Fallout Equestria: Airborne

Chapters

Prologue: Air Superiority
Chapter 1: After the Bombs
Chapter 2: Not So Much Where, but When, and How
Chapter 3: When Bullets Fly
Chapter 4: PipBucks and Hoofprints
Chapter 5: The Air We Breathe and the Stories We Tell

Prologue: Air Superiority

Prologue: Air Superiority

For bladder-loosening dread, the explosive whoosh of decompression following a lucky artillery blast ranks right up there with the wail of the barracks' air raid siren, the silence before post-battle roll call, and the bark of a backed-up toilet. A second ago, I figured myself unlucky having experienced only the latter three. Glass continued rolling beneath my hooves and I found myself having a hard time keeping my teeth on the control yoke. The cold air was fogging up my helmet display, damnit. Some days I feel cursed.

But hey, even cursed ponies have to make do in wartime. I survived boot camp, flight training, and Vertibuck school. I sure as hell wasn't going to let a stupid zebra shell through the cockpit window ground me now, despite what all the red blinky warning lights and spinning altitude gauges were trying to say.

Wow, those are spinning really fast.

I woke up under bright white lights. Let me feel real quick... yep, these are hospital sheets. Time to count: one, two, three... four! All limbs present and accounted for, rudimentary counting skills as strong as ever. Wiggle this one, wiggle that one, we have movement. And with a painful heave, we are now in the upright and locked position. This is your captain speaking, you may return to whatever lovely painkillers we have coursing through our veins at this time.

I moseyed on over to the foot of the gurney and read the charts. Looked like a few cracked ribs, sprained right hind leg, almost broke my neck this time. Shame it didn't kill me. I should head over to the CO's office, but I was sure I lost the Vertibuck and I didn't quite feel up to the task of getting chewed out for it. Again.

"COLLATERAL!!"

Fuck. That's me.

As the yellow mare stormed up to my bed, I zoned out, wondering for the millionth time what the hell was going through my parents' heads when they decided to name me Collateral Damage. I get it, the war was just starting out and that's all anybody could think about. They wanted a son who'd grow up to be a hero. Turns out they had a daughter: me. And of all the war names they could think of, they came up with Collateral Damage. If fate or destiny or any of that bullshit is real, that's like naming your child Unnamed Soldier #5. I should've been dead before the first act with my name misspelled in the credits.

Of course, they had the good graces to die while I was too young to question them, leaving me with almost nothing. Fuck, I couldn’t even get dad’s wings or mom’s horn. Apparently a Pegasus and a Unicorn can bear an utterly useless Earth pony and then saddle her with a worthless name. Despite my best efforts, though, I’m still walking, talking, and crashing Vertibucks. Cursed to live through damn near everything.

A two-hooved shove to my chest knocked me out of my reverie. As I fell on my rump (it turns out my sprained leg can’t take much weight), Spitfire towered over me, eyes burning. I could see a little spittle on the side of her lips and an eyebrow twitching.

“What the HELL were you thinking up there?!” she screamed. “Twice now. Twice we’ve had to drag your fucking carcass from a Vertibuck wreckage. You know we have very few Verts to go around and you were flying an eyes-only mission. Why the fuck were you engaging hostiles?!”

I could feel the other patients’ eyes on my back as my hackles rose. "I didn't-" I started.

"There's a reason no one will fly with you, Colly," she continued, gritting her teeth. "You're too much of a fucking danger to yourself and your partner. Silver Streak is still recovering from the last time you went down, and she put in a transfer request to Miramare to get away from you. If you weren't one of the best pilots we have left, and if we hadn't recovered most of the Vert you just trashed, your ass would be court-martialled and locked up so fast you'd be lucky to fly even a fucking paper airplane again."

I stumbled back to my feet as she turned on her heel and marched off, muttering, "I don't care who her parents were, if the ground doesn't kill her soon enough, I will." I felt my face growing hot as I limped back to my bed, daring anyone to match my gaze. Ponies left and right turned back to their magazines, TV shows, and hospital dinners.

Looks like my Pipbuck and helmet survived the crash, thank Celestia for small miracles. I knew Spitfire would personally see to turning my ass into glue if I ruined one of our only working prototypes. I've heard rumors I was outfitted with the Pipbuck and HUD helmet because I was the only Earth pony pilot and I needed every advantage available to keep up with all the Pegasi, but it's bullshit. Spitfire knows it's bullshit. I'm as good as any of those bird-brained fucks and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

With a satisfying snap, the Pipbuck clasped shut onto my left foreleg. I packed my helmet, the tattered remains of my flight suit, and my dog tags into my saddlebags and swung them over my back, grunting from the pain. I needed a new suit, a hot shower, and a stiff drink, and not in that order.

As I hobbled along to the base bar, I passed a team of repair ponies who all gave me dirty looks. If I read their faces correctly, they were a bit heated about the lump of metal they were tasked with fixing, the one that last night looked and acted like a Vertibuck. Can't say I blame them, but that's what they're paid for. I break it, they fix it.

I don't have too many friends here in the base, and that's the way I like it.

The bar door stuck more than usual, causing a brief spasm of pain through my ribs as I wedged it open. Dark, smoky air greeted me like an old lover, mixed with a hint of stale sweat and sharp alcohol. The heavy wooden bar had seen its fair share of service - dark scars stood out against the wood grain, silent guardians of stories long past. The stools stood empty, so I stole a spot by the corner. The bartender returned my nod, sliding over a tumbler of Wild Pegasus. It wasn't anywhere near my favorite, but it'll get the job done.

"Keep 'em coming, Rivers," I rasped as the whiskey hit my throat. "It's been a long one."

Whisky Rivers started cleaning dirty glasses and grunted. As the burning reached my stomach, I gingerly stretched out my sprained hoof. It wasn't too bad. Nothing a night of drinking couldn't cure. I threw back my second drink and watched the sun set through the grimy, dust covered windows. Spitfire was pissed, but she'd be fine in the morning. Despite the alcohol, I worried over the Vertibuck and whether they'd still give me another chance to fly. I hated being grounded. Absolutely fucking hated it. I tapped the bar for my third and threw down some bits to cover my tab.

With alcohol in hoof, I made my way to a booth by the jukebox. An old Sweetie Belle standby warbled through the decrepit speakers, and I tried to hum along as I slid my rump onto the vinyl-covered seat. Looked like I had the bar to myself so far, early as it was.

My hoofs started shaking as my voice ran dry; the whiskey wasn't calming me like I'd hoped. I felt the old anger creeping back up as a lump rose in my throat. Anger at needing a Vertibuck to get off the ground. Anger at the snide remarks shot behind my back by passing Pegasus pilots. Anger at knowing that despite my Celestia-given talents, I was a second-class pony here at Adams Apple Air Force Base: a flying pony with no wings. As Sweetie Belle sang, I lost myself to the fire and prayed that next time I wouldn't walk away from the wreckage.

The pounding in my head shouldn’t have been enough to wake me up, and it wasn’t. The base sirens were screaming. I could feel more than hear the klaxon wail of the base siren over my headache and it sent shivers through my stomach. The Pegasi had already left, leaving me alone in the barracks. Most of the beds lay unmade, and that shocked me more than the siren, considering the constant drilling we received on cleanliness protocols. I had to focus to hear the loudspeaker announcement over the sirens:

"ALL PILOTS REPORT TO THEIR STATIONS IMMEDIATELY. REPEAT. ALL PILOTS REPORT TO THEIR STATIONS. THIS IS NOT A DRILL."

Oh boy. I packed my saddlebags quickly and clasped my helmet to the bag strap as the announcement repeated. It took me a second before I remembered my flight suit was still ruined from my last adventure, so I steeled myself for the chewing out I'd get for arriving sans uniform and headed out the barracks door.

The halls were a flurry of activity. Ponies galloping left and right, and no one seemed to notice my hobbled trot as I made my way to the hangars. What threw me, however, was the focused, anxious look on a lot of faces I passed. Should I be worried? A small sliver of fear again started gnawing at my gut, but I swallowed it down and carried on. If today a big battle erupted, then maybe I’d be flying again. I could live with that.

I arrived at the hangars and immediately noticed that every pilot was in some state of undress, throwing on part after metal part of some new armor I'd never seen before. The Pegasi close to fully dressed looked like flying scorpions. I caught a glimpse of a rainbow-maned mare talking to several pilots before I was pulled aside by Spitfire.

"These new power armor models just came today, and thank Celestia they arrived when they did," she said. "Rainbow Dash informed me there is an imminent threat of major Zebra movement on Canterlot and we need to be on red alert. We're going to have all pilots in the air to continually monitor the skies until we're given the all-clear."

