a StealthBuck, a few experimental software chips that I could investigate later, and an instruction manual. Considering that I'd only learned about its hacking tool a few minutes ago, this seemed especially valuable.

On the other hoof, there were no other PipBucks at the workstation. I'd hoped I could equip my friends with them, but looked like that wouldn't be happening today.

"Damn. Sorry guys, you'd think there'd be some PipBucks at the PipBuck area, right?"

Swiss shrugged it off. "No biggy. We've gotten on fine with just the one."

"Yeah. Besides, check out all the stuff you got!"

"Yeah. Hopefully some of this will be useful." I flipped through the manual, just meaning to glance through it, but one page caught my eye. I flipped back to it and began reading.

"Well shit."

"What is it?"

"Eyes Forward Sparkle."

"What?"

"EFS. Eyes Forward Sparkle. That's what it stands for."

Wick gave me an annoyed look. "And it does...?"

"It's the magic that runs my PipBuck. It has a targeting system. Uses..." I read further. "Stable-Tec Arcane Targeting System, or SATS. Comes installed on every new PipBuck."

Swiss groaned. "Fuck me, you mean you've had a targeting system on you–"

"–the whole time," I finished. I grinned sheepishly. "Well, now we know. Plus we can skip the EFS station. I already got one."

Silence.

"Sorry..."

The Dormitories had a cafeteria, so we stopped in for lunch. The lunch room, like the rest of the facilities, were untouched. We found some fridges in the kitchen to get ingredients from. These must've been some quality fridges, because everything in them was fresh. Untainted bread, fruit, and vegetables were a rarity in the wasteland, so needless to say, we pigged out. I think I ate about five daisy sandwiches, and I saw Wick put away at least eight. Swiss ate the least, but seemed happy nonetheless. We downed our meal with Sparkle Cola from machines in the lounge, pocketing the caps.

We investigated the upstairs before leaving. The beds were a bit moldy, and there were a few skeletons lying about, but it was clean otherwise. We decided to spend the night. With our accommodations settled, we headed back out to check the rest of the buildings.

We started with Inter-Ministry Projects. This was by far the biggest building in the complex, at six stories tall. Most of the structures there were built like bunkers, one or two stories, but his one towered above the rest.

"It'll take us forever to go through this entire building. Let me just single out a couple of good places for us to check."

I got into the terminal without a problem and began sorting through our choices.

>MAW: 2ND FLOOR

>SINGLE PEGASUS PROJECT ARCANE SYSTEMS

>ENERGY WEAPONS
>MI: 3RD FLOOR

>FLIGHT VARIANT POWER ARMOR
>MOM: 4TH FLOOR

>PINK CHIP

>PARTY CANNON
>MOP: 5TH FLOOR

>MEGASPELL DEVELOPMENT

>MAGICALLY ENHANCED DRUGS
>MWT: 6TH FLOOR

>STEEL RANGERS ARCANE SYSTEMS

Swiss looked at the list alongside me. "How about we head to 'Energy Weapons' first, gear up, then split up from there?"

"Sounds fine. I'll take 'Pink Chip.' What do you guys want?"

"I'll take 'Flight Power Armor' and 'Steel Rangers,'" said Wick.

"I got 'Drugs' on floor five."

"Alright, everything else looks useless to us. Let's head on up."

We moved on upstairs to where energy weapons were being developed. The room was locked via passcode, but I used the newly discovered HackBuck to get us in.

The far wall had holes punched every couple inches, with brackets installed to hold the guns. There were about forty different guns lining the space. It took Wick a full minute to stop squealing like a little filly. Once she got a hold of herself, she sprinted to the wall and began pulling off guns, turning them over with care in her claws.

Each gun had a tag wrapped around the barrel, as well as a lock around the trigger. I lifted one of the guns in my magic and examined the tag.

"It says 'Stage One Testing.' What does that mean?"

"Probably that we shouldn't fuck around with it. Look what I found," said Swiss. He was holding up an ancient clipboard. "Has a list of all the stages, and almost all the One's have X's next to them. Stage Two's have less, and three even less. I guess One means early development, and Three means later development. The list goes all the way up to Prototype. Those are almost all checks."

"Hear that Wick? Don't shoot with anything that doesn't have Prototype tag."

"I hear you, I hear you," said Wick, still looking the weapon over.

"Sure you do." Swiss and I sifted through the guns, placing all the guns that weren't prototypes in a pile and and the ones that were on the table. With the few good guns singled out, Swiss and I reexamined them. Wick continued to pour over the ones she'd pulled off the shelf initially.

"Looks like all the prototypes were given names," I said.

"Too bad there's so few of them. Only like six prototypes on the whole wall."

"Yeah, and two of them are a pair. Look, those two are the same." I indicated the only pistols of the group. One emitted a glow that shifted color every few seconds, the other a consistent dark blue glow. I read the tags. "Says they're 'Celestial Pistols'. The fuck does that mean?"

"No idea, but they sound badass. Dibs."

"Fine, but I got dibs on that rifle," I said, pointing to a gun with a glowing blue lightning bolt on the side. "'Lightning Streak: #7 of 12 in the Wonderbolt Series. In concordance with Ironclad Industries,'" I read off the tag.

"There's a series of guns named after a flight team?"

"I guess so, or maybe there was going to be. Who knows?" I turned the rifle over with my magic. Just from looking at it I could tell it was high caliber, probably meant for mid to long range. There was a rail to attach a scope, but I didn't see any around. I slipped the gun into my saddlebag.

"Hey Wick, do you wanna take your pick?" Swiss asked our distracted companion.

"Uh, yeah, sure," she said, pulling herself away from the experimental pile. "What did you leave me?"

She looked over the remaining three guns, her eyes narrowing as she picked them over. She picked up the first, a heavy looking plasma cannon, and hefted it over her shoulder. She looked down the sight and swiveled around with it.

"Meh. I'm sure it packs a punch, but it's unbalanced, unwieldy to carry around, and there's no finesse to it. Next."

She grabbed the sniper-looking rifle. It had a scope (welded on, so it wouldn't fit on my Lightning Streak), which was long and had a couple of dials on the side. She put her eye up to it and adjusted the knobs. When she finished with that she wrapped a claw around the barrel and twisted it experimentally. Nothing happened, so she looked for a clasp, found it, unlocked it, and unscrewed the barrel.

"We have a winner. Lightish, could use it while flying in a pinch. Good anywhere from long range to really long range. Compact, can break it down for travel. Me likey."

"You can figure all of that out just by holding it?" asked Swiss in amazement. "I just picked these cause they looked cool!"

Wick shrugged. "Bert taught me a lot. He knew more about guns than anyone I've ever met." She slipped the rifle and its unscrewed barrel into her pack.

While Wick stopped at the next floor to look into its sole project, Swiss and I continued to the fourth.

"Any idea what a 'Pink Chip' is?" asked Swiss.

"Not a clue. Sounds like it could be installed in my PipBuck though. That makes it worth checking out."

"What about the 'Party Cannon?'"

"I'll give it a glance. I mean, it's a cannon. Cannons are big and heavy, right. No good for travel."

"Yeah, I guess. Hopefully I'll find something good in 'Drugs.'"

"Don't do drugs, mmkay. Drugs are bad, mmkay. If you do drugs, then you're bad, mmkay."

My head whirred as I said it, but I couldn't help but laugh anyway.

"The fuck are you talking about?" he asked as we reached the fourth floor.

"No idea," I answered truthfully, opening the door to the Morale offices. "Good luck upstairs."

"You too."

The office had the instant effect of unnerving the hell out of me. This had little to do with the massive ordnance pointing directly at the door I entered through, and more to do with the high concentration of propaganda posters plastering every wall. We'd passed a couple on our way around the facility, and even a few in the wasteland, but this was ridiculous. Not an inch of wall was uncovered. The great majority of posters exclaimed "Pinkie Pie is Watching You Forever," featuring a smiling pink mare staring at anyone who viewed them. One pair of eyes might've been okay, but there were literally hundreds watching me. Like I said, unnerving.

The Pink Chip project had been relegated to a couple small rooms in the back, most of floor instead devoted to the Party Cannon. One look at the artillery told me we couldn't take it with us. The thing was huge, weighed a ton least. It belonged on a battlefield, not with a group of travelers.

The modest Pink Chip offices were free of posters, but I still felt like I was being watched by... something. I tried to ignore the feeling and toss the rooms.

Most what was left in here was paperwork, documentation. I skimmed a few pages, identifying them as lab reports and results. Apparently, these ponies working on the Pink Chip had very little idea of how it actually worked, or even what it actually did, hence the experiments and test results. How they couldn't know was beyond me. Maybe someone gave it to them?

While going through one pile of papers I found an old audio recording. I plugged it into my PipBuck to listen to while I searched.

"Not much new to report today as far as conclusive results go. The damn Chip is still an enigma. We are no closer to figuring out how the thing works, though we might be if someone told us where the hell it came from. Today's test results are in logbook, not that there's any point in looking at them. Still just gibberish for the most part, with a couple of useful tidbits mixed in. Fulcrum posed a theory about the Chip today that's probably worth recording, though. Thinks maybe the thing is operating at a higher... what word did he use... degree...? no, he said tier. A higher tier then we can comprehend. We may be understanding tiny chunks of what it's doing, and what chunks we do understand are brilliant, but most of it is simply beyond our grasp. He thinks it might even be messing with us, might have some form of AI or something patched in. Not sure if I quite buy into that, but anything's possible, I suppose."

After around twenty minutes of fruitless scrounging, I found what I was looking for. The Chip was hiding in metal case being kept inside a drawer blocked by a fallen cabinet. At least it was until I moved the cabinet.

The Chip was about what I expected. Small, rectangular, and pink, of course. The only distinguishing feature other than that was a number "4" printed in blue on the side. It looked like the same make as the chips I'd pulled from the PipBuck room earlier, so it should be compatible with that. Once I had time to look at the manual for the thing, I'd install the Chip. The recording piqued by interest, to say the least.

We met back up in the lobby an hour later.

Swiss's bag was rattling with the drugs he'd picked up from the Peace floor. "Took some healing potions. A lot of looked like it had gone bad or something, so I only got, like, three. Other than that, picked up some bandages and poppers too. Med-X and Buck and... a thing of Mint-als."

Wick came back from her venture empty clawed. "I found the armor, but the fitting was wrong. My body isn't exactly proportional with the average pegasus. Too big for Swiss too. Call it a hunch, but I don't think you would've used it anyway."

Swiss shrugged. "Probably not. Armor's never really appealed to me."

"Any particular reason?" I asked.

"Not really."

"Whatever," said Wick. "The Steel Ranger armor was also to big, meant for a full grown stallion, so it's useless to us. Where to next?"

I checked the map on my PipBuck. "All that's left is Security Offices, Public Relations, and Archives. Might be some ammo we can use in Security, but the other two sound pretty useless."

"Let's check them anyway," said Swiss. "We could split up again. Never know what we might find in there. Worth looking, at the very least."

"Alright," agreed Wick. "But Security first. I want more ammo."

Security ended up yielding more than just ammo.

"Yes, this is perfect!" I squeed.

"What are you doing, Revamp?"

"Check this thing out!"

Swiss looked it over. It was a high quality microphone plugged into box covered in dials and switches. "Intercom, right? Used it to send messages around the facility. What about it?"

"Almost right. It's shortwave. Long distance. They used this to communicate with people outside of the facility."

"Alright. So?"

