Fallout Equestria: SIDEQUEST

Chapter 2: Ich Tu Dir Weh

The Lottery. The Lottery had gotten me tossed out of my Stable for the next year, if I managed to survive out here for that long. My saddlebags held supplies, but I could carry more- a lot more would make me comfortable. Actually, about now I’d be comfortable stuck in that damned vent that had nearly killed me.

Anyway, enough groveling. Enough wallowing in whatever it was ponies were supposed to wallow in. It was time for action. Time to get out of this stupid tunnel. Definitely not time to think about that cog rolling shut behind me bearing a big ‘105’ that my barding shared... I whistled a jaunty tune as I started up the tunnel, kicking aside the skeletons of ponies long since dead as I headed up towards the bright light filtering in. Wait. Bright? Light? In a cave?

Sure enough, just like in my dream, Celestia’s glory was blinding me. I was eager to see the sky and the sun for myself. I’d like to say that I didn’t run for the entrance of our little tunnel. But I did. And tripped over a pile of bones, went head over hooves, and landed sprawled out with a skull dropped firmly over my head.

I took a moment to extricate myself from the pile of remains and dust off the bonemeal before starting off again at a more sedate pace.

I don’t know what I expected of “outside”. A bigger room than I’d ever seen before, with a giant overhead light?

The lights of the Stable were supposed to imitate the sun, yeah, but they could never have prepared me for the raging fireball overhead. Or what I could see of the bright expanse of sky. After a moment or two of watching the sun and sky, I took stock of the area surrounding the entrance tunnel.

It seemed to have been carved out of a ravine with thick sludge, mired ground wagons, and downed skycarriages filling the very bottom. My Pipbuck merrily clicked to tell me that I was soaking up radiation from somewhere. I tentatively stepped onto the hull of a half-submerged wreck, noticing the badly-weathered yellow pegasus emblazoned the logo on the side. Perfect.

Just as I hopped up onto the back of the skycarriage and prepared to squeeze inside, my vision blurred and color seemed to drain from the world, leaving everything less vivid than it had been before. My Pipbuck flashed a helpful warning onto the corner of my vision; I was suffering Mint-als withdrawal. Well, luckily I had quite a few tins tucked away in my toolbox.

After chewing two tablets, I felt better, and the world swam back into full focus and saturation again. I even smiled a little to myself as I examined the metal crates I could see in the trailer as I slipped inside.

I didn’t come across much of note, but stuffed it all inside my bags anyway (you never know when you can use random junk to jury rig), until I met a little pink-and-yellow box towards the front. I grinned to myself as I pulled a screwdriver from my barding and wiggled apart the casing enough to set the edge against the latch, a sharp whack snapping the flimsy lock and allowing me to pry open the case. I really wondered at the utility of locking up medical supplies, even if they were only being shipped from one place to another.

Anyway. There was a treasure trove inside. It made my heart happy to see all those ampules of Med-Ex, phials of Buck-Up and RadSafe, a couple packages of Rad-B-Gon, a doctoring magazine, and even a healing potion. I stamped my hooves appreciatively and just dumped it all into my bags, giving my Pipbuck a moment to sort it all.

I checked after a while, and found myself to be carrying a decent amount of drugs and medical supplies. It had all been categorized, and the Pipbuck’s inventory spell could help me grab anything I needed without digging. Cool, huh? A value had also been added to everything... In “caps”.

This puzzled me, until I fiddled around a little bit looking for answers. According to my ‘miscellaneous’ tab, I had ten bottlecaps in my possession, presumably taken off Sparkle-Cola bottles and the like. According to my currency counter, I had ten “caps”. My mint-als supercharged brain made the leap. Caps must be money out here.

Currency meant an economy. An economy meant that there were ponies living out here. That we could live outside of the Stable. That civilization had prevailed.

I moved on. The skeleton of a pony was cradling an assault rifle, and tatters of a security uniform of some type hung off him. I wondered how long he’d been dead as I took the rifle in my magic and picked up all the magazines for it that I could find scattered about. My endlessly useful EFS told me they were 5.56mm, the same as Air’s Hammer took.