She threw me a lighter metal and cloth suit, one that looked very different from the other pilots. "Those new armors are Pegasi only. We need you up in the air today too, though, so Rainbow Dash brought a... different suit along for you."

She looked askance at the other pilots and lowered her voice as she went on. "This suit's created from stolen Zebra technology. It's fortified with enough healing potions to last you longer than you'll ever need, and comes equipped with a mild restorative talisman. Dash said she doesn't know just how much it'll help you in battle, but it should at least start mending your sprains and broken bones." She met my eyes again. "I can't begin to tell you how valuable this suit is, but Dash gave me the okay to give it to you."

I ran my hooves over the suit, and immediately they started to fade from vision. I gave a quizzical look to Spitfire. "If this suit is so valuable, why am I using it? I didn't ask for this. I'll be just fine in a regular jumpsuit, damnit.”

"You're the only earth pony pilot we have," she said. "There aren't any wing holes in this type of suit and Dash says we need immediate testing before she can okay the full line being built. We’re running out of time. The stealth capabilities aren't fully calibrated yet and we need live data results. You don't have a choice here."

As she went on about the suit, I watched my hooves fade to near invisibility and then flicker back into vision. Yeah, I thought, not even close to fully calibrated.

She leaned in close. "Look, I know I've been giving you a hard time, but we need you up there with us today. You are one of our best pilots and when you're on, you're as dangerous as any other pilot up there. I want all my flyers fully protected in the air, but there aren't enough power armors available for earth ponies, and the only available ones are too heavy for Vertibuck use. This suit is fully compatible with the Vertibuck's computers and will also mesh with your Pipbuck interface."

"I need you to stay safe today," she said. "Not just for the suit, but for our team and for yourself. I've never seen Dash this worried before. We're the best pilots Equestria has, and we can't afford to lose any of us." She grasped my shoulder. "Get dressed. We're in the air in twenty."

Well, shit. This was real.

I hurriedly shucked out of my saddlebags and stepped into the stealth suit. As I pulled the top over my head, I felt a sharp stab in my thigh and stifled a cry. It was followed closely by a similar sting in my foreleg. Medicine started coursing through my veins: I felt the throbbing in my head ebb, I didn’t have to favor my bad leg anymore and my breathing eased. Maybe this suit wouldn’t be a terrible idea after all.

With my helmet secured, I saw a few new icons in my HUD. First, I had a stealth meter that would flicker every few seconds like a record skipping. I'll figure out how to use that later. Second, I saw numbers of condensed healing potions, RadAway CCs, and Med-X capsules (large numbers). Last, I had an unlabeled percentage marker that I guessed stood for either the suit's condition or the talisman's condition.

I watched the percentage meter dip into the 60s before it started slowly crawling back up, coinciding with the last vestiges of pain leaving my head, chest, and leg. Must be the talisman. If it took almost a third of its power just to heal a couple fractured ribs and a sprained ankle, well, I better be careful.

"Pilots, fall in!" Spitfire shouted. I galloped over, standing at attention at the end of the line.

"At ease, flyers," said a new voice, razor-sharp in its delivery, slightly hoarse from overuse. I glanced over as Rainbow Dash started walking the line. "We've received intel that Zebra forces are moving en masse. Today may be a major offensive and we need all eyes up in the air. We are going to deploy across Equestria in single and double coverage. Radios are hot once you take off, so keep your communication channels open."

She pulled out a list and started calling out pilots and coverage areas. She came to my name last: "Collateral, you are going to be in single coverage to the mid southwest. You will be covering Splendid Valley, Ponyville, and the eastern edge of the Everfree Forest."

"Flyers, I can't stress enough how dangerous today could be," she said, turning back to the line. "We are all counting on you to be our first warning for whatever the Zebra military is planning. We’ve set up manned fueling stations within each of your surveillance areas, marked on your Vert computers. Fuel up only when you need to and then get back into the skies."

Her eyes started down the line, meeting every pilot for a second before moving on. "You've all been given a supply of Buck, Dash, and Mint-als in case of emergency. All your suits are equipped with healing potions, Med-X, and RadAways. I pray you won't need any of these, but you are our best Vertibuck pilots. You all are irreplaceable. Use anything and everything to ensure you arrive back in one piece."

I was startled to see her lip tremble for the barest second. I wasn't sure anypony else saw it. Her eyes had heavy bags under them, and she looked like she had aged years since her last visit to our base.

"Please, stay safe. Equestria is counting on you."

She raised her hoof to her forehead in salute as we mirrored her, and then she walked out the hangar doors.

I double and triple checked my suit, Pipbuck, and helmet, made sure I had my saddlebags stored away for later, tucked my dog tags under the thick neck protector of the suit, pointed a hoof up to the sky in reverence, and climbed into my Vertibuck. I owed the repair ponies a beer when I came back; everything looked exactly like it had pre-crash. My teeth still lined up perfectly with the divots I had made on the control yoke, and my hooves sunk neatly into the shallow traction impressions: hind legs into deeper static holds and forehooves cradling the throttle and brake braces. I buckled my hooves into place. A sweeping calm enveloped me as I connected my Pipbuck to the Vertibuck computer. I was back in the saddle.

Vertibucks all around me fired up while I flipped the ignition switch. The engine roared to life with an explosive thrum, vibrations rolling up and down the cabin as the propellers gained speed. The indicator panel lit up and ran through diagnostics before giving me the all-clear and adding a targeting sight and airspeed indicator to my HUD. I could smell the fuel burning, hear the whirr of the propellers churning over the engine, and feel the brakes stress, begging to be released. An intermittent crackle in my helmet told me when the other pilots connected in. My breaths came slow, shaking with need. I lived for nothing but the moment when the wheels left the runway.

I watched the other pilots maneuver out of the hangar with precision and followed them out to the tarmac, easing the throttle gently forward. We lined up on the runway, waiting for the all-clear from the buck with the marshalling beacon in his mouth. I tensed my jaw and steeled my hooves, ready for the powerful acceleration that played gateway to the sky. The marshaller held his beacon high and started backing away, clearing the runway for our takeoffs.

The beacon dropped and Vertibuck engines started screaming, sending chills down my neck. I watched the first pilots fire off like drag racers, knowing I too would soon be screaming into the morning air. And then it was all clear. I pushed the throttle brace forward, gently at first, with increasing pressure as the Vert picked up speed. The engines roared around me as I leaned into the acceleration. Sparse utility buildings flew by as I ate up yard after yard of tarmac, willing my Vert faster and faster. I hit full throttle and held the brace to the floor, literally chomping at the bit until I hit the right speed. The needle on the speedometer passed the required numbers as I pulled back on the yoke, feeling the wheels leave gravity behind.

I heaved out a whoop of joy as I angled the Vert up, gaining altitude and lining off towards Splendid Valley. My headset crackled one more time.

"Good luck up there, flyers. Eyes open."

Hours passed with little break from the monotony. I'd already refueled once and my eyes were starting to kill me from constantly scanning the ground and air. Staring at the same passing pastures and forests got old within the first hour, so I spent time practicing my aileron rolls and loops. I had mini-battles in my mind, attacking and dodging around clouds, pretending I was shooting down Zebra forces. I flew low across treetops, accidentally frightened a cow I blew over, and tried to see just how high I could fly before the Vert started stalling (turns out I could fly pretty damn high, Icarus be damned).

The sun touched the horizon as my headset speaker popped to life once more. "Teams 1 through 3, hit the ground and catch a 3 hour break," Spitfire said. "Teams 4 through 6, wait for group 1 to finish their break and then follow immediately. Teams 7 through 10, follow group 2. If we can make it through tomorrow without incident, we will start pulling teams home."

A chorus of Rogers followed her announcement, and several ponies radioed in for landing clearance. My eyes were starting to droop, but I had 6 more hours left on my shift till my break. Damnit.

Time crawled by slowly, and I found myself watching the clock as often as the ground and air. The Vert was starting to run low on fuel again, but I'd make it easily to the checkdown time. My stomach rumbled; I was running low on fuel too. I rubbed my eyes as I stretched out of the traction impressions, allowing the auto-pilot to carry me in a lazy circle over Splendid Valley.

I saw the Maripony facilities phase in and out of vision as the Vert rotated. I felt bad for the ponies stuck at work in their office and factory buildings. Even at its worst, I would take flying all hour every hour over working a desk job. Up here in the clouds, I was as free as I wanted to be. Being a Vertibuck pilot was the only way I'd leave the chains of gravity behind, and near every day I'd say I silent prayer of thanks to Celestia that, even if I couldn't have wings or magic, I still had one last outlet.