"So I can take the vital components and integrate them into my PipBuck, allowing me communicate to any station I want."

"Come again?"

"Me use parts to talk to people far away."

"Oh, okay."

"You don't think that's cool?"

"Eh, it's neat, I guess. Might be useful too."

"Neophyte."

Swiss ignored me. "Find anything good, Wick?"

Wick emerged from the gun cabinet she was looting. "Found a few guns, mostly twelve mils like Revamps. Might want to bring one along so you can repair yours. A bit of ammo too, around twenty or so rounds for my carvers, like ten for Revamp. Oh wait," she said, diving back into the locker. "Holy shit, there are twelve energy cells."

"Doesn't seem like much.," I commented.

"Each cell is worth about twenty shots for magical energy weapons. That makes... 240 rounds between us."

"Oh. Damn."

"Yeah, no kidding. Anyway, I that's all I could find in here. Not too shabby."

Wick and Swiss headed over to Public Relations while I investigated the Archives.

I spent about half an hour grazing through the filing cabinets. Most of it was junk, and what little was of use pertained to projects in other facilities. My PipBuck picked up on the names and locations of the facilities and added them to the map. Maybe someday we'd visit another one.

Before leaving I found a terminal and did a quick sweep through the digital archives, It must've been a newly integrated system, because there wasn't too much in the system. The vast majority was useless, but two entries caught my interest.

>[REDACTED]
>[REDACTED]

I selected the first one and did the same word sweep I'd done earlier.

>MANEFRAME
>PONY
>ARTIFICIAL
>INTELLIGENCE
>CRUSADER

Same one as before. Oh well. On to the next one. This one gave a completely different set of words.

>REFLECTION
>MIRROR
>DNA
>PROPERTIES
>EVERFREE
>RADIANT
>HARVEST

Unlike the first redacted file, I couldn't make heads or tails of this one. Maybe some kind of mutation project? What was being harvested?

I closed the terminal. It probably didn't matter. Time to get back to Wick and Swiss.

I found them waiting for me outside the Public Relations building. "Hey guys. You find anything good?"

"Not unless you want souvenir coffee mugs and baseball caps. Think they were for the staff."

"Thankfully, I did," said Swiss, indicating his new headwear. It sported an orange lambda over the brim. My vision blurred.

"You find anything good?" asked Wick.

"Nope. Maybe stuff to look out for if we ever visit another one of these places, but nothing on site."

"Well lets get some dinner and turn in then. I'm bushed."

"Yeah, me too."

"Me three. By the way, I'll cover first watch, okay."

"Thanks Revamp. It'll be nice to sleep in a bed for once."

The day ended without a hitch.

Chapter 10: The Children of Sacrifice

Sector: Repentance
100 Years, 10 Months, 4 Days PSR

As we got close to Repentance, Swiss suggested that Wick stay with us. Better to be together and strong as group than to have our best fighter knocked off by some unknown threat. Wick grudgingly agreed.

We actually heard the town before seeing it. At eleven o'clock, Swiss remarked that he could hear something. I listened. He was right. A gonging sound, far off in the distance. Then it was gone, ceasing with as much speed as it began.

An hour later we heard them again. This time Wick was able to identify them.

"They're bells. Ringing off the hour. It'll be twelve gongs this time, listen." There were twelve.

"Must be a pretty ritzy town if they can afford something like that. Those bells have gotta be huge to hear them all the way out here," I said.

"Yeah. Maybe they'll have a hotel. We can order tons of food, we'll have more than enough–"

"I don't think we should stay that long," Swiss cut in. "Golden Mike was hiding something about it. I don't trust this place any more than I trust him."

"Besides, I'll need that money for the parts we need," I said. "Now that I think about it, he never said explicitly what parts he needed." I thought about this overlooked problem. "Oh well, nothing we can do about it at this point. I'm sure I'll know the parts when I see them."

The first part of the town we saw was its bell tower. The thing was at least five stories high, dwarfing the rest of the village. It was attached to a building a little over half as tall as it, but it was hard to make out. Strange colors of light seemed to be bouncing off the structure. I had no idea what to make of it.

The closer we got, the clearer it became that this was a bit more than a small town. Most of the buildings were small, but there were a lot of them. What's more, they all looked completely intact. We were viewing it from a nearby hill, and I noticed that the roads were paved and free of litter.

It was the nicest and cleanest place I'd ever seen, by far.

"Do you think all cities up north are like this?" asked Wick in awe.

"No," responded Swiss curtly.

"You're quite the downer today," I remarked.

"I know, I'm sorry," he flustered. "I just have a really bad feeling about this."

Around a hundred yards out, my PipBuck chirped that I'd discovered a new location. It brought my mind back to the freshly installed Pink Chip.

I'd had a hell of a time getting it to work. The thing had been simple enough at first glance; stick it in a slot, activate it, see what it does. The problem was I couldn't find it. It wasn't listed in with the rest of programs. I started out trying to figure it out from curiosity. By the time a month had passed, I was fiddling with it out of pure spite. This spite eventually paid off.

Three days ago, I'd been scrolling through the program list (again) when I went past the bottom on accident, falling on a program with no name. It had been hiding right under my nose. Needless to say, I quickly renamed it "Pink Chip" and turned it on. All it did was spout lines of random gibberish, something or another about lazy writing and cheap way to throw in references, and it went on and on about breaking a wall. Useless nonsense.

Even so, the scientist's records at the Lambda Complex said it might say something useful among the gibberish, so I checked to see what it had to say about Repentance.

>FLAGG WAS HERE
>GONE NOW
>HE LEFT SOMETHING
>LIKE IN TULL

Not too much, and nothing of obvious use. Oh well, worth a shot.

I saw what the glinting colors off of the bell tower were. Stained glass windows. I couldn't make out what the designs were from here, but I didn't really need to. They said enough just by the fact they existed. Whether they found the windows or paid someone to make them, stained glass windows were the pinnacle of ornate. This town was loaded.

The town wasn't bustling, but it wasn't empty either. Ponies and the odd griffon mulled around on whatever errands they had. Stalls dotted the street, vendors showing off their wares for all to see. It looked like most of the stores this town had were outdoor markets. I guessed most of the buildings were homes. If so, a lot of people lived here.

We spent a good half hour winding our way through the streets. We didn't make much progress. None of the stands we saw sold machine parts, only food, strange trinkets, and guns. There were actually a surprising amount of gun shops in this town, even for its size.

Everyone we passed seemed normal enough. Foals, some older than us, scurried through the alleyways, playing games. I felt a pang, equal parts nostalgia and longing. A few years ago, that was me. Hell, it still would be if I hadn't been in Shackle.

Adults shopped without paying us much mind. Vendors bragged about their whatever they were selling. Other than the abnormally high quality and size of the town and the strange number of gun shops, it was average.

"You still nervous, Swiss?" I teased.

"Yes," he said. "Something's... weird here. I don't know whether it's good or bad yet, but something's off. We just haven't seen it. Hopefully we won't have to. Let's get the parts and get out."

"Alright," I sighed.

We approached the nearest vendor, an orange mare with a frizzy brown mane. "Excuse me ma'am."

"Oh, hello there. What can I do for you kiddies?"

I cringed at the greeting. "Uhm, we're looking for some machine parts. A code transmitter. You know where we'd find something like that?"

"A codey what?"

"Cut the jargon, Revamp, you'll scare her," Wick chastised. She turned to the mare, who was looking at her curiously. Wick had an unorthodox appearance to uninitiated. "Sorry about him, his brain's too big for his own good. I'm Wick, and that's Swiss. What Revamp meant was radio parts. Do you know where we could buy some?"

"Oh, radio parts! Two streets down, look for Gearshift's stall. He sells stuff like that."

"Thanks, Miss..."

"Tangerine. Here, take a few. My treat, for such polite children."

"Thanks! We'd better be going. By–"

"Wait! Are you three new in town? I've never seen you before."

"Yeah, we're from here. I stay on the other side of town most of the time, otherwise I'm sure you would've seen me. I'm not easy to forget, you know? But yeah, we don't come this way often, so we don't know where all the shops are."

"Oh, alright. Well, be sure to stop by the chapel this evening for service."

"Will do! Maybe we'll see you there!"

"Such a little dear. Good luck with your radio whats-its!"

We headed to where the mare had pointed. Wick walked with her head held high, clearly pleased with herself. Swiss and I were speechless.

Swiss finally broke the silence. "Wow. Didn't know you... that you could..."

"Use manners? Lie like a bamf? Yeah. Bert taught me about more than guns, you know. He was also good at talking to people and making them like him. You never know when you might need an ally."

"Is there anything Bert wasn't good at?" he asked.

"Terrible cook."

"So, what do think of the service tonight? Should we go?" I asked.

"Sure."

"No!"

"What? Why not, Swiss?"

"Have you even been listening? This place gives me the creeps! I'm not staying here that long."

"Well, we're both going. Right Revamp?"

"Yeah, I'm curious now. I wanna see what this service is about."

"C'mon, don't leave me by myself!" he moaned. "I'm no good with the guns. I haven't even practiced yet!"

"And who's fault is that? If you don't want to be alone, come with us."

I watched helplessly as my too best friends argued. I was beginning to reconsider myself, just to diffuse the sudden tension.

"Please, I'm telling you, I have a bad feel–"

"We're going Swiss. Whether or not you come is your decision," growled Wick.

"Guys, this isn't worth fighting abou–"

"Fine."

"What?" said Wick and I simultaneously.

"I'll come," he muttered. "But I'm not staying in town for the night. I'm sleeping a mile or two away, with or without you."

I could see Wick's temper rising again. "Come on, Wick, that's fair. We couldn't afford to stay here anyways. A bit out of our price range. We haven't been paid yet."

She huffed smoke out her nostrils. "Yeah, I suppose," she grumbled.

"Great, then lets get those parts," I said, moving us along before another fight could develop. I had no idea what had gotten into Wick, but it was past us for now. Somehow Swiss had tweaked a nerve. Better to just leave it alone for now. We could discuss it later.

With a few more minutes of searching we found Gearshift's stall. I had to consciously keep myself from drooling. These weren't just machine parts, but highly specialized machine parts, most of which I didn't even recognize. That alone was enough to get me excited, but there was tons of it. I couldn't stop shifting my gaze from item to item, trying to decipher what each part part did.

"Can I help yuh?" asked a gruff voice.

I turned my eyes to an old, bearded blue pony who could only be Gearshift. I pulled myself together as best I could.

"Yeah, I hope so. I'm looking for a code transmitter. I was told you might have one."

"Ayuh, sure do. What do yuh want it for?"

I made up a story off the top of my head. "I found a prewar stable that only opens from the inside. I know the code, but I need to unlock it using the coder."

Wick raised her eyebrows in respect.

"Aren't yuh a bit young to breakin' into prewar stables?"

"Yes, yes I am."

"Well alrighty then. I've got an idear here. Lookin' at yuh, I can see yuh probly don't have a whole bunch a caps on yuh. How's about I give yuh this here coder for a down payment, and yuh can get me the rest when yuh've looted the stable. Sound fine?"

"Sure does." I put down ten bits. "How's that for down payment?"

"That'll do."

"Okay then, I'll see you later."

I put the code transmitter in my saddlebag and left with my friends in tow.

"You're gonna wanna look over that," commented Swiss. "He was holding back something. Probably put a tracker or something in the coder, to make sure you stick to your word."

"Nice catch," said Wick. Swiss smiled at the compliment. I was glad the argument was already blowing over.