I was startled when my bony friend’s head fell off, and a red bar flicked onto my compass. I turned the rifle towards the grayish winged blob that was pushing its way out of the eye socket. Two ugly yellowed eyes opened and it hissed at me, before spitting a nasty barb my way! Luckily it barely missed my small body.

I’d like to say I didn’t, but what I did in response was push the trigger with my magic and try to hold onto the contents of my bowels, bladder, and the rifle as it bucked in the magic sheath it was suspended in. I wasted twelve rounds before one happened to smack it in the body and kill it, causing it to drop.

I trotted over and nudged it, my EFS telling me that it was a ‘bloatsprite’. I  wrinkled my nose a little bit as I thought. After a moment I relented and pulled off a bit of the meat, wrapping it in a scrap of Bony’s uniform and put it with my belongings. The rifle was next to useless to me, but I kept it for its value anyway.

I wriggled my way out of the trailer before looking around for more wrecks to pilla... I mean salvage. I noticed a couple that looked promising, but just as I started towards them, my eyes-forward noticed enemies and I noticed movement. I started in on all the curses I knew as I counted all the bloatsprites rising out of the muck like it was some bad horror monster movie back in the Stable.

More bloatsprites than the current magazine held bullets, and I wasn’t time to reload it.

Time to cash out and hope to Luna they didn’t follow, goodbye filly! I turned tail and ran, still going through my (impressive, if I do say so myself) list of curses as I hopped from safe spot to safe spot over sludge that could easily swallow me whole. There was a trail that lead to the top of the ravine. I just took deep breaths and concentrated on galloping as I hit it and streaked up it as fast as I could manage. I felt like I was flying, I was alive!

I stopped at the top of the ridge and looked back down. The bloatsprites were nestling themselves back down into the muck and didn’t seem to be following. Well good. That’s what I’d been hoping for.

My Pipbuck chirped and told me that I’d discovered ‘Bloatsprite Ditch’, and was now in range of two radio stations; TruFax and Z-Core Radio. I dialed in TruFax’s signal and was treated to a blast of static that made my eyes water, and then the dulcet tones of somepony who clearly knew what was what and who was who came on.

“Traffic bumper-to-bumper all the way up the E-80, kids. If your morning commute takes you out that way you better be ready to climb.

Solar Union officials say the shelling of the little town of Riverside was accidental, due to a mis-aligned targeting system and computer malfunction, and further assaults won’t occur. Yeah, and I’m an alicorn princess, baby.

Now for today’s weather; excessively violent with a chance of dismemberment. Tune in later for our five-day-forecast!

Here’s Sapphire Shores, telling you that even though it’s rainin right now baby, Celestia’s bound to smile on you sooner or later. Here’s to that, hey?”

I smiled a little bit as I listened to the song. I noticed smoke off in the distance, and figured smoke meant a fire, which meant a camp, which meant ponies and directions to a settlement or just a place to stay the night.

I found myself walking along with the beat, happily singing along to Sapphire Shores’ adamant reassurance that better days were around the corner...

I’d almost approached the encampment when a couple things happened at once. The song ended and the DJ came back on, a little fuzzy now, and proclaimed her name to be Stereo Beat in a manner I couldn’t help but like, and started an advisory about ponies she called “raiders” who seemed like the sort to avoid.

I came down from my mints and shook out another two tablets for myself. As I was chewing them, I noticed several bars on my EFS compass. Well that was a good thing as I was looking for ponies. I turned off the radio for a moment as I slunk up to a wrecked groundwagon and laid down behind it, thinking as my EFS advised that I was hidden.

I crept forward and looked around, rubbing my eyes and turning off EFS to clear my vision and let me see if there truly was anypony around for me to talk to.

And that was how I met Knives. Once I’d turned off eyes-forward, she’d noticed me and snuck up behind me. I first discovered her affinity for blades when she tickled my kidneys with the tip of one. I silently cursed myself for turning off Eyes-Forward as I turned slowly to face her.

Now, imagine yourself in my hooves for a moment. I’d never seen a truly dirty pony before. Sure, I’d been dirty, seen ponies splattered with grease and worse, but nopony I’d ever seen had been very far from a shower. In the Stable, you could shower before starting shift, and again later in the day after getting off. We were stocked with bathing supplies till Time’s End, and we didn’t have to worry about water. Knives, however, seemed to have never seen soap before in her life. Bathing didn’t seem high on those of her companions that I could see’s priorities, either.