I watched the stars out the window and admired the rising moon as night fell. It was kind of funny to think that, scant decades after trying to take over Equestria by forcing endless night upon all its inhabitants, Princess Luna ended up actually becoming the ruler of Equestria. Ironic, right? We all grew up hearing the stories about how, before they became a part of Equestria's governing body, the heads of the Ministries managed to save Luna from her tortured alter-ego Nightmare Moon, reuniting her with her sister, Princess Celestia. The story of redemption was one of my favorite bed time stories when I was younger, but once I lost my parents I had to leave most of my books and stories behind. Kind of tough to keep too many personal belongings at the orphanage without them getting "lost" (stolen), "borrowed" (stolen), or stolen (you get the point).

I had promised myself I'd go back one day to the house I grew up in to get back my belongings, but before I was even old enough to attend flight school the house was razed for factory space. Another casualty of the war. My whole life had revolved around this damn war.

Before I knew it, my timer was sounding, reminding me to find the empty field by the refueling station to take a rest. I radioed in for landing clearance, received an affirmative, and touched down within minutes by the fuel barrels. Ponies charged out of the night, chocking my wheels and hooking up the ladder so I could climb out of the cockpit. I hadn't realized how cramped my legs were until I nearly tumbled off the ladder (and wouldn't that have been embarrassing). Two bucks brought over the fuel hose and started feeding my Vert's near-empty tank.

One of the mares handed me a survival pack and walked me over to a secured location beneath a pair of sparse trees, the little walk stretching out my sore muscles. I thanked her and started into my ration pack, forcing down the tasteless sludge with a generous gulp of water from the canteen. Mmmm, calories.

I found a thin sleeping bag at the bottom of the pack after I finished eating, and rolled it out among the smooth grass and tree roots. The night weather was thankfully mild, so the sleeping bag would be adequate for a simple nap. I unbuckled my helmet but decided against removing the suit. After spending all day in it, I found myself pleasantly surprised at how comfortable it was. It felt damn near like a second skin and weighed little. I kept my Pipbuck on too (I wasn't particularly good about waking up on my own, and the Pipbuck had a built-in alarm system).

As I squirmed into the sleeping bag, my hoof hit a tiny glass object. Puzzled, I fished out a small, unopened bottle of Buck Daniels that someone had hidden in the bottom of my bag. A smile crept over my lips. Spitfire, damnit, for all her yelling and pushing and raising hell, was a damn good pony. I chugged it in one go and felt the warmth spread down my throat to my arms and legs as my heavy eyelids finally slid shut.

Three hours is a really fucking short amount of time.

My mouth felt gummy as I rubbed crust out of my eyes. I'm happy there weren't any mirrors anywhere near my campsite, since I was sure I looked a hair short of full-blown hell. I clumsily rolled out of my sleeping bag and stumbled over to a small bush to take care of some morning business.

Bladder all cleared, I packed up the bag again and handed it off to the same mare from earlier, trying my best to not breathe on her (which I'm sure she appreciated). I wisely left the Buck Daniels bottle in the bush. It was still dark out, but my Pipbuck told me sunrise would be within the next couple hours.

I galloped a quick couple laps around the Vertibuck to get the blood flowing before I climbed the ladder back into the cockpit. Helmet secured, I ran through the starting routine once more and soon found myself back in the skies.

My mane did not sit straight today; I had to keep pushing the blood-red and cream strands out of my eyes. I would have to reseat my helmet to clear up my vision, but removing my helmet in midflight was a surefire way to another Spitfire lecture, so I let the hair stay where it was.

As the sun started peeking through the morning haze, something felt off. My mane prickled, portions along my neck standing up straight as I tried to shake off the unexplained anxiety I felt. I couldn't tell if it was the lack of sleep or the lack of action, but I felt paranoid as hell as I started my turn over the southern edge of Splendid Valley towards Whitetail Woods and the Everfree Forest.

"Get your damn head out of the clouds and get your eyes back onto the ground, Collateral," I growled at myself. "Do your job and worry about your worries later. Nothing has happened yet and nothing's gonna happen."

My headset radio sparked to life. "AA, I have a radar visual on a small target heading towards Cloudsdale," said one of the pilots. "It's moving at near-sonic speeds and I can't get a visual lock for intercep-"

A huge screech of feedback shot through my headset, causing me to drop several feet in altitude as I accidentally jumped forward on the control yoke.

"-ayday, mayday!! Cloudsdale-"

The rest of the message was broken up by a long, sweeping wail of feedback before the radio fell silent. After a pregnant pause, anxious pilots hopped on, frantically reaching out to base to find out what the hell was going on. The strained message from Spitfire that followed shot electricity through my whole body:

"Pilots, return to base immediately. Cloudsdale has been hit by a massive explosion. We do not know the full extent of the damage but we've lost all communication within the city." I heard Spitfire stifle a sob. "I repeat, return to base immediately."

Oh, Celestia. Dear, sweet Celestia. I could see where Cloudsdale should have been on the horizon. All that was left was a slowly rising mushroom cloud of green flames. I lost all feeling in my legs as I felt my stomach drop.

A bleep sounded from my radar.

No.

No no no no no no.

I desperately flipped on the afterburners and shoved the acceleration brace to the floor, watching a small, fast object race onto my radar screen. Maripony flew beneath me as I fought for every mile, beads of sweat dripping down my face as the control yoke shook in my teeth. The constant beep on the radar showed the small target racing a few miles behind me as I made a beeline for the forest.

Everything went blindingly white as the dot disappeared. I had a split second to recover before a massive shockwave hit my Vertibuck, a wall of heat and noise washing over the cockpit. Alarms started screaming at me as I lost power to the engines, the Vertibuck stuttering in the air. I fired the ignition over and over, begging the engines to fire again as I started losing altitude, nose dropping towards the forest. If I came down in those trees, I'd never survive.

Up ahead, too far ahead, I saw a clearing, a hill covered by acid-blue flowers. The engines coughed, sputtered, and turned over for a second, giving the Vert one final push upwards before dying for good. I gained enough altitude to feel a riotous surge of hope, and I pulled all my weight back as I fought the control yoke, frantically trying to gain enough height to clear the final trees for a touchdown on the hill.

I missed by feet. The underside of the Vert hit the last trees, forcing me nose-down into the hill. I felt a sickening crunch as I flew head first into the ceiling of the cockpit, hoof buckles breaking clean off as I flew through the glass and out into the air. I landed hard into the flowers, rolling over dirt and rocks for an eternity. I heard as much as felt my bones break and my skin tear.

I finished on my stomach, bleeding from Celestia knows how many gashes. I could barely move my forelegs and my hind legs stuck out at abnormal angles. From my ribcage down I was numb. I could feel blood dripping out of my broken muzzle.

I still had my helmet on, and I watched as the talisman percentage plunged. Warnings flashed across my field of vision, but I didn't feel any pain. I should be feeling pain. I rolled my eyes to the side and saw fragments of my Vertibuck splashed about. The trees I hit were on fire. No, change that, what was left of the Vertibuck was on fire, and the trees just happened to be along for the ride. We don't need no water, let the Vertibucker burn.

I felt an insane giggle creep into my throat, but I swallowed it down, trying to keep from losing my sanity. I couldn't think straight. I used what little strength I had left to curl in my working legs and turn my eyes up to the sky. I was just up there.

I lay there, feeling little and thinking less, the flowers around me slowly staining red. I watched more missiles streak overhead. My brain’s gears kept slipping.

As a couple more explosions rumbled nearby, I gave up. I had had enough. I was going to die, and at that moment I wanted nothing else. My last thought before my mind completely shattered: at least it's finally over.

Author's Note

Just in case anybody is re-reading this chapter, I had to change Neighless AFB to Adams Apple AFB (Adams AFB in Fallout 3) since I completely got my Fallout 3 and Fallout NV air force bases flipped. Whoops!

This change will be reflected in all current and future releases.

Love,
The DeciMayhem

Chapter 1: After the Bombs

I felt bright light pressing against my closed eyelids, a soft, flat surface supporting my prone body. I didn't feel like opening my eyes and finding myself back in the hospital yet again, so instead I fell back to sleep.

The second time I woke up, I figured I'd slept enough and tried to open my eyes. After working my eyelids for a minute, they creaked open to a nice, bright blur. I couldn't see. I raised my hooves to rub my eyes; it took a half second before I realized my hooves hadn't moved from their resting position. I attempted to raise my head and only managed the smallest of tremors. Not a strong start to my day.

"Easy, girl, you've been down for a long time. You're gonna have to take it slow."

If I could have moved, I'd have been hanging from the ceiling with a fresh wet spot on my suit. The rough-hewn voice had come from feet away. Instead, I settled for yelling at the source of the voice.