"So what do you guys wanna do now?" I asked. "We've got a couple hours before the ceremony or service or whatever it is."

"I just wanna check out some of these stalls," said Wick. "Those gun shops are calling my name." I gave her a look. "Don't worry, I won't buy anything. I'll meet out front of the chapel for the service in bit, okay?"

"Cool, see you later," I said as she went her way. "What about you, Swiss?"

"I'll stick with you, thanks."

"Alright, then lets look at one of those trinket shops. I wanna see what they're selling."

I browsed through the strange necklaces and bracelets of one of the stalls. Most of the pieces had a common symbol, and on further inspection I realized that I recognized the symbol from somewhere. I'd seen the same symbol I'd seen emblazoned on the stained glass windows of the chapel, although I hadn't been able to make it out earlier: a heart with a crosshair in the center.

"What does this symbol mean?" I asked the salespony.

"You don't know it? It was my knowledge that that symbol was known all over the Wasteland." She sounded borderline offended.

"Maybe up north, but I'm from the south. I've never seen it before," I explained.

"So you don't know about the Children?"

"Children?"

"The order. The reason this town exists! The Children of Sacrifice!"

"I'm sorry, I'm not familiar with them."

"Well, I'm a bit busy running my shop at the moment, but it's their service tonight. Litany will explain the group there, as well initiate a new member and perform a baptism. Now I'm sorry, but if you're not buying anything, I have other customers to help."

Swiss and I trotted away more confused than when we'd approached. "Any idea what a baptism is?"

"Not a clue."

My interest in what ceremony was happening tonight deepened. There was no way I was going to miss the service now.

The chapel doors opened opened at five o'clock. The schedule on the door stated that the service was to start at six, so we took advantage of the hour and explored the building. The building was more lavish than ant I'd been, with such detailed craftmareship that it put even the already high standard town to shame.

The first thing we noticed was the ceiling, a high arch painted to look like the sky. The back of the chapel, where we entered, was obscured by grey clouds. As the ceiling continued, the clouds became white, then began to dissipate. By the time the arch got to the front of the chapel, the clouds had cleared to reveal blue sky, unblemished except for a rainbow line speeding towards the cloud cover and a bright sun. I looked closely at the linear rainbow, and saw a pegasus at its front, intent on dashing away the grey.

My attention was next grabbed by the stained glass windows lining the side of the chapel. There were six on each side, each sporting a different picture. One showed a grey unicorn mare exiting what I could only assume was a Stable, a yellow "2" patched on her blue jumpsuit. It became quickly clear that every window showed the same mare. In another window she fought an orange dragon, with the help of a pegasus in a Battle-Saddle. In another it looked like she was riding a roller coaster with a zebra. The scenes of adventure went on and on, and for some reason seemed familiar.

The circular window at the front of the chapel held the symbol Swiss and I had seen earlier at the trinket shop; the emblem of the Children of Sacrifice. I shivered.

The long building was lined with benches all the way up to the front, with an aisle dividing them down the middle. At the front of the chapel was an alter with a thick book lying on top, which was either new or extremely well preserved. Behind the alter was another table, backed against the wall and holding a silver box. Just before the alter was a two foot deep indentation in the floor, with steps leading down into it from the alter. The hole was lined with pristine white tile, and looked recently cleaned.

As we were looking around, the people of the town began to crowd in, taking seats on the benches. We took the hint and found our own bench in the back, sitting on the edge of the aisle so we could see what was going on.

As the bell tower rang six, the doors to the chapel slammed shut, the sound reverberating throughout. A petite green unicorn mare got up from her seat in the front row and walked behind the alter. I supposed she was Litany.

"We have gathered here today... to honor the holiest of virtues taught to us by the Light Bringer. She who faced the greatest dangers of our Wasteland. She who rediscovered the Elements of Harmony. She who put the world on her shoulders. She who gave everything to deliver us the greatest of gifts, the sun, and then gave more, left a life of happiness behind to ensure all could enjoy her gift. You of whom I speak."

Littlepip. Of course. Every foal in Equestria knew that story, or had at least heard parts of it. Now I knew why the window paintings looked so familiar.

"She embodied that virtue to her core. Sacrifice. We are all equals here, my friends. All of us, pony or griffon, mere students trying to follow in our teacher's hoofsteps. We hope to attain the level of enlightenment and giving that the Light Bringer did. We do this, knowing that it means sacrificing everything, if we must. Our time, that could be spent with friends or family. Our money, that could be spent making us happy. Our innocence, that allows us to sleep soundly in our beds at night. Tonight we initiate a new member of our order.

"While many of this town attend our meetings, follow the way of the Light Bringer in your everyday lives, and donate to our order, few volunteer to join. It means leaving everything, everything behind. It means travelling the Wasteland in isolation, helping all you can, baptizing the sinners that would harm others. It is a heavy burden. I myself braved the wastes for ten years before being chosen as the chapel's lector. Were I called to serve again, I would take up my burden where I left it and continue."

This service was strange so far, but the idea behind it seemed beneficent. It was sort of like what we were doing, helping people in the Wasteland. We weren't doing it for free, but still. I hadn't gotten any clearer idea about what a baptism was, though.

"Whet Stone, please step forward." A twenty-something year old stallion stood up from the audience and walked towards the alter, stopping at the circular hole just before it. Litany went to the silver box behind the alter, opened it, and removed something I couldn't make out from where I sat. She brought it to Whet Stone.

"Tonight, you will perform your first baptism. Bring out the offender!" The back doors of the chapel flew open. A burly stallion dragged something... oh Celestia, someone, behind him in. The entire building was silent but for the rattling of chains. As they passed us, I saw that it was a pegasus mare. She couldn't have been older than twenty.

The stallion dumped her into the hole, bringing a yelp of pain. The stallion walked out of the chapel and closed the doors without ceremony.

"You will perform this baptism of initiation with the weapon of teacher, the Light Bringer." Litany gave the object to Whet Stone. I knew what it was now. A pistol. If it really was the weapon of Littlepip, it had a name. Little Macintosh.

"You may now begin, Whet Stone."

Whet Stone's voice was filled with pity, but offered no recourse. "What is your crime, offender?" His voiced echoed in the silence of the chapel.

The mare was crying, blubbering. "Please... please... I needed the food, my foal hadn't eaten in days. I thought the house was empty, I didn't mean to kill anyone!"

"But you did."

"Please, please no... my baby needs me..."

"We will take care of your foal."

"No, he needs me, he needs me!"

"For your crimes against Equinity–"

"No, no pleas–"

"–and morality–"

"–NO NO PLEASE I'M SORRY–"

"–I baptize you with fire and lead. In Littlepip, the Light Bringer's name,–"

"–NNNOOOOO–"

Bang! The sound reverberated through the hall, along with the final screams of the mother.

"–I cleanse you."

Litany waited until the last of the echoes faded, then approached Whet Stone. "You have given up all you had, that which is most precious. Your innocence and your mercy. Those are luxuries beyond your reach now. Tomorrow you will leave this town and begin your service."

There was no clapping, no stomping. A melancholy shroud fell over the congregation. Litany returned Little Macintosh to its box before taking her place at the alter. Whet Stone found his seat again. After several minutes of silent nothing, people began to stand up from their seats.

Thank Celestia! Swiss was right, this town is fucked up! We'd better scram.

"There is one final announcement I'd like to make before we end this ceremony. Please take yours seats, I won't keep you long."

Fuck.

"I'm sure you all remember the out-of-towner that came around this time last year."

For the first time there were murmurs among the audience. Nervous mutters.

"His... gift... the blue... showed me things this past fortnight. I'm sure you've noticed I haven't been out to market these last few weeks. I assure you, it was of the utmost importance, as you will soon learn."

The muttering ceased, and all eyes locked on Litany with attention so rapt it was spooky.

"It showed me prophecy.

"It showed the sun, the sun our savior gave us, fading. It showed me a dark mare, a mare of great power, showering Equestria with flaming stone and speaking the tongue of star-spawn, commanding them do her bidding. The Darkling."

The crowd was muttering again. Some were even crying. I turned to my companions. Wick was eyeing the back door. Swiss, who I expected to be terrified, especially after warning us earlier, was lost in thought.

"I know what you think! Is this outcome certain? Can we do anything to stop it?"

Heads bobbed across the congregation, and there were a few shouts of "Yes!" and "What can we do?"

"I have seen that another will pave the way for this dark one. The Harbinger! The Harbinger, wielding the weapons and speaking the tongues from a fallen world, a world moved on. The Harbinger, the one who will care for and teach the Darkling, teach her to wield this unholy power. The Harbinger, a bastard, a freak of nature, the ungodly abortion of equine and drake."

FUCK!

"Wick, we need to leave right fucking now!"

"SHE'S HERE!" cried a voice. "I SAW HER! THE HARBINGER! SHE WAS AT MY STALL TODAY!" I remembered the voice. It was Tangerine. "SHE SAID SHE"D BE HERE TONIGHT!"

A new voice, this one close by. "I SEE HER, SHE"S BACK HERE!"

"GET THE CUNT!"

"SHOOT HER!"

"FUCKING RUN!" I shouted.

Wick didn't need to be told twice. Not even once, for that matter. She was already crashing through the window by the time I'd finished screaming.

In the chaos of chasing Wick, no one noticed me. They were all focused on finding "The Harbinger". I doubt anyone even heard my helpful outburst. Maybe that was for the best. Wick had flying as a quick means of escape. I didn't.

That reminded me of my other flying companion. "Come on Swiss, we gotta help–"

Swiss was nowhere to found. He was gone, either fled or lost in the flurry of ponies still charging past to get to Wick. Whatever, he'd find us or I'd find him. We were safe, at least for now. We weren't the target.

Once I found an opening, I squeezed through the front door. The mob was heading out of town. I heard gunshots in the distance. I sprinted.

I looped around through the side streets, avoiding the mob as best I could. Night had fallen, the world dimly lit by the light of the full moon. As I left the buildings behind, I caught sight of muzzle flashed in the distance. Most were low to the ground, but several were coming from a fixed point in the air, alternating with red and green light. Wick.

As I galloped toward the battle, I levitated my guns out of my saddlebags. The pistol and the energy rifle. The crowd wouldn't expect an attack from the rear. I remembered my SATS just in time. I was a shitty shot, so I'd need that. I flicked it on.

Time froze, and a random pony in the crowd was highlighted in neon green. I read the statistics.

>ZEALOT
>HEAD 22%
>BODY 61%
HIND LEFT 42%
...and so on.

I picked the front right leg. The one holding the gun. Once I made my choice, the world unfroze and I fired. There was a shout of pain. I'd hit my mark. Still running, I activated the SATS again. I managed to land two out of four more hits before it needed to recharge. By that point I was nearly to the mob, who somehow hadn't noticed me yet.

The crowd had gathered right below Wick, firing shots in a frenzy straight up at her. She fired shots of her own, still using the carvers. She would run out of ammo soon, and I couldn't hold off a mob of hundred of people by myself. I needed a plan.

Some way... to contain them? Keep them in one spot so we could get away. Let's see... I couldn't make a shield big enough to keep them all in.

What could I... a fire. I could use my welding spell to create a circle of fire around them.

But wait, if I did that, would I have enough time? They'd definitely notice a fire, then I'd be down, dead, and no use to anyone. I needed to make the fire go around all of them at once. How could I do that? I didn't have the talent to pull something like that off! How could I...

Maxi-Spell. Duh.