My throat dried up and I found myself unable to speak as I stared up at this huge dirty pony. She still held several sharp-looking knives in a telekinetic sheath and pointed my way. I didn’t like the look in her eyes as she watched me.

“Well, look what we got here. A Stable pony, unless I miss my guess.”

I suspected that meant nothing good for me as she stepped closer. “Stable Utility. Ah fix things. Stuff like ahmah? Ah notice yoah friend’s dinnae ha’ stuff in good repa’ah.” ‘Celestia, she’s grimy..’ “An’ whazzat reek? … shit …”

“Well maybe I’ll let you fix our shit. If you can make me trust you. Eventually.”

I finally placed that expression. She was giving me a Doof look. My ears dropped and pinned flat, as I backed up against the ground wagon I’d used for cover. I first thought to use my stature to fool her into thinking I was young, but judging by her look that was her interest in me. “... I …”

I thought fast anyway, and the Mint-als were supercharging me to greater feats of mental acrobatics. I swallowed as I felt knife tips tickling my jugular. I hatched a plot that I hoped would save my plot. “They sent me out here to scout. Ouah Stable’s openin’ foah good, and theah’s an advance fo’uhce of ponies well-vuhsed in the aat of breakin’ skulls with batons and usin’ high-velocity pahty favahs to aerate the heads of unruly ponies.” I gave her my best ‘Touch me and not even Celestia can save your flank’ smirk, already congratulating myself on talking down this monster of a pony.

She actually didn’t even flinch. That grin of hers didn’t change. “Oh really? I was thinkin’ you couldn’t be more than a couple hours outta the stable. So where’s it? Somewhere close? I know some folks with the Order of the Golden Dawn what’ll pay up good for eyes on that.”

Shit. Shit fuck shit fuck shit. I was mentally kicking myself from one end of my mind to the other, and then proceeding to beat myself into a small corner while screaming at myself for digging myself even deeper into the shit. I’d been out of the Stable all of an hour or so, and I was already royally fucked.

“So you face yourself a choice. I like you, filly, so you’re luckier than most that cross my path. You can become my trick filly, trade the location of your Stable for a decent enough existence. Or I’ll turn you over to my crew, and you’ll maybe be dead before they take your pipbuck and spit you over a fire.”

I was interested in keeping my leg, thank you very much! I was given a choice between molestation at the hooves of this mare for Luna knows how long with her word that I’d be treated decently, and being the plaything of at least ten ponies by my count with mutilation assured and not necessarily after I died. Well at least with the first I could kill her eventually and either take off or see about taking her outfit from her. “I...”

I swallowed and pushed the knives away from my throat for some breathing room before I noticed something. Knives wasn’t a mare. At least not entirely. Some mutation had made “her” something between a mare and a stallion. I was beginning to think I was still fucked, one way or another.

“Can I at least keep my barding and saddlebags?” Dear Luna, was that a whine?

“Mh.” That was a good noise. That was a thinking noise. This big black half mare slid the two knives she’d been encouraging me with into sheaths and tied them into place. Obviously she knew a thing or two about keeping those knives from unicorns that might use them against her.

“You do look kinda cute-like in that uniform. If you’ve managed to pick up anything that my boys can use, I guess I can’t say no to you using it.”

Well... I guess that was it. I hoped Knives here was a mare of her word.

She picked me up in a telekinetic field and fairly dragged me off into the trailer of the wreck, which apparently was where Knives and her ponies slept. She had a section at the end that was curtained off from the rest. I guess being the so-called “Head Mo-Fo-In-Charge” warranted a little privacy.

Needless to say my barding didn’t stay on very long. She found and took my Mint-als I’d had in a pocket, found nothing but tools and tossed it aside. She went through my saddlebags, took the rifle I’d found, all my bullets, the baton Security had given me... I just watched as she went through all my belongings, pressed into a corner of the trailer and trying to make myself as small as possible.

I barely objected to her touching Air’s Hammer. I don’t even think she heard my tiny voice telling her that it was an heirloom. Either way, she tucked it and all my mints into a lockbox and put everything else back into my bags.