"Ehn...mhn," I croaked as angrily as I could. How dare someone scare me in my condition? Despite my best efforts, I don't think my point got across.

A cool, moist rag caressed my forehead. I could barely make out a dark gray blob from the surrounding bright blobs, but whoever was gently sponging my forehead didn't seem like an immediate threat, on account of the fact that they weren't actively killing me (as far as I was aware). A small sliver of ice slipped between my lips, melting in my mouth and providing my parched throat with near-orgasmic relief. Whoever this pony was, they were steadily climbing up my list from archenemy to P.F.F. I might've even pushed for sainthood if another piece of ice followed. Indeed, another piece of ice followed, and I was able to clear my throat a little.

"Who...*cough*...who are you?" I whispered to Saint Growls.

"Name's Jester. I'd ask how you're doing, but seeing as I've been taking care of you for the past few days, I've got a pretty good idea."

"And? How'm I doing?" I sounded wheezy.

He cleared his throat. "Frankly, you should be dead. I have no idea where you came from or what happened to you, but when I first found you, you were a bloody, broken lump. Looked like something a manticore had savaged. Scared me half to death when I heard you still breathing, making this sickly rattle. I managed to pull you out of the Killing Joke and brought you to my hut."

I coughed softly. "Mm' name's not Frank Lee. It's Collateral. Collateral Damage," I rasped. "What happened?"

The rusty gears in my brain started turning again, bringing with it flashes of memory. I remembered the crash, the flowers, the bombs. The bombs!

"Celestia, I need to get back to base. I have to find out what happe-" My words were cut off by a series of violent coughs. I tasted blood.

"Dang it girl, I told you. You need to slow it way down." He grasped my shoulder. "I've set a few of the bones and stitched up the wounds I could get to, but you're in a real bad place. Your muscles have severely atrophied. Hell, you might've been out there for days, weeks even. Like I said, I have no idea how the heck you're still alive, but thankfully you've been steadily healing since I pulled you out. Damnedest thing."

My coughing slowly subsided, but the anxiety wouldn't. I needed to know what happened. I knew Cloudsdale was gone, and I'd hazard a guess Maripony was toast too, but I knew nothing past that. Try as I might, I couldn't get my voice to work anymore and started to get pissed off.

Jester seemed to sense my frustration and fumbled around with something. A minute later, the mellow twang of an acoustic guitar floated over my bed.

"I know it's not much, but I find music always helps me when I feel like I'm losing my mind," he said. "I figure you've got a lot on your mind, and you're probably scared half to death with questions, but for now we're going to work on keeping you alive and sane."

He started playing a soft, chord-heavy song, the melody melancholy and tight. I kept trying to wiggle my legs, getting nowhere, and finally let myself rest to listen to the song. I heaved out a long breath as he started humming along, his rough baritone keeping tune and time with his guitar, a wordless song of comfort and loss. The harmonies played over my ears, my brain muscles starting to unwind.

I was alive. I was not expecting (nor, if I was being honest, desiring) to get through that crash, and I sure as hell wasn't expecting to come through as well as I did. I mentally shivered at the fear brought on by memories of my thoughts grinding to a halt after the crash. Death was one thing, but brain damage scared the hell out of me.

He played well, his music indicative of and served well by a lifetime of practice and talent, and I found my eyelids drooping once more as the melodies wrapped around my mind like a toasty blanket.

I was still alive. For now, that was enough for me, and I fell back to sleep between the notes.

A week later, my legs moved. They were very, very stiff, and very, very weak, but I could touch my face, scratch my rump, and wiggle my hooves without too much screaming pain. I wouldn't be running a marathon any time soon, but I was hopeful that I'd be on my feet again soon-ish. My vision also came back strong, and I was finally able to take stock of my surroundings.

My savior lived in a dim, three-room shack built from corrugated metal sheets and rotten-looking timber. Windows on the wall were covered by a thick melange of dirt and grime, what little I could see that wasn't boarded up by plywood. I currently occupied a small hospital gurney in a corner of what I assumed was the main room, covered in thin sheets and bathed in bright light supplied by a single overhead doctor's light. A beaten up table stood in the center of the room, flanked by a few chairs and a rough sofa. I heard the constant hum of a generator running outside, supplying power to the lights, a refrigerator in the opposite corner, and a small computer beside me that beeped in time with my heartbeat.

I traced the wires from the computer into my Pipbuck, which somehow managed to not only survive the crash and subsequent rolling through the flowers, but also looked like it was still running strong. How do these damn things work anyway? I mean, I'm no dumb pony, but I'll be damned if I could think of what sort of power a Pipbuck needed to continue beeping away through all it went through, or what the heck the housing was built of.

I was shocked to find myself still in the stealth suit, which had also improbably survived the crash with minimal damage. I managed to get my head high enough to see that the suit had no tearing or fraying anywhere that I could see, despite the tumble I took and the wounds opened underneath. I knew I had cuts under the suit, and there should be corresponding tears in the suit itself, but I couldn't see a single one. I had a sneaking suspicion regarding the relationship between the talisman (if it still worked) and the suit, but I could figure that out later.

I also learned that I stank. I mean really, woof. My suit was still stained by blood and Celestia-knows what other bodily fluids that had leaked out of me during my time down, and the stench made my eyes water. I had no idea how long I had been in the suit or how long I'd been injured, but I was not a fresh pony. I sneezed, loudly, and lay back down towards fresh air.

Jester meandered into the main room, nodding acknowledgment to me as he opened up the fridge, pulling out a slab of not-readily-identifiable meat and two bottles of some drink or other. He was an older buck, slate coat showing long-healed but rough scars. He had a shock of emerald green hair streaked with gold, the latter color matching his sharp eyes. I heard him fire up the stove by the fridge, and soon the smell of cooking meat countered the funk of healing pony. My stomach rumbled, and I lifted my eyebrows in a hopeful manner.

He cracked open the bottles and set one down on my bedside. I grunted, licking at the air and willing the bottle closer to me, but to no avail; it stood stubbornly out of reach. I glared at Jester.

He shrugged. "You're healing faster than any pony I've ever seen, and I think we're past the point of laying about without any sort of effort on your side. Time you get back on your feet and see what you can do about repaying me for saving your life."

I stared back at him, nonplussed. I hadn't really put two and two together about paying him back for saving my life (math wasn't my strongest subject), but it seems only one of us hadn't been thinking about it. I found it tough to believe this was the same pony who sang me to sleep a few nights ago.

"I...uh, I don't really have any money on me. I left all my bits back at the base before I cra-...before I wound up here." I didn't really want to think about the crash again just yet. I lowered my eyes, not particularly happy with myself for needing his help and irrationally angry at him for expecting repayment. "If I could just get back there, I'd be more than happy to pay for your services."

He arched an eyebrow at me. "Bits? You better have a damn lot of them, pre-war money ain't worth much around here. But in the end, if that's what you got, that's what ya got. Let's keep putting you back together, and I'll keep a running tally of what you owe me."

He turned back to the stove as my mind warred between getting the drink ("Sunrise Sarsaparilla" the label read, one of my favorite non-alcoholic drinks) and figuring out what the hell he meant by "pre-war". In the end, my stomach won out, pushing the thoughts of word usage to the back-burner.

I first tried rocking back and forth to bring my mouth closer to the bottle, but soon scrapped that plan as the bottle started teetering dangerously on the edge of my bed. I then tried to sit up and drink the bottle like a normal mare, but I might as well have had a buffalo sitting on my chest for all the range of motion my sit-up had. Sweat started to bead on my forehead from the exertion, but Celestia be damned, I wanted that damn soda in my mouth. My forelegs were still shaky and weak, but for now they were now Plan A. I lifted my arm gently, aimed at the bottle, moved with the precision and grace of a ballet dancer, and promptly knocked the bottle right off the bed. Fuck it all.

I heard Jester chuckle as I heaved myself to the side of my bed to look for the bottle. The soda had spilled everywhere, dripping between the cracks in the wood floor. I lowered my head in defeat, which overbalanced me and toppled me right after the bottle, yanking the computer wires out of my Pipbuck in the process. Celestia damn and fuck it all right in the ear.

I couldn't help it - I started crying as I lay sprawled on the floor. Miserable, covered in soda and shame, I was furious at my body and at the stupid soda and stupid bombs that broke my Vertibuck and Jester for laughing at me and at my eyes for crying all over my stupid face. A dam broke inside me; racking sobs shook my body as I flooded with all the emotions that had held over from the moment the bombs went off. I was grounded in an overly literal sense and had to work furiously to keep myself from succumbing to hysterics.

After a time, my sobs finally eased to wet, snotty whimpers, and then finally ceased altogether. I didn't think of myself as much of a weeper, and previous minutes notwithstanding, I still didn't. I blamed the head injuries.