I wrenched the talisman out of my bag and whipped it around my neck. I pulled my goggled up from my neck over my eyes, so I'd be able to see through the flames (one of the goggles many useful properties). I cleared my mind of everything but the spell. C'mon fire...

The world was instantly bathed in harsh blue light. A wall of fire fwooshed up around the mob, trapping them.

"SHIT, FIRE!"

"WHERE THE FUCK DID THAT COME FROM?"

"MY MANE!"

Screams of pain and terror. Caused by me. I unsuccessfully tried to keep my breakfast down. Maybe it's just a side-effect of Maxi-Spell I thought. I didn't think so.

"Wick, get down here!" I managed to choke out. She must've somehow heard me, because next thing I knew she was at my side.

"Where's Swiss?"

"No idea. Should we find him?"

"No. He can find us. He can fly. Hey, why the fuck weren't any pegasi after me?"

It hadn't occurred to me. "Not a clue." Then I realized what she was saying. "Wait, we can't just leave. These people will die! I need to put out the fire."

"Are you fucking kidding me? They'll just get back up and follow us! They tried to kill me!"

"They were being misled. They're leader told them to, they were just scared and–"

"I don't give a fuck! Let 'em burn!"

"Wick–"

A calm female voice spoke. "Revamp, douse the fire."

"Who're–" I turned to face the voice and stopped. What... in the actual fuck.

"Douse it," the voice repeated. I did what it said.

The moment I did, the anyone in the crowd that could still fight was up in arms.

"KILL THEM!"

"I'LL BASH THEIR FUCKIN' HEADS IN!"

"I'LL–"

"You'll do nothing," said the mare.

"YES WE FUCKIN' WI–" the angry stallion stopped mid-word. His jaw dropped. "How the fuck...?"

"The prophecy was false. These ponies are innocent, and you will let them go peacefully. Look, you shot this poor mare in the wing."

"But Litany said–"

"Who're you going to listen to? Litany, or me?"

There was silence.

"Thought so. Now go back home."

"But what about yo–"

"I'll be with you soon."

The congregation stood there stupidly for a moment, still in shock of what had just happened. Slowly, they came to their senses and began trotting back to Repentance. All that remained of the mob were a few bodies, victims of Wick's aim. In the distance, we heard shouting of joy. "It's a miracle!" "She's back!"

I turned to the mare, searching for something to say. I looked her over, trying to determine if she was really there. She was short in stature, about my height, but I was just a kid. She was full grown. Her fur was grey, her mane brown. She had green eyes. Her cutie mark was a PipBuck.

"You're... you're Littlepip," I breathed.

Littlepip smiled. "Not quite."

"What? But... who are you then?"

"I'll explain later. Right now, we need to get the fuck of here."

"She doesn't need to explain," said Wick tensely.

"What do you mean?"

"That's Swiss. He– she– that's Swiss."

I turned back to Littlepip, her head hung in regret. "What is she–?"

I stopped as what looked like Littlepip was enveloped in a surge of bright green fire, consuming her in a matter of seconds. When the fire was gone, Swiss was left in her place.

"What the fuck–?"

"We need to go."

"No Swiss, tell me what the fuck is going–"

"Now is not the time. We gotta go before they catch on."

Wick nodded. "Later Revamp." She faced Swiss. "You've got a lot of explaining to do, changling."

Chapter 11: Radioactive Station

Sector: Conducive Cave
100 Years 10 Months 5 Days PSR

Wick set the fire in angry silence. We'd barely spoken a word for the past two hours, which had been spent trekking as far from Repentance as possible and finding a cave, where we'd settled on staying for the night. Her mood seemed to be having an effect on her ability to light fires, and every few moments she cast an accusing glance up at Swiss, as if it were his fault. In a way, it sort of was, since he'd caused the bad mood in the first place (in part at least; the rest of that responsibility fell on the citizens of Repentance).

After fifteen minutes of setting and resetting the grass kindling, I stepped forward and lit it for her with my horn.

"Spark-a-dark, where's my sire? Will I lay me? Will I stay me? Bless this camp with fire," I recited, remembering Wick's ritual. The kindling phoomfed to life, illuminating the cave. Even so, shadows lingered, leaving crevices and patches of floor behind each of us shrouded.

She flashed me the briefest of smiles. "Could've done that ten minutes ago."

"Thought maybe we all needed some time to think," I replied.

She turned her gaze on Swiss again. "Maybe..." she said.

The quiet lingered, but for the crackling of the fire echoing through the cave. Swiss was staring with great concentration at the ground, as if willing it to swallow him up. It didn't seem to be working. The tension grew as the inevitable conversation loomed continually closer. No one wanted to start, not even Wick, for all the rage spelled out in the smoke wisping from her nostrils. Angry blood wept at her bandaged shoulder, which we'd applied shortly after our encounter.

I couldn't stand it anymore. I spoke first. "When were you going to tell us?"

Swiss flinched, like he'd been physically slapped. He let out a shuddery breath. "When... when the situation called for it. Like it did tonight."

"We've been friends for years," said Wick, her voice thick with confusion and anger.

"Y-you have every r-right to be mad," said Swiss. "Every right t-to feel b-betrayed."

"We've trusted you since Shackle. We trusted you with keeping our uprising a secret! How could you keep this a secret from us?" rambled Wick, speaking as much to herself as Swiss.

"Shackle was a v-very dangerous place to be a ch-changeling," said Swiss. "Imagine... Hammer had th-that concubine. What would h-he do if he h-had a creature who could ch-change form? Be wh-whatever he wanted? I was scared."

"But... you could've trusted us," I said. "You know we wouldn't have told."

"I know that. In f-fact, that's o-one of the reasons I tried so hard to become friends with you at first."

"What do you mean?" asked Wick coldly.

Swiss flinched again. "Changelings... we can get, I mean, feel, p-personality traits from those we spend of time with. Piece together your personality fr-from individual scraps of emotion. Ever notice m-me being able to tell your mood?"

I had noticed. Wick nodded in confirmation.

"You're furious right now W-Wick, feel betrayed. That's bad enough, b-but Revamp... you just don't know what to feel, and th-that's even worse."

"Get on with it," snapped Wick.

"Back then, I-I was manipulative. I tr-tried to make friends with the r-right people. S-so I hung out w-with you. But s-something else happened. Y-you didn't j-just let me tag along. You l-liked me. I'd n-never... I liked it. I st-started liking y-you back. Your friendship helped m-me grow. It sounds s-sick, but it gave me sustenance. You g-guys remember my growth sp-spurt. Th-that was you! That place was hell f-for a changeling, and you made it o-okay.

"Ev-eventually... eventually I knew I'd need to c-come clean about wh-what I was. F-first I told myself I-I'd do it once we'd es-escaped. Th-then once we were on our ow-own. B-but I couldn't make mys-s-self do it. I kn-new you'd let me stay, but it w-would be like... I don't know... bad. I didn't want to face y-your disappointment, your hatred, how-however brief. It wou– it hurts. It hurts."

"Show us your form," I broke in. "Like, show us how you look as a changeling. I want to see what you really look like."

Wick nodded, her face hard.

Swiss looked uncomfortable, but after mulling it over for a moment, nodded as well. "I– okay. But I want you both to know, the me that you've come to recognize over the past two years... that's the real me. Not what you're about to see. That's the old me. That's a changeling. I hate it." Tears rested unfallen at the corners of his eyes.

There was a small inferno of green fire, reminiscent of the muzzle flashes from Wick's carvers, and in Swiss's place was the creature I'd seen on the poster in the Lambda Facility. It looked to be a cross between a pony and an insect. It was equine in size and shape, but all else was foreign. Its entire body was covered in a dull black carapace, its mouth lined with sharp teeth and a pair of protruding fangs. Its legs were strange, full of holes, and it's wings were like those of a dragonfly, thin and transparent with a slightly blue tinge. Its eyes were pure blue, without a pupil, yet somehow conveyed emotion in crashing waves. Tears began to fall.

"Can... I turn b-back now?" it whispered, its voice like the hissing of snake.

I dipped my head, not trusting myself to speak without crying. There was another flash of burning emerald light, then Swiss was back. Back to norm–

Swiss's gender had changed. All else about hi– her was the same– the fur color, the cutie mark, the eyes– but now her mane was longer, and the rest of her body had definitely taken on some... feminine... attributes.

"Why are you a filly?" asked Wick bluntly. She sounded genuinely confused. That was a good sign. Whatever lingering anger had been in her was gone now. Thank Celestia for that.

I wiped excess moisture from my eyes. "Yeah, uh... yeah?" I asked stupidly.

Swiss blushed, another clear sign that the tension was over, for now at least. "Like I said, I didn't want to be put in Hammer Swing's concubine thing. I've always been more comfortable like this, but I... it didn't make sense to stay like that back then," she explained. Her voice was higher then before.

I came forward and wrapped my forelegs around her in a hug. She hugged back fiercely. Whatever brief alienation she'd had was over. She was back in the group, if she'd ever left at all.

None of us slept that night. Swiss and Wick chattered away, getting past the lies that had unknowingly separated them. I worked on removing the tracker from our newly procured code transmitter. Once I was finished that, I joined the conversation. Even though we'd experienced as much as many adults did in the wasteland already, we were still, at our core, kids, and for better or worse, kids forgive easily. The revelation with Swiss was barely an issue.

Sector: Radioactive Station
100 Years 10 Months 28 Days PSR

It became clear several miles out from the radio station that this place was more than just the origin point of a broadcast. If the number of buildings and the amount of movement were anything to judge by, a whole town must've been there. And as we got closer and closer, this fact only cemented itself. This was definitely a town.

"I think we ought to be cautious again," said Swiss about a half mile out from the town. "Remember what happened last time."

"Yeah, thanks for reminding me," said Wick.

"See if you can get a read on the place once we get in," I suggested. "Can you do that? And maybe on Mike himself. Now that we know you can do that, we should use it."

"Uh, okay, sounds good."

Jammed in the ground just outside the town was the remains of a Sunrise billboard, with "RADIOACTIVE STATION" scrawled on it in black paint. Beneath that were about a dozen crossed out numbers, the most recent proclaiming "Pop: 59 + 196".

"Wonder what the 'plus 196' means."

"Who knows? We can ask later. Let's just get our business taken care of," chided Wick.

We walked into Radioactive Station eager to find Golden Mike, but were quickly sidetracked by another of the town's strange quirks.

"You guys see it too, right?" I asked.

"Yeah, pretty weird. Do you think it would be impolite to ask about it?" said Swiss.

"Probably, especially out in the open like this."

"Mike seems like a pretty casual guy. We can ask him about it," I said.

We continued on our way, heading for the conspicuous metal tower at the town's center, passing ghouls left and right as we went. The entire way, we didn't see a single un-irradiated person. Considering this, we drew a lot of curious looks. We did our best to ignore them.

I chose to focus instead on Radioactive Station's buildings. Most of the foundations looked pre-war, but everything else looked like it had been cobbled together later, with the primary building materials of plywood, scavenged sheets of metal, and large chunks of rubble.

"Oh, come on," whispered Wick harshly under her breath. Her eyes were locked on a nearby restaurant that was currently going through lunch hour. The sign overtop the doorway said the name of the eatery was "Ghoulash".

"At least they have a sense of humor about it," I said. "Even if the pun is terrible."

My Pipbuck beeped.

>YOU'RE ONE TO TALK, HORSE PUN

"What'd it say?" Swiss asked.

"I think it thinks we tell bad jokes or something."

"Slap it in the face," she advised.