I came down off my Mint-Al high just about the same time she turned towards me, setting aside my saddlebags and beginning to take off her own armor. My breath caught as she nipped the nape of my neck and carried me to the (thankfully comparably clean) mattress.

“Come, my little pony, let’s get some sleep.”

And with that, she just laid down, tucking me up against her chest with her forelegs firmly pressed against me. It seemed my plot was safe for now, but I was still stuck here. She seemed to quickly fall asleep, but I doubted she actually did, and I didn’t feel like even trying to sleep with the threat of what may happen. I turned the radio on, quiet enough that it wouldn’t disturb Knives.

Without realizing it, with every story, every announcement Stereo read between songs, I was receiving a crash course in the state of the Wasteland, what life was like out here. I finally dropped off, soothed by the friendly voice of Stereo Beat telling me what was what...

A month found me smarter.

About the factions, what to look for in weapons. I still didn’t have armor, still no friends. Well... not entirely true. Cutthroat, as I learned her name was, turned out okay. I knew it might be Stockhoof talking, but I enjoyed her company, and she somehow made me want it. She also knew things that she wasn’t afraid of teaching me. Lessons in pleasure. Lessons in pain, lots of those.

Cutthroat was a clear-cut sadistic psychopath and wasn’t shy in inflicting pain on me. By this point I’d had both forelegs broken by her, luckily enough they’d healed alright with a potion. My hide was laced with scars that silvered my fur, including a nasty knotted one that traced from my chin up to my mane, a mirror to the tattoo curved around my other eye.

I’d known about Mint-als, and she’d used my addiction as a bargaining chip. It had gotten worse, so I relented and did whatever she asked to get a couple tablets here and there. After we knocked off a chem trader we’d been flush enough that she introduced me to all sorts of things.

Buck, which I’d known from the Stable, made me feel big as Cutthroat. Sonic, which was a Class-III controlled in the Stable, was like Mint-als for the body- sped you up until the world slowed down, made you feel alive. Alcohol made you feel stronger and made you likable if a little slower in the head. Dash, which was apparently made with Sonic and was a lot stronger, made you fly higher and faster for longer but the crash absolutely felt like shit. I got addicted to a bunch of them, with me and Cutthroat using habitually together.

It would once have ashamed me to admit, but only the first couple times were rape. After a while, I started to enjoy the abuse. Right about then, I stopped feeling pain.

My medicine magazine (and “anatomy lessons” with Cutthroat) came in handy after about a week, one of her raiders had a gun explode in his face and tear him up. Luckily for him I knew enough by then to put him back together. Cutthroat considered me a full part of her crew after that, not just her trick filly. She even gave me back Air’s Hammer and told me to medic it up if need be. My weird ability to see perfect in the dark as if it were daytime helped when I had night watch, or needed to fix a pony in less-than-optimal light.

My repair skill became useful when I designed a couple different armors for the crew that were better than what they had been wearing and made them look more like a raider crew. Their guns and stuff got fixing, and soon we were a respectable outfit. Scavenged parts went to repairing the ground carriage. Luckily it needed only a bank of spark batteries to power it, its engine was still good; we’d transformed it into a sort of rolling fort. Stereo Beat began talking about our first hits as a better equipped and more organized crew by reporting total silences from caravans, then survivors’ tales from those we let live and settlements we bullied.

She said that an Outlaw from a Stable, the same stable that kicks out a pony every ten years to stir things up, was to blame for “Cutthroat’s band of raiders and misfits” being all of the sudden more aggressive and better kitted out. I was glad stories were already circulating about me, that I was a force to be reckoned with out here.

“Whosis then?” I stabbed my cigarette in the direction of a pony wrapped in a sheet two of the boys were dragging into the cart I used as a workshop. The sheet was spotted with blood that made me think how not all the stains on my utility barding were oil anymore, that I was becoming more and more of a medical pony these days. A pack of cigarettes now rode in the chest pocket once occupied by the tin of Mint-als currently in Cutthroat’s lockbox.

The nicotine helped with the mint withdrawal a little, between when I ran out and I could beg ‘throat for more. Fixer helped with the Dash-shakes kept me steady and alert, kept me from needing until I could get more of the chems that had me between them ripping me apart and the withdrawals making me want to die...