I felt Jester's shadow over me as I collected myself.

"You done?"

I scowled at the ground, stifling a hiccup. I didn't trust myself to speak yet, but I wasn't going to give him the pleasure of looming over me and enjoying a laugh at my predicament.

He set a plate of delicious smelling food down on the table next to my prone body,

"You want to eat, you're going to have to get it yourself." He sat down at the opposite corner of the table and started tearing into his food.

Great. Fucking great. I had landed belly-down, so at least I had my hooves on the right side of gravity, but I had no strength to lift my body. I lay there for another minute, gathering my will, and then started rocking sluggishly. I slowly pulled my legs beneath me, rotating one way to pull my lefts under me, then rotating the other way to pull in my rights. I pushed as hard as I could and didn't move an inch.

The smell of cooked meat wafted down over me, and I heard Jester loudly enjoying his meal. I knew he was doing it to piss me off, and boy was it working. I pushed again, allowing my anger to fuel my atrophied muscles. For a second, I rose off the ground an inch before I collapsed again, sticking to the soda-soaked floor. But I had moved. I had lifted myself off the ground under my own power.

I breathed heavily, shaking from adrenaline and furious anger and a little bit of hope. Jester continued noisily chewing above me, and I swear I could hear the smirk between swallows. I pushed. Fuck you, Jester. Fuck you straight to hell. I pushed harder, bulldogging through the pain. My body ever so slowly lifted off the ground, first one inch, and then another. I kept pushing, digging my hooves into the floorboards and straining against the massive weight of gravity. Every ounce of pain roasted under my smoldering rage. My clenched jaws ached, my legs screamed.

And then I was standing.

I looked at Jester with fire in my eyes, a fire that slowly extinguished as I saw the fatherly smile on his face. That asshole, he did this on purpose.

I took a hesitant step forward and nearly lost my balance. Slowly, gingerly, I worked my way around to the table and finally found myself hovering over a plate of delicious-looking meat and peas and carrots. Jester's horn flared with a golden light, and a chair swooped up behind me, allowing me to sit at the table with him and rest my forelegs on the tabletop.

I ate like a madmare. You ever see those pie eating contests where the pony slams their face into the pie, eating like they couldn't breathe without gouging out most of the pie in one go? Yeah, that's where I was at. I didn't have the strength left to eat properly, much less with manners, so I just dropped my head onto the plate and chowed down. It was good, damn good, though I didn't recognize the meat. Peas mushed under my chin as I horfed it all down.

Between bites, I grunted at Jester. "Wha' if thiff?"

"Radigator. Shot it last week, and these are some of my last steaks." He had a mildly disgusted look on his face as he watched me plow through the food.

"Mmph. It'f goord." I had never heard of radigator before, but I wasn't going to look a gift gator in the mouth, especially one in my mouth.

He pulled a couple more bottles of Sunrise Sarsaparilla from the fridge, popping the tops off and pocketing the caps. He floated one over to me, and I gratefully managed to get both hooves on it this time and angle it to my mouth. I missed my mouth as often as I made it in, but good Celestia did it go down smooth. Within minutes I had drained the bottle, and sat back, appetite and thirst sated.

I could already feel my body shutting down from exhaustion and good food, but I forced myself to stay awake to talk to Jester.

"Thanks for the food. I can't remember the last time I had a meal this good," I said.

"Don't sweat it. It's being added on to your tab."

I cringed. "Look, I'm not a rich pony. I have a good handful of bits stashed up at the base, and I promise once I get up there I'll pay you back and get out of your hair. I'll go as soon as possible."

He gave me a pointed look, so I continued. "Ok, It's not even really that good a handful, and I owe you big time for helping me out. What do you do for work? Maybe I can chip in."

At this he laughed. "'Do for work'? You're kidding. What, like in a building with other ponies, hammerin' away at a computer on a desk? I figured you had some brain damage but sweet Celestia, sounds like you just got tossed out of the Stable."

"Stable? I'm... not sure what you mean," I said, as he mumbled to himself about how a lot of things made more sense now.

He pointed at my Pipbuck. "Those were only given to Stable ponies. I've come across a few in my travels, and you could always tell a Stable pony from the rest of us. Well-fed, healthy lookin', and usually dead within a week."

Baffled, I started to respond, but he waved a hoof at me and continued. "Forget it, it's not important right now. I doubt you could help me anyway. See, I'm a hired gun, a mercenary. I protect or shoot or snipe or cover, whatever the money's paying for. And I'm damn good at what I do. Let's help you find your 'base' and my money, and then you can go your own way and I can get back to doing what I do best."

As he turned to leave, he said, "Look, if you want to help, start by cleaning up these dishes. I'll count that as payment for this meal."

He left the room after that, leaving me thoroughly confused. My thoughts were mired by food and exhaustion, and I couldn't make up or down from what he was saying. Stables? Those deep underground vaults Stable-Tec was making? I prayed to Celestia that the crash hadn't scrambled my brains more than I originally thought.

I was missing something. The more I thought about it, the further clarity rolled away from my mental grasp. As I sat there, I felt the food start to hit my system, recharging my batteries enough to gracelessly roll out of the chair and onto my hooves. I wavered slightly and then tottered over to the door. I figured fresh air would clean away the mental cobwebs, and then maybe I could get my thoughts together while I cleaned up the table, so I opened the front door and headed outside.

My jaw dropped, the dishes pushed completely out of my mind.

Dark, sinister clouds covered the sky as far as the eye could see, blanketing out the sun. The ground had been completely ravaged, patches of wind-dulled rock and ruined vegetation the only distraction from expansive stretches of stark wasteland. One lonely, withered tree stood in my field of vision, defiantly standing out from the harsh dirt. It reminded me of a rather vulgar hoof-sign. In the distance, I could barely make out the mountains where I knew Canterlot stood, the castle itself hidden by a lingering haze. A sharp wind caught me by surprise, bringing with it a cloud of dust and the smell of brimstone. I could hear low, whistling winds across the open expanse of land, but other than that, the wasteland stood deathly quiet.

I turned slowly, shielding my eyes, trying to find some form of civilization. Far behind Jester's shack, the Whitetail Woods loomed, gnarled trees huddling close. Numb, I started walking towards the forest, not really understanding why but wanting to do something, anything, to shield me from the miles of desolate existence I refused to believe existed.

A ticking sound from my Pipbuck caught my ear as the dusty winds whipped about. I halted, pulling up my Pipbuck status screen. Radiation, here? I stumbled back, and the ticking fell silent. I squinted at the woods. I could almost see the trees glowing, though whether that was actually true or just my over-active imagination, I couldn't tell. I decided against moving any closer.

I needed to talk to Jester.

I made it back to the door of the shack, my legs shaking from overexertion, my stomach rolling with heavy dread. Dinner threatened to make a return visit. I took one last, long look before I shut the door.

What the hell had happened here?

Chapter 2: Not So Much Where, but When, and How

Jester had some splainin' to do.

I'll spare the minor details, but apparently the wasteland had been created by the bombs I saw fall. Equestria had been annihilated by the balefire bombs, Celestia and Luna and the ministry mares had been killed, and the war ended with mutual destruction. Tens, hundreds of thousands of ponies and zebras lost their lives that day. Those cities that hadn't been instantaneously wiped off the map succumbed to radiation fallout, necrotic (but pink!) gas, or worse. Everypony lost. Hooray for us.

The kicker? Those bombs fell two hundred years ago.

Two hundred. Fucking. Years ago.

It's not every day you find out you'll be celebrating your two hundred and twentieth birthday this year. I mean, apparently I was really, really, really, really old, but at least I still looked pretty damn good.

Naturally I didn't believe Jester, and he didn't believe I was a two century old undying super-pony from the past. We shared a large bottle of Buck Daniels (you can't believe how excited I was to find out alcohol survived) as I tried to convince myself I hit my head harder than I thought and he tried to convince himself I was a thunderingly stupid Stable pony, or a terrible liar.

He went over the major surviving groups for me (apparently Pegasi still lived, now seated above the clouds as the Enclave), giving me a rough version of the Wasteland's Who's Who. I tried my best to explain to him about Adams Apple, about how we used to fly Vertibucks around, about how the world used to be before the bombs, but his look was skeptical to the point of suspicious.

I mean, honestly, I wouldn't believe me either. There's a very real chance I was dead. Or crazy. But there is no way in hell two hundred years passed from the time I conked out in the flowers to the moment I woke up in Jester's shack. It just didn't add up. Ponies don't even live far past one hundred, and those are the lucky (unlucky?) ones. When I pressed Jester for some proof, he told me very few records survived from that period. Convenient. But the computer he used to keep track of my heartbeat had a calendar program on it. A rudimentary one, one that would have already been obsolete when I took off from Adams Apple, but one that apparently corroborated his story. I saw the dates he showed me, but I still couldn't believe him. I knew how easy those computers were to hack.