There was another beep.

>( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

"What'd it say now?"

"I'm not sure, but I'm kinda scared."

The radio station was easy to find, with the monolithic tower of spidery metal beams protruding from its roof. The tower slowly thinned to point, where a red light blinked off and on at regular intervals, indicating that the station was there for any chariots flying at night. Now it served as a beacon for travelers, letting them know of the town's presence.

The building itself, not counting its tower, was still far bigger than any other in the community. It stood at three stories, dwarfing the rest. It also looked to be the only remnant of the pre-war establishment that must've existed here; Nothing about shouted ramshackle like the everything else around here. The only parts that looked replaced were the doors, which had been crafted by haphazardly welding together street signs, and the windows, which were broken.

We stood outside the structure, intimidated by its size. Each of us seemed to be waiting for the others to do something.

"I... guess we just go in," I ventured.

"Sure."

"Yeah."

I stepped forward, put up a hoof to knock, decided that was stupid, and walked in, my companions following close behind. We found ourselves in a lobby, with a couple of couches against the wall and a desk at the far side of room, which a ghoul filly seemed to be napping on top of, a microphone propped up over her head and a silent radio by her side.

I approached her. "Excuse me, I'm looking for Golden Mike." She was still asleep. "Golden Mike," I said a little louder. Nothing. I tapped her, and her eyes fluttered open.

"The fuck ya want?" she asked, a thick Manehatten accent tinging every word.

I blinked, taken aback. "I'm, uhm, looking for Golden Mike," I answered. I could here Swiss and Wick giggling behind me.

The filly took a lighter and pack of cigarettes from out of the desk, put one in mouth, and attempted to light it. The lighter seemed to be out of fluid. After a couple attempts, I lit it for her. By this point I'd figured out that this filly was probably older than she looked.

She took a puff and blew it to the side. "He broadcastin' now. Ain't tell ya why. Damn thing don't go more'n hundred miles, and nothin' to talk to out there. 'Cept maybe you, and this fuckin' town."

"I'm here to fix that. I guess we'll just wait for him here. Could you let him know we're here?"

"Ain't nothin' doin'. Just a sec." She turned on her radio. "Lemme tell ya, ya get tired listnen to this asshole all day. A gurl can only take s'much, ya know?" She turned up the volume. A song was playing. "Okay, it's a song, lemme talk to 'im." She pressed a button on her desk and spoke into a microphone. "Hey asshole."

A voice piped up from a speaker in the desk. "What is it Glit?"

"Some kids here t'see ya. Say he got somethin' to fix yer prollem."

Golden Mike was audibly excited. "Really! Alright, I'll cut the broadcast short today. See you in a few."

Once the song was over, Mike came back on the air. "Hey there, I got some good news for whoever's listening. If you remember, a few weeks back I held an open frequency to find someone to repair my equipment. Well, he just got here. Hopefully, the next time you hear me, my voice will be travelling a lot farther. Bye for now, folks."

The radio went silent.

A few moments later, the door leading deeper into the building opened, and an ancient but smiling stallion, his fur stained grey-green from years of radiation poisoning, strode out. I could see a couple of his back teeth through gaps of flesh in his cheeks, which looked kind of like melted cheese. Over his eyes he wore slotted pink sunglasses, which juxtaposed pretty much everything else about him in a way that should've been creepy.

But at the same time, nothing about him was scary. His grin was huge and genuine, and something about him just (excuse the pun) radiated pleasantness, though I couldn't tell you what.

"Damn," he said, looking us over. "I mean, I could tell you were young over the radio, kid, but I didn't realize you'd be this young. Or that you'd have friends with you!"

"Young enough to send into a town of zealots without telling us first?" asked Swiss.

"Hey Swiss, we're not looking for a–"

"No, no, the little lady's right. I should've told you. But... well, you might not've been willing to do it if I told what was out there."

"They attacked us," stated Swiss.

"What?" gasped Mike. "But... what? They... they don't attack without some reason. Did you do something to upset them?"

"Not on purpose," said Wick. "They were after me specifically. Said I was going to raise a demon or something."

"Holly shit," said Glit, the cigarette dropping out of her mouth.

Mike put a hoof to his head. "I mean, I knew they were a bit nuts, but that's just batshit. Fuck. And you're just fucking kids!"

I nodded. "It was a pretty close shave, but we got away. Wick got shot," I said, indicating her shoulder.

"Well, I don't need to tell you I feel horrible about all this." His hoof went to his chin. "Now this could hardly make up for it, but I'll up you're reward by 200 caps, and have one of the nurses round here have a look at your shoulder... uh, Wick, was it?"

"Yeah. And thanks."

"I ought to be thanking you all. You've done me a good service. Once... uh sorry, I recognize your voice, but I didn't catch your name?" he asked me.

"Revamp."

"Once Revamp gets my code transmitter up and running again, we'll have ourselves a little talk about what to do next, over dinner, if you finish by then."

"Sure, lets get started. I remember you said there were schematics. Can I see them?"

"Course. This way," Mike said, waving a hoof for us to follow.

He led us through a few hallways, up two flights of stairs, and into a room full of broadcasting equipment. Wires and machines filled with dials covered the walls. In the center of it all sat a computer console. It was a lot to take in.

"Now all this stuff is just the same as it was before the code transmitter broke, so you don't need to mess with it. The machine you want is that one in the corner," he said, pointing. The part he indicated had by far the most wires running through it, with inputs and outputs in at least two dozen places. "Left the blueprints right next to it for you. Should I just leave you to it?"

"Yup."

"Alright, I'll leave you to it," he said, walking out of the cramped room. We didn't speak until we heard him descend the last flight of stairs.

"What do you think of him, Swiss?" asked Wick.

"Seems okay to me," she answered. "A bit sad maybe, and guilty, but he didn't mean us any harm."

"I guess that's why he feels guilty," I guessed.

"Actually, that's a little weird. I mean, sure he was sorry about Repentance, but there's something else too."

"Any idea about what it could be," asked Wick. "It might be useful."

Swiss shook her head. "Not really, just that it's a very deep guilt. It's been bothering him a long time."

"How about we stop gossiping about our employer?" I suggested, annoyed.

Wick shrugged. "Hey, information's information, information is knowledge, and knowledge is power. Someone said that, right?"

Swiss giggled. "I'm sure someone did."

The main reason the code transmitter conked out was old age. Wherever Golden Mike's guy had gotten this thing from, it had been in use a long time before it came here. If I ever met the guy, I'd have to ask him where he got it. There might be something else there worth taking.

Even though the reason for the problem was simple, fixing it wasn't. I spent about half an hour analyzing how the transmitter fit in with the rest of the equipment, taking mental note of every connection, and checking to make sure they matched up with the schematic. It was tricky, because a lot of the connectors were homemade especially for this, and the schematic was from an official instruction booklet. While it was certainly useful, I had to do a lot of my investigation to figure out where everything went, and in which order.

I took the liberty of marking up the schematic with additional notes for the next person to work on this, as well as borrowing some tape to identify the wires more quickly. It took a little extra time for the moment, but would save time in the long run.

Next came the labor intensive part of the job where we disconnected every wire from the old transmitter. I say we because it took multiple people. A lot of wires needed to be pulled at once, to avoid damaging the overall circuitry, and I couldn't levitate sires and reference instructions at the same time. I made sure to walk Swiss and Wick through the process several times before proceeding, and even then still read them the instructions as we went along, glancing over every few seconds to double check what we were doing.

The final part was repeating the whole thing in reverse. We'd done it once, so doing it again wasn't too much of a hassle. Our setup of the new transmitter took less than half the time of disabling the original.

I flipped the power switch, which I'd turned off before we began, and I checked the computer console to make sure it was working. The mini map showed three other stations getting our signal and rebroadcasting it, so we finished up and headed down stairs. It was four hours after we started, and we were drained and ready for whatever dinner Golden Mike had planned.

We reached the ground floor, where we found Golden Mike pacing up and down the hallway. He saw us and rushed over. "Is it done?"

"Should be working fine now. Wanna test it?"

"I'd like nothing more, but I promised you dinner. After all that work, you must be starving."

He led us outside and to the restaurant we'd passed earlier, Ghoulash. Night was falling and the air was cool, so we sat at one of the tables outside. The place was bustling with activity, so I thought it would be a while before we ordered, but almost as soon as we sat down a waitress was our side.

"Mr. Mike, what'll it be this evening?"

"Gatzy, please, I've got guests."

"Oh, of course. What'll it be?" she asked, turning to us.

"What've you got?" asked Wick.

The waitress listed off around two dozen dishes. Wick ordered a whole plate of radhog ribs, Swiss asked for a daisy sandwich, and Mike and I ordered oatburgers.

"Wow, didn't think they'd get to us that fast," I commented. I turned to Mike. "I'm guessing it had something to do with you?"

"Good guess. I founded this town, and it comes with a few perks."

"Must be pretty nice," said Wick, taking a sip from her water.

"Question," said Swiss. "Why set up a town all the way out here? I mean, there was already a station here of course, for your radio, and I guess it's isolated if you like that sort of thing, but it seems inconvenient. So why here?"

"Couple reasons. It's not that simple."

"We got time," I said, my curiosity peaked.

"Okay. Where do I start... well, first off, a lot of what I say on my show is to the detriment of other groups. If something happens somewhere, and I think it's wrong, I say so. Some people can't take criticism. Out here, people are less likely to come out and attack me. Hell, most people don't even know where it is!"

"The second reason is... let me tell you story. You it's a bit sad, but you're grown ups, never mind your age. I can see it in your faces. So anyways, the story...

"Long ago, there was a pony who was very popular, got invited to a lot of parties, and got all the mares, because he had a celebrity talk show. He thought he was happy, but really, he wasn't. Then one day, he met a singer. She was smart, beautiful, funny, and wonderful in every way, and her voice was mesmerizing, unforgettable. He asked her out, and by some miracle she said yes.

"But this pony was also stupid, and when another beautiful mare came along, he dumped the singer. It wasn't long before the stupid pony realized his mistake. He tried to get her back, but all the stupid pony could ever be to the singer now was a friend, and the stupid pony had to be happy with that. He would listen to her songs late at night after his show was over and cry himself to sleep.

"Then one day, because of greed, politics, and whatever else you want to blame it on, the bombs dropped, and the world ended. The stupid pony happened to be in a place where the bombs' magic effected him, but not enough to kill him. He became ugly and monstrous, and over time, his mind followed suit. He became a mindless, ravenous beast.

"One day many years, hundreds of years later, the monster found an unwary group of travelers, and walked toward their camp with the intention of eating them. Now these travelers had a radio with them, and it was tuned to a music station, playing one of the very songs the singer had performed all that time ago.

"And then something amazing happened. His mind resurfaced. He became himself again. But at the same time, he was haunted, for he remembered all the horrible things he'd done when he was a monster.

"The stupid pony made the second smart decision of his life (the first one being asking that singer pony on a date). He decided to put this fluke of fate to good use. He gathered as many other ghouls as he could, told them his story, and set them to gathering all their mindless brethren. The stupid pony played music for them, showed them old photographs, talked to them, tried to trigger a reaction, to snap them out of it.

"To this day, the stupid pony has had some moderate success. About a dozen ferals have been rehabilitated, some slowly, and some in an instant, like the stupid pony. And he keeps trying to this day."

My Pipbuck piped up:

>WOW
>THAT BACKSTORY WAS DELIVERED WITH ALL THE SUBTLETY OF A SLEDGEHAMMER

"What was that beep?" asked Mike.