“Mare a couple of the boys shot up. Boss wants her patched, given the speech... She says aye, it’s welcome to the team. No, collar, and we’ll find out what she’s worth.”

I took a thoughtful drag of my smoke, magically pushing stuff off my “operating table”. I’d read a medical journal or two the boys had found me, done enough lessons in how a pony worked, that I was tempted to introduce myself to her as “doctor”. The other two raiders put the pony down on the table and left me alone to work.

“Let’s see if those dirts even brought me a live one. Gettin’ tired of pulling bullets from corpses.”

I pulled the sheet back and looked the mare over. Pegasus, which surprised me a little bit. White, but it was bleached; I could see where the roots were growing back in a bubblegum-pink. Her mane and tail were a deep blue. I chewed a Fixer and turned on TruFax before listening for a heartbeat.

“Now remember, kiddies, to watch for color when you see tin cans. White and gold mean get the hell out of there or prepare for a shakedown, baby. Orange and read, or black and purple can be trusted. Those are Applejack’s Rangers or members of the Lunar Reich, and they’re out to make your life better, baby. So if you see one of their Knights or Paladins out there shooting raiders and patrolling to keep you safe, Stereo Beat thinks you should give ‘em a thanks. Or even better; some ammo.”

“Up next we got Daft Pony with ‘Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger.”

I bobbed my head along with the beat, tapping a hoof on the table as I examined the pegasus, keeping my recorder function open at the same time to take notes. I was startled when I found her left foreleg to be made of metal but took it in stride.

“Patient is unconcious, seems to have taken incapacitating but non-fatal hits to the stomach and ribs. Lack of bruising, odd way the bullet holes are formed indicates some sort of armor, probably powered. A bullet creased her skull, probably what knocked her the fuck out. I count... Five entry wounds, three exits, which means I’m digging lead and copper out of her.”

I took a scalpel and pair of tweezers from a pouch recently sewn into my barding and ran them through the flame of my torch a couple times before starting to work on pulling the two bullets from her and sewing her up. It took about twenty minutes before I had her injuries wrapped in healing bandages, a blood pack handing and replenishing some of what she’d lost.

I got to work putting together a collar for if she was (admittedly understandably) a little pissed off at us for shooting her multiple times. Just a shotgun slug rigged to fire into the skull of the pony wearing it if a trigger was tripped. Nothing so fancy as the ones one of the slaver groups we did business with had given us to put on a pony for a percentage of their sale price. Those had been sophisticated explosives shaped to pop a pony’s skull from the blast pressure but have minimal effect on ponies nearby. Beautiful. I noticed a small twitch and a deeper inhalation as she woke up.

“Good mo’nin’ sleepy head. I don’t suppose I could trouble yah foh yo’ah name and a bit of medical history foh my recahds?”

“PFC Magenta Sky. Enclave.” She rattled off a series of numbers in a tone that she was still a little out of it. She had a beautiful voice, and an odd accent I couldn’t place. “Left foreleg is mechanical from the shouldur. Connectif leads up a leetle higher.” She continued on with actually giving me an extensive medical history. Apparently where Stable ponies only got implantable contraceptives when they were old enough, the Enclave vaccinated against pretty much everything. I almost salivated at the thought of the tech she’d have.

“Well, ‘PFC Magenta Sky’. My name is Spannah Wrench, an’ I’m yo’ah doctah. How’ah yah feelin?”

“I am feelink like I vas shot several times, Doktor. But I am alive, so I guess I should be of the thankink you for puttink me back togeter.”

“You’ah welcome. My boss wanted you alive, so I did what I could to make shuh you stayed that way.” As I was speaking to her, I turned and looked up from the collar which was pretty much done at this point.

“Vell, vhatever your reason, you saved me. You do your profession and your kint vell.”

I smiled a little bit to myself as I returned to my work with the collar. “My boss is probably gonna take the news of youah recovery well. If you can’t tell by now, we’ah a raidin’ outfit. You will be given a choice when we get you on all youah hooves again. You can join up with us, we could probably use whatever knowhow you got and another pony. Plus a fresh face could get us back in with the caravans we’ve been ripping off so we can do some business with them instead of just shooting them all the time. Oah I put this on ya to make shuh we stay on the same page. We yake you anyway, I probably get a new toy till you decide you want to join oah we find out what you’ah wuhth to the Enclave.”