And that's where I was at now. Drunk, alone, holding a near empty and getting emptier bottle of Buck Daniels, hunched over on my hospital gurney/bed and listening to Jester snore from his room. The lights were off and the wind howled outside, and I couldn't get my brain to shut down. I was scared out of my mind and couldn't decide what was crazier: that I had died and was now living out my own personal hell, or that Jester was telling the truth. I had no clue how in hell I was still alive.

I took another swig of whiskey, allowing myself some small comfort from the burn of the alcohol and the mild glow of my Pipbuck screen.

I sat upright with a jolt. The Pipbuck. The Pipbuck had a calendar, one that, as far as I knew, couldn't be messed with.

I twisted the knobs until I reached the status screen. Two menu clicks over and I'd be on the calendar.

Moment of truth, Collateral. My stomach was doing flip flops and my hooves shook as I pushed the button twice in drunken succession.

*click* *click*

He wasn't lying.

I was old. And I had no idea how it happened.

I swirled the last couple shots of whiskey unconsciously and then downed them without a second thought. The alcohol finally started fuzzing out my thoughts, so I rolled onto my cot as the room swirled, allowing my eyes to close and dreamless sleep to overtake me.

Jester slammed a heavy pack down on the floor next to my bed. "You can walk now. Let's get you outside and see if you can shoot."

Thanks, Jester. Wasn't sleeping or anything. I must have been doing yoga in my dreams, because my mouth tasted like I'd been sucking on my hooves all night. With a curse and a heave, I landed upright on the floor, trying to blink away the sleep from my eyes and keep away the shadows from last night.

"It's... really early, Jester. Sun's not even out," I grumbled.

"Sun's never out, haven't you noticed? Damn ol' cloud cover, Enclave's got us locked down tight down here. Damn Pegasi."

I hate Pegasi too, hooray! Maybe Jester isn't such a terrible pony after all. I stifled a yawn.

"You say something about shooting? I can do that, but I'm hungry as hell."

He threw me a sideways glance. "You ate the last of the meat, remember? Next part of paying me back: let's go hunt us up some radigators."

He threw a pair of saddlebags over my back, nearly knocking me to the floor. I saw several different caliber gun barrels poking out, and the bag felt like the next best thing to 50 pounds. My back muscles started to seize.

"Hey man, this is ridiculously heavy! Help me out here," I gasped, legs burning from the weight.

"Nope. You want to help, you're going to need to shoot, so you get to carry the guns."

This was just unfair. I glared at him.

He sighed. "I'll be straight with you. This world's not a forgiving place anymore, and you're as weak as a kitten. If I'm going to get my money back out of you, I need you to be strong enough to survive the trip back to your base. You're useless to me like this. So you get to do some heavy lifting." His eyes hardened. "We've got a long, dangerous hike coming up soon, and you better pray the money's there when we get there, because I sure as shit ain't doing this out of the goodness of my heart."

Gulp. I put a little more effort into my legs and stumbled through the door. The hot wind hit me square in the face, kicking dust into my eyes. I coughed, looking back at Jester as he wrapped his muzzle in a ragged red plaid cloth and pulled on old leather goggles for protection. I wished I still had my helmet.

We headed over to a small wooden fence by the side of the house, me with my eyes squinted, Jester striding with purpose as his eyes searched the plains for Celestia-knows-what.

"Set your bags down here. Time to see what you're capable of."

I dropped the saddlebags as Jester lined up empty Sarsaparilla bottles along the top of the weather-beaten wood fence. After ensuring they weren't going to get blown over, Jester started rummaging through the bags I was carrying and came out with a little mouth-grip pistol.

"We'll start you with this and see what you can do." He trotted off to a safe distance. C'mon, I'm not that bad of a shot.

The first shot kicked the pistol so hard back into my mouth that I accidentally fired off a second shot as I fell backwards. I grimaced as I heard glass shatter, rubbing my tongue across my teeth to see if I broke anything. Jester moaned in disbelief.

"Damnit Collateral, how the hell'd you manage to hit one of my windows?! You're not even facing the right damn way." He looked up at the sky, pleading for patience, then walked off, grumbling as he lay behind a small hill for cover. "Looks like you're going to have to hit up the woods to get something to cover it up too, unless you like sleeping in irradiated dust."

Round 2. I planted my hooves better this time and squeezed off four shots, managing to hit two bottles. Not too shabby, seeing as we never shot pistols up at Adams Apple. I was more of a rifle mare myself, though I had also had a bit of shotgun training. I told Jester as much.

He hesitated for a minute, then hopped over to the bags. "Well, lemme see if I packed it..." He pawed through the bags some more. "Nope, hang on a sec and let me run in real quick. I think I've got something right up your alley."

As he headed back inside, I pulled out pistol after pistol from the bag. Very few were mouth-ready, and the triggers were too small for my hooves. Unicorn only, apparently. I found a single-barrel shotgun and some ammo, so I loaded it up, sat on my haunches, and braced it with my shoulder. The trigger guard was large enough for me to get the tip of my hoof in, and with careful aim, I was able to destroy a couple more bottles before Jester came back out.

He was floating a long-barreled gun of some sort covered in greasy canvas. I reloaded the shotgun as he approached, making sure to not accidentally fire some buckshot into some buck's ass.

"I've got something a little special for you. I don't use it anymore since I've found better weapons, but this li'l girl saw me through my early days. Here, maybe this will work better for you." He handed me the wrapped package.

Oh boy, it felt like Hearth's Warming Day all over again. I unwrapped my present: a beat-up Cowbuck Repeater. It had definitely seen its fair share of action, but for all the weathering and wear on the stock and barrel, she looked beautiful. Capable. Hungry, even.

I exhaled with reverence as I slowly lifted up the rifle from the canvas. I could swear I felt it purring in my hooves as I gently started loading it up. For the briefest of seconds, all thoughts about the past and questions about the present went away, leaving just a mare and her gun. I sat back on my haunches again, levered a bullet into the chamber, and raised the rifle to my cheek, nestling the butt in the crook of my shoulder. The sights were plain: a simple circle punched out of a piece of metal rising from the stock, with the front sight set on the muzzle tip. Ages ago, someone had etched a smiling pony's face on the metal plate of the rear sight, her bright smile a reminder of memories long past.

I felt a subdued sense of voyeuristic shame seeing the etching. After the gentle way Jester treated this gun and the way he spoke of it, I knew this gun and that etching meant something to him, something more than he wanted to let on. Letting me use it was a bigger moment for him than the mundane act of handing one gun to another should normally be.

I slowly lowered the gun and looked at him. "Hey, Jester. You sure it's alright that I use this gun?" I made sure to emphasize "this".

He stared off out over the empty plains, silent for a moment. It seemed for a second he was preparing to tell me something, but instead he responded with, "Sure. I want to see if you can hit those bottles."

Again I raised the rifle, sighting down the barrel and lining up the first bottle. The pony's face beamed at me, and I gave her a brief smile as I pulled the trigger. The bullet flew true, smashing the bottle to pieces with a resounding crack. I said a silent thank-you to the smiling pony as I sighted bottle after bottle, each meeting its demise at the business end of the rifle. Within seconds, all that remained was a pile of jagged pieces of glass, the acrid smell of gunpowder, and the last few echoes of the final shot.

I blew the smoke from the barrel and set the rifle down gently on the oiled canvas.

Jester sat down next to me, a small but fierce flicker of pride in his eyes. "Magnolia," he said, pointing at the rifle, "meet Collateral."

And that's how Magnolia and I became friends.

Jester had scrounged me up a pair of goggles and allowed me to tear up some canvas to fashion my own dust mask. He had been pleasantly surprised by my abilities with the rifle and shotgun, and had gifted me the shotgun for my own (I had a sneaking suspicion this "gift" was being added to my overall tab, but beggars and choosers and the like).

He had also, after a lot of hemming and hawing and a little bit of grumbling and a lot of promise-making, allowed me to use Magnolia for our radigator hunt. Jester's shack sat on the southern tip of the Whitetail Woods, and we hoofed it over to the west side, where Jester spoke of a small lake teeming with radigators. Apparently, the water flowed through the forest and came out completely irradiated, creating the perfect breeding grounds for the gators.