"I don't think my Pipbuck liked your story," I apologized.

"O... kay."

"Well, I thought it was amazing," said Swiss, dewy eyed. "Very moving."

"Thanks for saying so," said Mike. "The project is my pride and joy. In fact, it's my main reason for running this station. The funds I get for the advertisements are what keep this place running. That's why I needed to get the station's transmission back to a wide audience. It's expensive getting Aqua Cure all the way out here, for the sentients and ferals alike."

"Really. But why not get the NCR to finance this project? It sounds worthwhile," said Wick.

"People are scared. Not to mention NCR's government has some of those Repentance freaks tainting it."

"What has that got to do with anything?"

"The reason I couldn't send my techies to get the parts is that the Children, as they call themselves, aren't particularly fond of my endeavors. Say it's blasphemy. Say that the ferals are monsters, and need to be put down. Only thing stopping them from outright attacking this place is my radio popularity. People got wind that they took me out, it'd be trouble for them."

"That's really fucked u– hey, food's here."

We dug in. Everyone was hungry. The food was delicious, and hardly a word was spoken through the entire meal, other than the occasional request to pass a condiment. Within ten minutes every plate was clean.

"So," I said, mopping up the last of the ketchup with a bun, "why have only ghouls out here? Are they the only ones willing to work on it?"

"They're more willing to work on it than most. Most of them actually volunteer, which is great for the money situation, but it's also a safety thing. Ferals don't attack other ghouls. So as long as ghouls are the only ones that deal with the ferals, there isn't much risk involved. Honestly, sometimes just prolonged interaction with a non-hostile can do wonders for them, and that can't be accomplished without another ghoul."

"Is that what the sign at the edge of town means?" asked Swiss. "Fifty-nine sentient ghouls, one hundred ninety-six ferals."

"Yup," said Mike. He turned to Wick. "Say, do you want to get your shoulder looked at? I almost forgot."

"Yeah, it's fucking itchy."

"Yeah, go get that looked at. We got a nurse three buildings down on the left side. Tell them Golden Mike sent you."

"Sure. And thanks for the ribs." Wick got up and headed down the street.

An awkward silence permeated the conversation for a couple minutes. Swiss broke it.

"Hey, when you hired us, you mentioned something about more work."

"Oh, yes, yes, I did. I got a tip about some work that needs doing up in the NCR. Your kind of work."

"Alright, lay it on us."

"A couple years ago, some techies up there got that Hope Facility up and running. Runs on solar panels and the like. Basically helped prevent an imminent energy crisis. Up until then, they'd been using old pre-war energy cells to power everything, but they were running out."

"Okay. So what would they need me for? Sounds like they're doing fine. I mean, I have some decent experience with that kind of thing, but if they have it up and running, what's the issue?"

"Calm down, clam down. Sheesh, let me finish. I was getting to that."

"Oh. Sorry," I said, blushing.

"One of my sources says that they've got some efficiency problems. Can't keep the power consistent. He says that power seems to fluctuate on a monthly basis, for whatever reason. They're trying to keep the trouble quiet, but I'm sure they wouldn't say no to more help if it was offered to them, and the NCR is well known for fair salaries. If you could stop whatever issue they're having, you'd be set for a good while."

"If they're having problems, why don't you report on them?" I asked. "You did say that if you saw something wrong, you'd tell them so."

Mike looked uncomfortable. "It's a tricky situation, and from what I can tell, it's not like they aren't trying. And, well, there's also the issue of keeping my informant safe. Not to mention that while criticizing things like public officials is usually okay, revealing government secrets is a whole different ball game. Not worth the risk. For something like that, might send troops down here to shut me down." He fell silent for a moment, then added, "So you didn't here about this whole Hope thing from me, okay?"

I understood the fragility of the situation. "Not a word," I promised. "Swiss?"

"Yeah, sure," she said. "I know a thing or two about keeping secrets."

"Thank you for your discretion. And I'll keep mine about who helped me out with getting my broadcast back up. Don't need those Children of Sacrifice on your back any more than they already are."

Swiss and I exchanged a look. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"I mean if they want your friend, Wick, dead, they'll try to make it happen. They have members of their fucked up order roaming the wasteland, and if they found out you helped me, it'll only make them angrier. They may be assholes, but they know their way around weapons, and aren't afraid to use them."

"Yeah, we know," I said, remembering the baptism.

"Anyways, enough that depressing shit. I'm gonna turn in. You two oughtta get your friend and do the same. Had Glit line up some beds for you in the station. Not that you're not welcome here, but it would probably be for the best if you set off in the morning. I'll gift you some supplies and pay you then." He turned and headed back for his studio.

Swiss and I made our way to Wick. "Why do you think he wants us to leave so soon?" I asked.

"He doesn't want to give the Children a reason to come here," she said. "Can't blame him, really. He's doing good work here, and I know I'd hate to see it gone to waste."

"I guess," I sighed. "Hey, how serious do you think those Children are about getting Wick?"

Swiss shivered. "That Litany lady was scared. Terrified. And if I had to guess, I'd say the Children would go very far out of their way to see us dead." The look in her eye made me shiver too.

Chapter 12: The Loser

Sector: Radioactive Station
100 Years 10 Months 29 Days PSR

Whatever Mike's people did to Wick's shoulder, it worked wonders. A wound that had been healing slowly over the past three weeks was reduced to a scar in one night.

"Can we get some of that shit to go?" asked Wick.

"Afraid not," answered Mike. "We used one of our pre-war healing potions. Back then they really knew how to make them. Thing is, there aren't many left. Used to be, around a hundred years ago, you could find them just about anywhere. Nowadays, they're much rarer. Some people brew their own to sell, and they're useful, but not as potent, except for maybe a couple zebras. Oh, and the buffa–"

"Okay, okay. Just a yes or no would've been fine, I didn't need a speech."

Mike laughed. "Sorry. Just my inner radio host I guess. Anyways, we can't spare any more. If you find a building that hasn't been looted yet, you might have a better chance of finding them."

"Well, thanks for the supplies you could spare," I said. Golden Mike had provided us with a letter of recommendation, some assorted bandages of the non-magical variety, a pressure cooker, and a small walkie talkie looking thing.

"It's tuned to my personal channel," he'd said, giving me the walkie. "If you're ever in a bind, give a shout. Anyone under my employment nearby will come if they can. I have a dozen or so people floating around the NCR. And I'll do whatever I can to help. But only call if it's a real emergency."

"Wow. Thank you."

"Not a problem. If you're ever down this way again, stop by. We'd be glad to have you."

Just before we said our goodbyes, Mike gave us one more piece of advice.

"Head for Kleco first. It's on the southern border of the NCR and these grasslands. It'll be a good place to stop for a rest, catch your breath before the final stretch. Good folks there."

"Alright, we'll stop by. And thanks again."

Sector: Kleco
100 Years 11 Months 14 Days PSR

We made it up to Kleco without incident. It was a good two weeks of travel. We left all the drama of Repentance behind, and although in the back of our minds we knew it couldn't last forever, we entered Kleco and the NCR with optimism.

Kleco was a mediumish town. The origin of the town's name was obvious to whoever entered it: a Sparkle Cola sign with the ends blown off by gunfire sat at the edge of the establishment, leaving only the letters K-L-E-C-O. Most of buildings were well kept, at least for leftovers from before the war. Almost all the windows had glass (with the exception of a few at the local bar), none of the apartments looked empty, and the road was actually asphalt, as opposed to the usual hardpack of the south. If this was what the NCR had to offer, I was liking it already.

Wick insisted that we rent a motel room. "We haven't slept in a bed since Radioactive Station, and we have the money to pay for it. Just because I'm part dragon doesn't mean I like sleeping on the ground. Or on piles of stolen valuables. Maybe I should try that..."

"Let's just get a motel room," Swiss interjected.

"Good," said Wick.

We bought a room for the night and headed upstairs to unload our things. We opened the door, and a new problem presented itself.

"Only two beds. Crap, didn't think of that," I groaned. "I guess I'll go downstairs and order myself a single. You girls can have this roo–"

"Wait!" shouted Swiss. Wick and I jumped, startled by her sudden outburst. "Um, sorry. What I meant was, uh, ordering a motel room is one thing, but getting two is just wasteful. We can share beds."

"Oh. You okay with that, Wick?"

She shrugged. "Fine by me. I don't mind sharing. Just as long as it's a bed."

"No!" she shouted again. "I mean, you're big and scaly. You'd take up to much room." Wick started to look angry, but then Swiss said, "Revamp is smaller. We can sleep in the same bed." Something must've suddenly clicked for Wick, because her entire demeanor changed.

"Oh... I see. Sure. I like having a bed to myself anyway. You two share."

Some sort of unspoken female code was passing between them, but having only one X chromosome, and being a pre-teenage colt, I couldn't decipher it. Later on I would realize a blind, deaf foal could've detected the implications.

"Okay, I guess. Hey, do you guys want to explore the town a bit? There's bound to be something to do around here, and I don't plan on spending my entire stay here in a motel room, as cushiony as the beds are."

Outside, the sun was setting. The street was bustling with activity, most of the town's residents heading in one direction; towards the bar.

I pulled a pegasi aside. "Hey, why's everyone heading for the bar?"

The pegasus laughed. "Tourist, eh? South, from the sound of it."

"Yeah, we're from out of town. What's going on at the bar?"

"The band's playing tonight. Not to mention drinks are half off. That always draws a crowd. And a little tip for you. Barkeep isn't too picky about minors. So drink up! Maybe you'll grow a few inches." The pegasus flew off, making a beeline for the bar.

"People in this town sure are cheerful," commented Swiss.

"Getting any weird vibes?" asked Wick.

"Nope. All clear up here," she answered, tapping her head.

"Then let's get a drink! Woo!" Wick flew off to the bar.

My Pipbuck suddenly beeped. I glanced at it's message.

>MAN YOU SHOULD'VE SEEN THEM KICKING EDGAR ALLEN POE

Complete nonsense. I sighed and turned to Swiss. "Frickin' thing's still a mystery. You'll stick by me, won't you? Don't wanna be stuck alone tonight."

Swiss blushed. "Uhm... yeah, of course I'll stick by you."

"Awesome. Let's go check out that band."

When we finally sifted through the crowd into the bar, we found it to be surprisingly spacious. There was room for everyone to move around without difficulty, with a large area for tables and moving around and a stage, for whoever was playing tonight. Maybe there was a spell on the bar to make it bigger inside. That would be expensive, but if the sheer number of patrons were anything to judge by, they could afford it, even if they left their windows broken for some reason.

We found Wick at the bar, a bottle of Apple Whiskey already in her claw. I remembered my parents drinking that sometimes. Just small doses in paper cups gave them hangovers the next day.

"I'd be careful with that, Wick. It's strong."

"Yeah, the barkeep already told me. He bet me free drinks all night that I couldn't finish a bottle. This is my third, and I don't even have a buzz. I'm not sure whether to be happy or sad."

Swiss's jaw was swinging like a hinge. I laughed. "Dragon metabolism, I guess. Hey Wick, pass me two glasses." I poured some of Wick's drink into the glasses and held one out to Swiss. "I think one or two will probably be our limit."

"Yeah, probably. Maybe Wick's gotta belly made of lead or something."

"Damn straight!"

A voice came from the stage. "Attention patrons. Inebriates of all ages. Tonight we're proud to present Kleco's famous band of one, the Nutball himself, Jonah!" The crowd went wild as the curtain raised. This guy must be popular around here.