She fell silent, staring at my forelock. She probably noticed the 105 on the back of my barding at some point. “Ve haff a sayink in the Vasteland. ‘105 fucks us all’. Every ten years somepony comes out to shake shit up and make everypony’s lives worse in the end.”

I pursed my lips and stared at her for a moment. “So yah remembah the last pony that came outta tha Stable?”

“No, it was ten years ago. I vas very young zhen, only about six or so. Shame somepony of your age came out here.”

I levitated a scalpel very carefully and watched it for a moment. “I’m sixteen. Old enough ta wuhk in the Stable. Old enough ta be’n’engineeah out heah. I ain’t a foal.” Unless that’s what Cutthroat wanted.

She looked thoughtful for a moment, but didn’t make the comment I was waiting for. “I vas sent to help Ekvestria. I don’t think our meetink is coincidence. Perhaps you vill end up doink some good in the end. Yes, I vill fly viz you.”

I nodded a little bit and tucked the collar aside before approaching her and looking the mare over to see how the healing bandages were working, having her drink a potion for the rest and laughing inwardly at the faces she made. “Well if that’s yoah decision, let’s go talk tah Cutthroat and get you back intae ahmah.”

I watched as she slipped off the table and stumbled a little bit as she tried to take a step. She managed to correct, but I could see something was up with her metal leg in the action or something. “Actually, c’mere an’ lemme at that. Can’t have ya trippin’ ovah yoahself in the middle of a battle. Get on up theah ovah in tha coahnah.”

She slipped up onto my bed and watches as I tugged out the leads from her shoulder and took pliers and a wrench to pull off the mechanical leg.

I laid it out on the table and opened it, inspecting the leg’s insides with a small grin. I was transported back to my mum teaching me how to repair small things... I had something before me. It was broken. I had to figure out why, and fix it, the tools to do so. And somepony depending on me to do the job.

I narrowed my eyes and grabbed an oilcan as I tore apart the guts of the mechanical limb and spread the gears and electrical systems across the table. Magenta ceased to exist. The Wasteland dropped away. It was just me, staring down this obstinate pile of scrap. I could almost hear my mother lecturing me in one ear.

I just stared, seeing how it would all fit together and how it would work. A sheet of blue paper in my head filled up with technical drawings in white a I took mental notes and leaned from the Enclave model and planned out an improvement. I looked up at her and smiled a little bit before turning my attention back to the repair at hoof.

“So this is Enclave tech, huh?”

“Ja. and zis isn’t even an advanced model. The Enclave has laboratories vhere bright minds do good vurks, factories vhere criminals vurk at chopping down scrap metal and turn out goods to protect ze Vasteland.”

I smiled to myself as I inspected the pieces for metal fatigue while wiping them clean of the old grease with a rag. We talked pretty much all through me regreasing every part and putting them back together in perfect alignment. I talked about my life in the Stable and what I knew of my ancestry back to Sapper Spade. She lead the conversation with what it had been like growing up as a member of the Enclave, and being a direct-line descendant of Scootaloo.

Founded as a joint effort between Pinkamina Dianne Pie and Rainbow Dash, the Enclave had been another faction in the war that had sought to end it at any cost. Dash had been unable to remain loyal to all of her friends, but she’d worked relentlessly to save Equestria. Pinkie just wanted the laughter back in her life, the music back in the land she’d loved. Scootaloo had followed Dash into the Enclave and became a decorated officer, and was pregnant when the bombs fell.

Stalliongrad had been a city of industry during the war, and became an Enclave... well, enclave. It was now where art and manufacturing were approaching pre-war levels.

After about an hour I sealed the leg and re-attached everything up to Magenta’s shoulder. She worked the leg and smiled to herself as she hopped off my bunk and took a couple steps before looking to me. “Zank you, Spanner Wrench. You do your kind vell. I vill make up zis repair to you.”

I smiled, as I lead her to meet Cutthroat and explain that Magenta was willing to lend us her skills. I was for once not unnerved by the wide grin that showed off her metal teeth, some of which were sharp and pointed. She seemed actually happy as she said that the pegasus would belong to me.