Jester made sure to keep well wide of the tree-line, and I did my best to follow in his footsteps, my Pipbuck ticking at me whenever I strayed too far. We made it to the edge of the lake with little in the way of adventure, the only hiccup coming when I tripped over a rocky outcropping and almost shot Jester in the ass. I'd been demoted to all-bag carrier after that, carrying both Jester's saddlebags and my own. At least we got rid of most of the weapons back at the shack.

The lake was plenty big, much larger than I remembered from my fly-overs. Small scrub brushes lined its sandy shores, and the tributary that came through the Woods flowed from the east as the water flowed out to the south. Honestly, it looked more like a river than a lake, because, duh (I just remembered), it WAS a river, or at least one of the offshoots that led to the great Ponytomac River. I let Jester know, and he didn't give one shit.

We sat behind a sickly bush blind, me panting and trying to catch my breath as Jester pulled a large wooden box from his bags (which I had unceremoniously dumped on the ground once we reached the lake, earning another reproachful look from Jester). The lake smelled... wrong. Even from the distance we were at, my Pipbuck ticked steadily as my radiation levels slowly increased. I was about to ask Jester if we should worry about it when he held a hoof to his lips and continued working on the gun. Within minutes, he held up a gleaming sniper rifle, outfitted with a suppressor and a massive scope.

I'll admit. I had a bit of gun jealousy. It was just so long and so dangerous and so black and... well, you get the drift. But hey, I could use my two guns well enough, and ponies always said size didn't matter; it was all about how you used it.

He pushed the barrel through the bush and assumed a prone firing position, using his horn to manually adjust the gun position by millimeters. He whispered, "Ok, Collateral. I've got a good bead on a gator, but we're a lot closer than I normally like to be, and I've run across a few raiders in these parts, so I need you to watch my six."

I unstrapped Magnolia from my saddlebag and loaded her up. I also grabbed a small pouch of bullets and took my position facing away from Jester, sitting on my rump, and started slowly casting my eyes back and forth.

I was bored within minutes. Groaning mentally, I kept myself busy by seeing how far I could shuffle my butt without Jester noticing. I had moved a good three feet before a sound like a harsh cough burst from the blind, and then Jester was on his feet, sprinting towards the lake. I dutifully followed his movements through my gun sights, tracing back and forth across the lake as he dove head first at a bloody and still-thrashing monster lizard.

Holy shit, so that was a radigator. The damn thing had to be at least ten feet long, and bigger wide than I was tall. From the looks of it, Jester had put a bullet right in its neck. He grappled with its back as a hunting knife, levitated by his magic, plunged multiple times into its throat, finally puncturing the tough leather skin. With a massive, rattling sigh, the gator thumped once more and finally fell silent.

I let out a whoop of joy. That was probably the coolest thing I had ever seen in my life, what with the neckshot snipe, and the wrestling, and the sheer balls of diving headfirst onto the biggest lizard I had ever seen, and... Jester was looking at me with a mixture of alarm and fury, trying to wrest the gator up the shore with his hooves and magic as fast as he could while throwing panicked looks over his shoulder at two rather large shadows in the water. Two fast-moving, ridiculously large oh fuck those are two more radigators. Fuck me and my big mouth.

"Goddamnit Collateral, we need this radigator!"

Oh shit oh shit oh shit. The radigators were already on land and had encircled Jester, reminding me unsettlingly of vultures circling a fresh kill. Jester had pulled the knife out again, but he was horrendously outmatched by two healthy, pissed off radigators, and he knew it. He ducked and weaved, trying to pull either off balance, but they didn't bite (no pun intended) on his feints. Jester only had seconds, and it was all my fault.

I wanted to run. Hey, maybe this way I wouldn't have to pay him back. I could get the heck out of Dodge, still have my guns, maybe ransack his shack for more (and those delicious Sarsaparillas). I could probably fend for myself now without any issues. Besides, I didn't know him. He was just some other pony who meant nothing to me. I wouldn't cry at his funeral.

Celestia, what the hell was wrong with me? This guy had saved my ass, had taken me in and nursed me back to health, goddamnit he had fed me. I owed him big time, and not just money. I couldn't just leave him be, especially when I had caused this. What a time to start growing a conscience.

I assumed my shooting position once more, bringing Magnolia to my cheek as I swiftly honed in on one of the radigators. One breath in, one breath out, and the smiling etched pony and I double tapped that radigator right in its fat fucking skull. Ploop, said the skull as it became radigator mush. The gator's legs took two more steps before they got the message that their brain was now all down its back, and then collapsed onto the sandy shore.

Before the echoes had died away, I had already swept across Jester's body to the other radigator as it took a snap at him. He danced backwards, keeping the knife floating between him and the jaws of the gator. They both kept moving in and out of my sightline, not giving me a clear shot, and Jester's legs were slowly giving out. One wrestle with a gator and a deadly dance with two toothy partners, and he was ready to call it quits. Couldn't blame him. Finally, with a vicious stab of the knife and a quick hop backwards, Jester created a split-second opening for me. And that was all I needed.

We both sat huffing, gunpowder hanging in the air as my Pipbuck kept informing me I was well on my way towards become a glowing pony. I turned to smile at Jester and found his knife at my throat.

"Next time," he whispered furiously, "you do what I fucking tell you, or Celestia help me they will never find your body. Do you understand me? Do you fucking understand?"

I sat there, shocked and scared. A blood-red glow glinted at the back of his eyes as he ground his teeth and pressed the knife tighter. Neither of us spoke, and I was afraid to nod my agreement for fear of slicing my own throat open.

After a tense couple seconds, the pressure eased and Jester turned away from me. I slumped to the ground, shaking and holding Magnolia close. Jester pawed over the three radigators, his breathing slowly easing up as he slid his knife back into its sheath. They were massive lizards. As I regained my composure, I realized I had just killed two of those bad boys. However badly I had pissed Jester off, we still managed to snag three prime gators.

Jester let out a long sigh and trotted up next to me. "Collateral, you need to be smarter than that. You knew I had been whispering this whole time and had been as silent as possible when setting up our blind. Maybe it's my fault for assuming I wouldn't have to tell you every little step, but you're going to need to catch on and catch up immediately."

He gave me a steady look. "We got lucky this time. Thankfully only two more showed up and we didn't run across any raiders. But make that mistake again and it could cost us both our lives. I didn't save yours to lose mine in turn."

I hung my head shamefully. It seemed the proper thing to do, considering I had almost gotten him killed (and with an unpleasant lurch in my stomach, I remembered that I had almost convinced myself to leave him to his death too).

"You shot well," he added grudgingly. "Even though the targets were pretty close, you were still under pressure and had to make a snap decision and a good shot. Only thing I ask is next time you don't track across my body when you go from target to target. Don't want to have to worry about you putting a bullet in this old buck's hide, among everything else I have to worry about."

He walked back over to the radigators. "Here, gimme a hoof and help me push these behind the blind. It's time I teach you how to butcher up some meat."

It was disgusting work. He threw out words like quarter, render, chuck, and tenderloin, but all I saw was blood, guts, bones and meat. I nearly threw up multiple times and got blood all down my hooves, but by the time we were done we had filled a sack with a sizable stack of steaks. Jester looked pleased.

"Alright, let's wash this blood off and throw what's left into the lake."

"River," I interjected.

"Whatever. That way we'll continue being able to get radigators when we come back."

I washed the blood off my hooves as he dumped bones and viscera back into the lake. My Pipbuck continued ticking at me, so I showed Jester our radiation levels.

"Ah. Let's pack it up and split a couple RadAways on the hike back. That should take care of it."

He helped me load the packs back up (I was still, apparently, on all-bag duty), but he mercifully carried the sack of meat.

On the way back, he asked, "I'm a bit surprised though. How come you didn't use S.A.T.S to take care of the gators?"

"Sats? I was already sitting, man." I pounded the RadAway. Ech, that's a taste I could do without. Imagine oranges that had been left in the sun for a few years, fell into a pit of garbage, and then were harvested by the love child of sulfur and bad gas. I needed a shot of whiskey.

Jester sighed. "Stable-Assisted Targeting Spell: S.A.T.S. All Pipbucks have it. It's a spell that helps speed you up or slows down time or something, and allows you to pick your targets and in what order you want to hit them."

"Oh of course, a special time-altering combat spell. I totally forgot to use that. Because it exists and all." I said sarcastically, because at that moment, sarcasm was the only thing keeping me from keeling over. "I was going to, but I was already using my +10 aiming spell and +3 stability charm, and I figured that would have been overkill."

"You really are a dumb one, aren't you. When we get back to the shack, I'll show you how to use it. I promise it's in there."