The rising curtain revealed an empty stool with a microphone stand. After a moment, a young griffon, probably around fifteen or sixteen, walked on stage, an acoustic guitar swung over his back. He flapped up onto the stool, shifted the guitar to his front, and pulled the mike closer.

He cleared his throat and began:

"I'm a loser...

I'm a loser...

And I'm not what I appear to be

"Of all the love I have won or have lost

There is one love I should never have crossed

She was a girl in a million, my friend

I should have known I would lose in the end

"I'm a loser...

And I lost someone who's near to me

I'm a loser...

And I'm not what I appear to be

"Although I laugh and I act like a clown

Beneath this mask I am wearing a frown

My tears are falling like rain from the sky

Is it for her or myself that I cry?

"I'm a loser...

And I lost someone who's near to me

I'm a loser...

And I'm not what I appear to be

"What have I done to deserve such a fate

I realize I have left it too late

And so it's true, pride comes before a fall

I'm telling you so that you won't lose all

"I'm a loser...

And I lost someone who's near to me

I'm a loser...

And I'm not what I appear to be."

He continued to strum the guitar, continuing the song for around another minute, then slowly faded out. Almost immediately he began his next number.

"Wow. I can see why the town likes him," I said, taking a sip from my drink. I cringed internally at the burning taste, but forced myself to swallow it. Best not to give Wick the satisfaction.

"Wonder why they called him Nutball, though?" Wick gasped, having just chugged a bottle of Apple Whiskey. Show off.

The bartender answered the question. "That boy up there, he's crazy. Either that or he's a liar." He reluctantly popped open another bottle of whiskey and passed it to Wick.

Swiss frowned. "He looks normal to me."

"No, he's crazy," the bartender insisted. "Rolled into town a few years ago. Didn't know anything. Didn't know what the NCR was. Never heard of electricity. Fuck, hadn't seen a gun before! Kept talking to everyone who'd listen about doors or some shit. Course, eventually everyone got fed up with his shit and stopped listening.

"Lucky for him he's got a knack for songwriting. And performing. Yup, our Jonah knows his way around a chord, or whatever the fuck they call them. Seems like he has a new set every week!"

>THE SUBTLETY OF A SLEDGEHAMMER
>GEE, I WONDER IF HE'LL BE A CHARACTER?

"What was that?"

"Pipbuck. Does that sometimes."

"So all his music is original?" asked Wick. The barkeep nodded. "That's impressive. Props to him, even if he is Nutball."

It was a good night. We danced to the music. We talked with youthful optimism of the future (helped along by the pleasant buzz in the back of our heads), of what we would do in the NCR with our money, once we fixed up the Hope Facility. And, of course, we listened to the music. The night was going well up until Jonah performed his final song.

"And now, folks, it is almost time to clear out. You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here. Jonah, play us out!"

"Hey Jude, don't make it bad

Take a sad song and make it better

Remember to let her into your heart

Then you can start to make it better"

I smiled at this final number. It was somber and melancholy, but I liked it. I looked to my friends to gauge their reactions. Swiss was leaning on my shoulder, a bit tipsy, and had a dreamy smile on her face. Wick–

I flinched back. Wick was seething. She glared with terrifying intensity at the griffon on stage, smoke streaming in angry puffs from her nostrils, her lips drawn back in a sharp toothed snarl. But I thought I sensed something else as well. Confusion, and fear too.

I tensed as the song came to close.

"Nah nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah, hey Jude..." The griffon let his voice fade out.

The crowd cheered and the griffon bowed. The curtain closed and the patrons began slowly making their way toward the door. Wick was shoving her way to the front.

I grabbed a dazed Swiss by the hoof. "Shit, she's pissed about something! C'mon, they'll kick us out or something if she does anything."

"You're–" hic "–holding my hoof, Revamp."

I ignored her. "C'mon!" I yanked her with me, ducking between the legs of the taller bar-goers to make my way to the front. Swiss stumbled after me, catching herself from falling with every step.

By the time we got out, Wick was darting around a corner toward the rear of the bar. I followed as fast as I could, Swiss still in tow. I found her stopped at the back door, glaring at it with flared nostrils and bared teeth.

"Wick," I said, "What are you doing? What the hell's wrong with–"

The door opened, and Jonah, the griffon performer, stepped out, a guitar case nestled under his wing. Before he set more than a foot outside, Wick grabbed him by the neck, pulled him back, and slammed him into the brick wall of the building.

"What the fuck!" I shouted.

Wick ignored me. "Where'd you get that song?" she growled, her voice laced with poison. Any answer the poor griffon gave would be the wrong one, I could see it in her face.

"I... what?"

"The song, motherfucker! That's his song. That's Bert's song! Where'd you get it?"

"I... what song?"

"The last one! 'Heeey Juuude.' That one! That's his song!"

"Wick, stop!" I begged.

The griffon was flustered. "I wrote it. I used to sing it for my little sister whe–"

"SHUT UP! You stole it! You stole it you... you..."

"Please calm down," said Jonah. "Maybe you've had too much to drink. You were downing bottles in there."

"Oh, so you were watching me too?" she snarled.

"I always watch the cute mares–"

Wick socked him in the mouth. "I'm thirteen, you dick," she screeched.

"Wick, that's enough!" I said. "You're acting crazy! He didn't do anything!"

Jonah rubbed his beak with a talon. "Jeez. Nice punch you got there."

"Stop acting so... so..."

"Okay with the fact that I'm being interrogated and having the shit beaten out of me by some mare, two years younger than me, for no reason?" he asked. "What can I say? I try to keep a positive attitude."

>AND I'M NOT WHAT I APPEAR TO BE

"What's that?"

"None of your business. Now, you're coming with us!"

"Wick–" I started.

"Revamp, shut up," she said. "This important. He's coming back with us to the hotel."

"Hotel? Already? At least take me out dinner fir–"

Wick screamed in his face. Green flames poured out her mouth, scorching the griffon's head. His entire face turned the color of soot. He opened his eyes and coughed out a cloud of black smoke. "I'll shut up."

Wick practically carried Jonah back to our room. I sheepishly tried to make myself invisible, while she blatantly ignored the stares we got from the town-goers. There were a fair number of wolf whistles on our way back.

Swiss had been given the room key. She missed several times before I took the key from her and unlocked it myself.

"Hey man," she slurred. "That's not cool. I had that door hole right where I wanted it."

Jonah snickered. "Door hole."

I pushed the door open and led Swiss to our bed. She fell onto it in a daze, somewhere between sleep and drunken consciousness.

"So Wick," I asked. "What now? What do you plan on doing now that you've kidnapped this town's favorite musician?"

"I'm gonna ask him some questions."

"I'll axe you some quessons!" muttered Swiss.

"Swiss, go to sleep," I sighed.

"You godda sleep," she said. "Serusly though, geddin here, I'm cold."

"Put on a blanket."

"It's not enooouugh!"

"I'd say get a room," said Jonah, "But you guys beat me to it!" He cackled like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard.

"I'd shut up if I were you," said Wick, "and answer my questions."

"Which one?"

"What?"

"Which one do you want me to do, shut up or answer your questions?"

"Do you want me to hit you again?"

"I feel like this is a trick question."

Wick punched him in the beak.

"Ow! Do you lift?"

"Is this funny to you? Are you enjoying this?"

"Kind of. Better than being avoided all week until music night."

Wick sighed. "Are you going to answer my questions?"

Jonah made a show of looking like he was thinking. "Hmm... yes. Conditionally. I'd like–"

"We'll work it out later. Okay, first question. Did you ever know a griffon by the name of Cuthbert?"

"No."

"How do I know you're not lying?"

"Why would I?"

"I don't know. Why would you know the song Cuthbert sang to me as a filly?"

Jonah shrugged. "I really can't say."

Wick stared at him long and hard. Jonah held her gaze without flinching. After about half minute, Wick stopped. "Alright, fine. Next question. When'd you write that song?"

"I already told you, I wrote it for my little sister."

"Oh yeah, what's her name? Where is she now?"

The griffon stiffened. "Gone."

"What the fuck's that mean?"

"I lost her," he muttered.

"Her name?"

Jonah coughed and wiped his face. "Lenore."

"Psh. You griffon's have the weirdest names."

"Mom said it was from–"

"Don't give a fuck. Where are you from?"

"The griffon kingdoms."

"Far away. Why'd you come here?"

"Didn't have much choice in the matter."

"Stop being so fucking vague!"

"It all happened fast. It's hard to remember everything."

"You crossed hundreds of wheels so fast you can't remember how?"

"Wheels?"

"Wheels, miles, whatever. How the fuck do you do that?"

"I don't know."

"Yes you do. Just don't want to tell me."

"Listen, it makes just as little sense to me as it does to–"

"Will yooto shaddup!?" moaned Swiss. "I'm tryna sleep, and I'm cold, and Revamp won't take a hint, and my head hurts, and I'm tryna sleep. Do it in the morning."

"We can do it any old time you like. By the looks of it, you're travelers, right? I'm going with you," said Jonah.

"What!? No!" growled Wick.

"That's your end of the deal that you wouldn't listen to. I'm coming with you. Don't care where your going, I'm going too."

"Go on your own."

"I'd die in like, ten seconds. Don't know how to use a gun."

"Go with someone from town."

"They think I'm crazy."

"I think you're crazy."

"Yeah, but you'll still do it. Cause you've still got questions."

"You little–"

"Shaddup!" groaned Swiss.

Wick glared at Jonah again. "Fine. But tonight, you sleep on the floor."

Jonah shrugged. "Meh. Slept on worse."

I was too tired and buzzed by that point to give much of a shit about what was going on. I settled on letting it settle itself in the morning. Jonah seemed okay to me, and if he wanted to come, I wasn't going to hurt him to stop him. I'd have to talk to Wick about antagonizing him (I knew she would), but I thought we could work through it.

I tucked in next to Swiss and flicked off the light switch with my magic. Swiss scooted closer. I nudged her back and tried to sleep.

I sort of remember being woken up at some point. It sounded like a radio was playing on low volume. I checked my PipBuck, but that wasn't it. Someone must've been playing it another room. After a few more minutes I was asleep again.

Chapter 9: Transmitting

Sector: Middle Grasslands
100 Years, 9 Months, 6 Days PSR

"Hit me."

Wick drew a card from the deck and slid it to Swiss face up. A jack of hearts.

"Shit, I'm over." He slapped his cards down in the dirt. "Your turn Revamp."

"I already told you, I'm busy," I said, refusing to look up from my work.

"We dealt you in," said Wick.

"I told you not to, didn't I?"

"You can't play blackjack with just two people."

"What are you talking about, you just did! Swiss lost."

"The hand isn't through yet. Pick up your cards and play," commanded Swiss teasingly.

I groaned. "If I play a hand, will you let me be?"

Wick and Swiss nodded eagerly. Cute double teaming bastards. I couldn't say no to those faces.

"Fine." I picked up the cards Wick had dealt me. "I'll stay."

"Me too," Wick replied.

I slapped down my cards. A ten of clubs and an ace of diamonds. "Twenty one."

"Damn it."

"Can I get back to work now?"

"One more hand."

I slipped my cards back into the deck. "Nope."

"But you won! You can't walk away from a streak!" complained Swiss.

"So? Not like we're playing for anything."

"We're playing for fun!" Wick grinned.

"Listen, I'll play with you tomorrow night, okay. I'm almost done with this."