It didn’t take us long to locate her armor and weapons, which were as beautiful as her leg but unfortunately a little the worse for where what with the bullets and the holes punched in the armor. Her guns were weird, ran off spark batteries. Seven barrels. Six in a ring on either side, with another one in the middle. Pulse beam? Maybe.

I saw her look as she trotted towards a pile of armor pieces in Enclave Black and pulled out a couple bits of metal on chains. She slung them onto her own neck and continued on to the corpses of three pegasus ponies. I had the decency to look away as she mourned the loss of her companions. She was quiet... I’d seen that look before on other ponies.

Heard mothers wail over their dead sons and husbands while we dragged their daughters and them off to the slavers. And I’d watched and felt nothing. In the Stable I’d watched ponies get caught in machinery, push Security too far... And felt nothing but relief that it hadn’t been me. Even my own near-death experience had barely affected me.

But for some weason, I couldn’t watch magenta. I watched the sun, let Celestia’s fireball was its warmth over me. Did I mention I love the sun? I heard motion and looked to Magenta as she sat down next to me. “I vill fly viz you. But I must tell my muzzer of zheir deaths, and bring in their tags for our records.”

I nodded and wondered what it would be like to have siblings. I think I already knew what friendship felt like. QUEST ADDED: HOMECOMING QUEEN flashed across my vision, with ‘Take Magenta Home’ as an objective.

It took a week to convince Cutthroat to let me do my own thing for a while, away from the raider gang. In that week, I taught Magenta many things I’d learned... In the end, she told one of her males to keep an eye on her operation and hooked herself up to my cart, came with me and Magenta.

That night, Cutthroat told us a story as we lay close to the fire with the cart behind us a bit for some cover from anypony approaching. It was a story I’d heard before but never tired of listening to. Her red eyes (totally red. No pupil, no sclera even.) had seen a lot in the long years she’d been alive. The bombs that had blown Equestria to an irradiated wasteland had been the fireworks on her twenty first birthday. The story she told was of Equestria’s twilight.

-------------------------------------------oOo------------------------------------------------

Today was my twenty-first birthday.

Or at least that’s what I thought. I could remember twenty one years of being Cutthroat, so that’s what I was basing that on. Only thing else I remember is Luna, Nightmare, serve and protect until my hearts stopped beating.

Something had been done to me twenty one years ago today. I was huge- I could look Luna in the eyes while sitting down when she would do troop inspections- but I think I was that big before whatever it was they did. The more-than-mare something extra as well.

Lotta metal in me. Plates, pneumatics, I could tell they’d taken whomever I’d been before and made me a better warrior. I had presence. I had wings, made of metal. Huge, showy, could cut a pony in half with ‘em.

We were stationed in this little town out in the sticks called Ponyville. Before Celestia decided she wanted another go, they’d all lived there.

“Who?”

Those Stable-Tek mares. Apparently they’d all been good friends at one point before the war. Couple important ponies still lived there. Sweetie Belle kept her sister’s business there, apparently rented out the shop to some up-and-coming or something but kept it as a place for herself to stay when not touring or talking to ponies.

Anyway, it was my birthday, and my squad dragged me off into the town with the goal of floating me in booze and baking me in any chems we could lay hooves on, have us a good time. They gave me a tin of this stuff they call Pinkie. It’s like Mint-Als on Buck-Up with a bit of Sonic for good measure. Makes a pony more mellow, friendly, a damn sight smarter, makes you notice everything. That was just the beginning. Most of the others left after we hit the first bar, but a couple I actually liked stayed with me for the rest of the afternoon.

We’d stopped for a treat from this little bakery where that Enclave mare - Not Dash, t’other one- had gotten her start before the war, run by a brother and sister now. He didn’t seem to like us, but she chatted us up, said I reminded her of “Auntie Pinkie”.

Must have been the chem, that had me acting like this pink little mare of an Earth pony. Cute kid all things considered, the unicorn had been, but I was focusing on her stories. She even brought me a cake, ‘Happy MSGT. Cutthroat’ writ real pretty-like in icing acros’t the top.