"The radio thingy?" asked Swiss.

"Yeah, that. I've nearly got it."

"One more hand?" asked Wick, pouting her lips.

"Tomorrow."

Wick dropped the pout. "Fine. But don't think we won't hold you to it!"

"Trust me, I believe you," I said, returning to my pet project.

Laid out on a blanket in front of me (scrounged from one of the beds in the Lambda place) were the essential components of the transmitter I'd jacked from the Lambda security offices. The only recognizable part to the average observer was the microphone, still completely intact. The rest of it was broken down. Any useless or work-aroundable parts were scrapped. Things like antenna, channel dialers, and program chips could be replaced by the PipBuck. Channel dialers and antenna came with the built in radio, and I could just transfer the programs from the chips directly into the device.

All that was left was to pry open the casing on the PipBuck and install the parts. That was where I was when Swiss and Wick interrupted me for their blackjack. I sighed and got back to it.

Even with the screws taken out, the thing was still a bitch to open. It took much more force than I anticipated before the top popped off. I breathed out in relief and ceased my silent prayers that it wouldn't break. I looked inside and made a mental checklist of the work before me, noting additionally the extra chip slots. The radio chip wasn't compatible, but the ones I'd snagged from the Stable-Tec building would be. Never mind, that was a project for later.

First I'd need to cut a hole in the side of the PipBuck to make room for the microphone jack. They didn't have the same type of jack as my earblooms, so a new port was necessary. Next I'd install the components, check to make sure they fit, and weld them in. Once that was done, I'd sync the transmitter programs to the right machines. Then I'd test it, and if it worked, replace the top.

I'd tested my modified radio rig beforehand with some of the replaceable parts, and I'd gotten a signal on my PipBuck just fine. Hopefully this would remain true once the transmitter was hooked up to it.

The first roadblock I hit was cutting the hole. Seemingly simple at a glance, but tricky in practice. The hole needed to be small and accurate, which wouldn't have been a problem under normal circumstances. I was cutting the port hole with my horn, and what I was cutting was permanently attached to my wrist. My head was at an awkward angle, and I didn't trust myself not to screw up the cut or burn myself.

After a bit of creative thinking I heated up a piece of scrap metal with my horn and levitated it make the cut. It was slower, since I wasn't used to working that way and I constantly needed to reheat the metal, but after half an hour the hole was finished.

Next I welded the transmitter bits into the PipBuck, using the same technique. This required a lot more finesse, since I could easily muck up the equipment I'd spent the last two weeks building. I came close to burning the circuits a few times, but always caught myself before it could happen. The hard part was done.

I delved into the programming I'd copied from the chip to PipBuck, making the code effect the newly installed modifications. I took care of a lot of this beforehoof, so I whizzed through it. The moment of truth was upon us... well, me.

I plugged in my earblooms and the microphone. Tuned the transmitter and transceiver to the same empty channel. Flicked on the microphone.

"Testing, testing."

And less than a second later, in my ears, "Testing, testing."

"YES! OW!"

"YES! OW!"

I pulled out my earblooms. "Guys, listen to this!" I said, moving my head from the microphone.

They trotted over intrigued by my sudden enthusiasm.

"Just talk into it," I said, indicating the microphone.

Swiss tried it first. "Hello?"

"Hello?"

"That's awesome! Let me try!" Wick butted in front of Swiss. "I'm on the radioooooo...!"

"I'm on the radioooooo!"

"You sure we should be doing this?" asked Swiss, nervous. "I mean, we're basically broadcasting that we're here to anyone with a radio."

"Shit, I didn't think about that. Wick stop."

"Why?" she asked, looking up from the mike.

"Swiss has a good point. We should only use this to talk to people or call for help. Just blasting our voices over the airwaves is inviting trouble." I unplugged the microphone.

"Aww. Fine, I guess..."

"Sorry. I wanna play with it too, but it's too much of a risk."

"Yeah. Yeah, I get it." She sighed, then suddenly grinned. "Wanna play blackjack?"

I groaned, not really meaning it. "Sure."

Sector: Middle Grasslands
100 Years, 9 Months, 26 Days PSR

"Here's a classic, one Sweetie Belle's, performed by her great great etcetera granddaughter, Velvet Remedy."

A sweet somber voice took the place of its gravelly counterpart.

"On the edge of Everfree, a songbird sings.

Throughout the forest, its echo rings.

A song of peace, a song of war,

A song that shakes me to my core.

"A soldier reluctantly deals his lead;

A mother puts her foal to bed.

The soldier mows the coming horde;

The mother prays for peace restored.

The soldier cries in dread and fear;

The mother holds her child dear.

"On the edge of Everfree, a songbird sings.

Throughout the forest, its echo rings.

A song of peace, a song of war,

A song that shakes me to my core.

"A distant sound, approaching death;

Lovers kiss and hold their breath.

Growing din, flying debris;

The stallion asks on bended knee.

The world is bathed in red balefire;

They kiss again with new desire.

"On the edge of Everfree, a songbird sings.

Throughout the forest, its echo rings.

A song of peace, a song of war,

A song that shakes me to my core."

The song finished, and the voice of the announcer spoke again.

"That was Velvet Remedy's rendition of 'A Song of Peace and War', on Radioactive Radio with everyone's favorite host, Golden Mike. It may sound corny, but that one always hits close to home for me. And now, the news!

"You're definitely gonna wanna hear this, especially if you're a regular listener. We, uh, got a little problem here at Radioactive."

I stopped walking, curiosity peaked. I'd never heard a message like this on one of the broadcasts. It sounded like the beginning of a distress call, and I wanted all of my focus on it.

"Nothing life threatening, thank Celestia, but it's certainly a dilemma. I won't go into the specifics of the problem on air, but just know that it reduces our broadcasting radius by about 95%. If their happens to be an able mechanic in the area, their help would be most appreciated and well rewarded.

"Let me make this clear. If you're listening, this broadcast cannot reach outside of the grasslands. If you have any sort of repair skill, there will be generous compensation if you help us. We'll be opening our frequency tonight around eight o'clock, so that any interested parties can contact us then. Until eight, enjoy the radio as planned."

I plucked out my earblooms and raced to catch up with Swiss.

"Hey Swiss, you gotta hear about this!"

We were sitting around our campfire. Night was falling, the bright colors of sunset fading to inevitable black. We talked over our meal, radhog caught by Wick and stewed by Swiss.

"You think this Mike guy is trustworthy?" asked Wick.

"I've been listening to him since before Shackle," I answered. "He's never rubbed me the wrong way, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything."

"That's all I need to hear, Revamp. You stuck with me through the hard shit, risked your life to get me out it. If you trust him, go for it."

Swiss was less convinced. "I don't know. I like to meet people in person before judging them. I've heard his broadcasts, and he seems fine, but... I don't know, I can't get a read on him over the radio, I need to meet him in person. Until then, I guess I'll give him the benefit of the doubt."

"There is a reward," said Wick. "We're gonna need caps in the NCR."

"Hey, nothing wrong with being cautious," I reminded.

"So what are we waiting for? Is the thingy open yet?"

"The frequency? Let me see... it's 8:15, so yeah, it's been open for fifteen minutes."

"Well talk to him then!"

I pulled the microphone from my pack and plugged it in. I dialed my PipBuck's transmitter and transceiver to the Radioactive Station.

"Waiting... waiting..." The sound of tapping was in the background, like a pencil on a desk.

I flipped on the mike and cleared my throat. "Uh, Mister Golden Mike?" I heard voice repeated on the air.

"Ah-ha, we've got a live one, folks! Young, by the sound of him. What's your name son?"

I glanced over to my companions. Swiss was vigorously shaking his head.

"Uh, I'm not really comfortable with saying my name on the air."

"Well good to know you've got a brain in your head. Don't worry, you can tell me that stuff later. I got a little something something that'll let me block this transmission to parties that aren't broadcasting. That work for you?"

"I think so."

"Good to hear. Now, what makes you think you're qualified to fix my stuff. It's expensive, you know. I don't want just anyone working on it."

"Well, I built this transmitter I'm using. I took apart an old unit, got rid of the fluff, and installed it in a PipBuck."

"Classy, I like it. You don't sell yourself short, I like that too. I think we're gonna get on just fine, you and I."

"Glad to hear it."

"Thought you would be. Now let me just turn on that blocker I mentioned..."

There was a warbly flickering sound, then Golden Mike's raspy voice returned.

"...There. Alright, we're all clear now. So give me your name, son."

"I'm still gonna hold off on the name. When I get to your station, you'll know me by my voice."

"Still playing your cards close to the chest. Guess I can't blame you there."

"So tell me what you need me to do."

"Well, let me tell you my setup. My tech-bucks call it a Domino Transmission. What essentially happens is I have some folks set up broadcasters all across the Wasteland. Each one activates the rest of the broadcasters in its range. This carries on until they're all activated.

"Now you may or may not know this, but these old-world do-hickies called SPP Towers block all but certain transmissions from going a certain distance. Those few transmissions that are approved are actually enhanced. I think that Pon3 fella has that kinda setup."

"But you don't have that kind of setup. Instead you use this Domino Transmission system to get around it, since you're technically broadcasting from several separate locations," I deducted.

"I can see I got the right pony for the job. Or griffon. Whatever you are."

"I'll give you that one. I'm a unicorn." I frowned. "So why do you need me, exactly?"

"Well, in order to keep this setup private, I use a second transmitter to broadcast a code to the others. They don't work unless the code is constantly being streamed."

"But it broke," I guessed.

"You got it."

"That still doesn't explain why you or your 'tech-bucks' can't fix it yourself."

"A couple of reasons. Biggest is that the guy who set it up is off doing something else, and I don't know when he'll be back. He left schematics, but my remaining techies just know the basics. They do a great job, but this is a bit beyond them.

"The other reason is that the closest replacement parts are... well, someplace me and my associates aren't particularly welcome."

"Why is that?"

"Not worth going into now. Anyway, it's a town by the name of Repentance. Heard of it?"

"No."

"You say you got a PipBuck. Just mentioning the town should mark it on your map. The magic they managed to stuff into those things, I swear..."

"Ask about the reward!" Wick whispered.

"What about payment?"

"Six hundred caps, and more work, if you're looking for it. I have an insider who told me there's a big thing needs repairing. Help me out, I'll tell you about it."

"Sound good?" I whispered. Wick nodded and Swiss shrugged.

"That sounds fine," I replied.

"Alrighty then. Let me just put us back on the air."

The warbly sound returned and disappeared like before.

"Hope you're still tuned in, because I got good news, listeners. This young buck has agreed to help us here at Radioactive Radio with our problem."

"My pleasure. I listen to this station a lot, and I want it back up too."

"Aww, you're making me blush. Well, now that that's taken care of, we'll get back to regular broadcast. Best of luck to you, my friend."

I flicked off my microphone and unplugged it.

"I think that went well."

"Tell me about it! Six hundred caps! We're practically set for life!" exclaimed Wick.

"Don't forget we need to do the job, first," said Swiss, still apprehensive. "He was reluctant to talk about why he didn't want to go to that town. He's not telling us something."

"You're just being paranoid, Swiss," said Wick. "He obviously wants this done right, so why would he skimp on telling us things that could be important. If he thought we needed to know, he would've told us."

"It's still worth being careful," I said. "We should stay on our guard. It would be stupid not to."

I marked the newly appeared town of Repentance on my PipBuck. It was northwest of our current location.

"Looks around a weeks trip or so from here. We'll start towards it in the morning."