I was feeling the chems they’d stuffed me with -because of it being my birthday and all all- all playing nice and having me actually be pretty damn cheerful for once by time we left that little bakery. I excused myself and went off to explore this town while I still had the chance - orders were we were to pull back in a couple days or so and I was sick of all the farmland anyhow.

Round sundown I hit up another bar for another drink or four. I hear singing, some Sapphire Shores goodie, and I look to see who was treating such a song so sweetly as that. One thing lead to another, and she invited me to stay with her the night.

We never did make it back to the boutique that night, we got held up by some drunk that took offense to her being out in public with a mare- Lunar Reich no less. He launched into a spiel about me being of the “oppressive blackguards” of the so-called “usurper to the throne of the Solar Empress” before testing to see how many .44 slugs it would take to piss me off. Should have seen the look on his face when the hammer snapped on an empty cartridge just about the same time I crushed his skull with my forehooves.

Taking six shots, killing the dick, and comforting the mare with me meant I missed the first flash. Sound of it caught my attention, though. Me and her both looked up, at the sun over Canterlot. I knew more were coming.

Sure enough, the white bitch fired back. The mountain spat missiles and Dashed-out pegasi, both sides hitting each other with the big guns. The war’d gone thaumonuclear in that instant.

I saw one of the machines that had been built using Earth pony ingenuity, unicorn magic, and pegasus know-how to let a pony fly- only saw it for a second. I saw it like I had just taken Stopwatch, the potential sun dropping off the underside in slow-motion. Ponyville wasn’t hit, they’d dropped their payload into the surrounding countryside where we- the Reich forces in that area- were camped.

A second sun burst over the orchard out a couple miles. A third fourth fifth. I knew we must be hitting her cities, killing her forces just as easily, but that’s hard to think of when you were suddenly half-blind from the sudden day.

I pushed her flat and fairly threw myself on top of her as the concussion wave tossed ponies to the ground, broke windows. Behind it was a wind, hot and dry, that browned and burned trees and tore up some of the buildings around us.

And then there was silence. I helped her to her hooves, and we sat in silence, mourning Equestria. Those ponies that had given everything, those ponies and whole cities killed by the balefire.

For us.

-------------------------------------------oOo------------------------------------------------

Magenta had questions she hadn’t interrupted the story with. “Vhat became of her? And ze brozzer and sister who ran the bakery?”

Cutthroat shook her head and watched the fire for a moment before answering. “Back then, I was still Master Sergeant Cutthroat. I wasn’t yet Cutthroat the raider queen. I still believed in the Reich, the ponies I traveled with... He eventually died of the radiation poisoning, the other two weren’t as lucky. They’re ghouls. The baker mare I lost with the Cloverfield Society, the singer manages Trufax and appears on Z-Core every now and again. Spouting garbage, though.”

I winced. From what I heard, ghouls had life worse than regular ponies. It made me happy to know that two who by all evidence deserved it had a pleasant or manageable existence. It was also clear Cutthroat was hurt bad by the instant loss of everypony she’d ever known, and watching the country she’d sworn to protect die while she lived.

I trotted over to and leaned against the big black mare. She told this story frequently and was upset every time, it seemed not all wounds were healed by passage of time alone. I wondered if she’d ever find solace from the ghosts (and ghouls) haunting her.

Soon enough the fire was banked, and me and Magenta slipped into my cart to share my bed like we’d for the last week. Her forelegs held me as we fell asleep with Cutthroat watching over and protecting us.

Tomorrow was a new day. We’d reach the heart of the Order-controlled territory, I’d probably fuck everypony I’d ever known in the Stable when I turned over the location. Fun.

Hey, I didn’t make it this far by just shakin’ hooves.

Footnote: Level Up.

Quest perks added: Fox; your experiences have taken something from you; you no longer feel any physical pain.

Medicine +25

Perk added: Awareness; you instinctively notice things in your environment and when confronted by a creature. Slaver’s Mark; you took the tat and can deal with slaver groups freely. The law-abiding may object to the ink on your face, though!

Companion perks added: Artistic License; you are more creative than the average pony (inventing/planning is easier and requires less skill). Bulldozer Backup; a simple nod to the ponies following you may be all you need to do to convince whomever you’re talking to to see things your way.