I rolled my eyes and kept putting one hoof in front of the other. After all the excitement over the radigators, I was left bone-weary. The wasteland was getting darker and the shadows longer as we turned up the home stretch towards the shack. I longed for my dirty, blood-stained hospital cot so I could rustle up some snoozes. I was so deep in thoughts about sleeping and maybe eating that I almost walked straight up Jester's stopped ass. He had his hoof up and was making some sort of sign for me, so I figured he probably meant for me to keep my mouth shut. See, I can learn.

The door to the shack hung open loosely on its hinges. Ah.

Jester floated out a silenced pistol from one of my bags as I set them down quietly. I followed his lead and unwrapped Magnolia, but he shook his head and pointed to the shotgun. I didn't want to leave my rifle alone, so using one of the bag straps, I fashioned a rudimentary back holster and tucked Magnolia in, grabbing the shotgun in my teeth while I did. Jester nodded approvingly, and we started slowly towards the shack.

As we inched closer, we heard a couple crashes followed by weird, high pitched giggling. Several different pony voices floated out of the door, followed by more crashing and more giggling. The laugh sounded like the time one of our pilots snapped after a close call over Zebra territory. She had crashed and was pulled from her Vert with her hooves covering her mouth, giggling hysterically as she soiled herself, her eyes wide and panicked. She was shipped off to a mental rehabilitation center and we never heard from her again. I shook my head to rid myself of that memory. Whoever was in Jester's shack sounded a few cheese slices short of a sandwich.

A deafening shotgun blast took out one of the windows on the side of the shack, drowning out the insane cackles, forcing us to take cover behind the small hill Jester used earlier. My hooves were trembling a bit as I loaded up the shotgun, but I promised myself I wouldn't get Jester in trouble this time.

He put a hoof on mine to calm me down. A fire raged deep in his eyes, his black pupils twin torrid pools of hatred as he stared at the broken window. I could almost feel the waves of fury radiating out from him. This wasn't normal anger; this was personal. Whether this was because someone had violated his house, his sanctuary, or something much older and deeper, I didn't know.

But when he turned and whispered to me, venom dripping out of every syllable, I knew I did not want to be the pony on the receiving end of that unchecked rage. He was a loaded gun, safety off and hair-triggered.

His vision never strayed from the shack as he bent down to my ear and whispered, "Raiders."

Author's Note

Again, if you are rereading this chapter and notice that Neighless AFB has been changed to Adams Apple AFB, that was my mistake and subsequent fix. When you spend too much time playing Fallout NV while writing chapters that should be true to Fallout 3, you sometimes accidentally flip air force bases (Nellis for Adams, in this case).

I also changed Bigomac to Ponytomac, since that was the name I came across in Fallout: Equestria. These changes have been made across the whole story and will stay changed for subsequent releases.

Love,
The DeciMayhem

Chapter 3: When Bullets Fly

Crazed laughter carried over our prone bodies while we wormed our way up to the door. As we set up tactical positions on each side of the door, Jester peeked over the windowsill and mouthed, "three". I assumed that meant there were three of them in there and not that we were storming the fort in three seconds, but you know what they say about assuming (ass, you, and Ming). Three seconds passed and we were still loading up and getting ready to make a move, so my instincts were as sharp as I believed. Jester was still making hoof signs at me, but at this point I had used up all my bilingual-ness and just nodded along.

He met my eyes and raised his hoof, and I shifted my weight expectantly. Dropping it, he rounded the corner through the doorway, silenced pistol coughing as we sprinted in. The first raider's head exploded into a bright red and pink streak on the wall behind him, splashing onto my cot. I grimaced (I mean, the head exploding I could deal with, but damnit that was my bed). I came in low and hot, shotgun scanning the room for the other two raiders. A flash of brown raced into the back room as my shotgun roared, peppering his hide and leaving pellet holes in the doorway. The third levitated the battered dinner table between us and barricaded himself into Jester's room, giggling to himself the whole way. Great, a psychotic unicorn. That's going to work well for us.

Jester pointed me towards the buck I had wounded as he stalked over to his room, horn flaring with golden light.

He spoke in a heavy whisper as I passed him. "I'm going to pour everything I have at the table and pull it away from that lunatic. I usually keep enough firepower in my room to bring down the house and half the forest with it. Finish off that raider you shot and get your ass back over here before this asshole finds my stash."

I hadn't seen the raider carrying anything when he jumped into the room, but I wasn't sure he didn't have some sort of weapon I missed, or had found something in the room. I flew around the corner and zeroed in on the dark mass huddled in the corner, hoof tightening on the trigger.

He was... crying. Not loudly or wildly, but tears were streaking the dirt on his face as he held a hoof to his stomach, blood gurgling out of his wounds. Wet, green eyes stared at the floor as he cringed further into the corner away from me. The shotgun started shaking in my hooves, but I kept it locked on his face.

"Please..." he croaked, "I don't wanna die..."

I'll be honest. I've killed before. Back at Adams Apple, I've gunned down zebras on the ground without a second thought. I've bombed huts, attacked families, you name it, I've done it. But never have I stood face to face with another and killed in cold blood. I didn't know if I could start now.

"Collateral!" Jester screamed across the room. Celestia damn it all. He was barely a buck. He couldn't be much older than I was (well, take off the two hundred years). He wasn't even armed. But he'd probably bleed out anyway if I didn't shoot him, meaning killing him would be the merciful thing to do. He met my eyes and read the conclusion I had arrived at as I cocked the hammer back. He lowered his head once more, eyes closed, and started shaking.

BLAM

I found Jester in a tug-of-war with the psycho unicorn, peals of laughter rippling through the magical fields around the table as it wobbled in the air. He wasn't able to float the pistol around the table far enough to get a clear shot, and the raider had more than enough power to keep the table from moving away.

"Hngh... Collateral, I need your help, damn it all," he grunted, the strain of trying to counteract the unicorn's magic showing on his face. "I can't get a shot."

I flew over to the table, planted my front hooves, and bucked it as hard as I could. The table gave maybe a foot, and then immediately slammed back into the doorway. Damn. And ow. I raised the shotgun to start blasting my way through.

"Collateral, no!"

I stared questioningly at Jester. "And why the hell not?"

"It's my only damn table," he said.

I scowled at him. "Seriously?"

If looks could kill. Fine then, plan B. "How are we going to move it? That crazy son of bitch is too strong for either of us."

"If I had already figured that out, I'd've done it already," he snarled. "Why don't you do the thinking for a change?"

We were still having a go at it when a small, metal apple bounced out from behind the table. Without turning from Jester, I kicked the apple out the already broken window.

"Fine, how about you pull as hard as you can, I'll buck the table at the same time, and we'll wedge one of the chairs between the door frame and the table?

He wasn't even paying attention to me; instead he watched the metal apple soar out the window. He turned back to me with an incredulous look on his face.

"What?" I asked as I turned to grab a chair.

A large concussion blast shook the front wall and I nearly fell flat on my face. That metal thing was a grenade?!

The table wavered for a split second, giving me the chance to jam the back of the chair in the opening provided. With a mighty heave, I mashed in the chair as Jester's horn flared brighter, and together the table slid away from the doorway and stayed away.

Next thing we knew, the table flew back at us, having been released from the red unicorn's magic. He sauntered out, floating three more apple-grenades over his head. One of his eyelids was twitching manically, and his face was set in a stretched, crazed smile. His pupils were constricted to twin pin-points. A fleeting memory came back to me, one from the stories I had read about a purple unicorn who couldn't find a problem to fix and slowly went insane. His ears flapped, as if shaking off flies.

"Well hello, my little ponies," said the unicorn. He had a high-pitched, nasally voice that set my teeth on edge. I scrambled around the fallen chair and kept the shotgun leveled at him, but Jester raised his hoof again and stopped me with a sideways glance. The floating pistol set itself beside Jester as he spoke back to the unicorn.

"Aright, you've got us dead to rights. What do you want?"

"Want?" the unicorn said. He giggled again, the grenades swaying drunkenly in the air. I stood stock-still, trying to blend into the background while praying the grenade pins stayed set. "What do I want? I want your warm blood on my body, I want to bathe in it, I want to eat your still-beating heart from the inside out!"

He cocked his head to one side and started convulsing with laughter. Oh, Celestia. His coat wasn't red. It was... completely drenched in blood. Old blood, new blood. Clots and fissures decorated his coat, popping and scratching with every movement he made. I was fighting a losing battle to keep my last meal down.

While I was battling with the dry heaves, several things happened at once: the unicorn pulled the pins from the grenades and threw them to the corners of the room we were in, Jester's knife shattered through the window in his room, propelled by his magic, and buried itself at the base of the unicorn's neck, protruding from his throat and cutting off his insane laughter, and I dropped the shotgun and jumped to intercept the path of the first grenade.

I knew from munitions training that grenades generally have a 4-5 second fuse, though I had never seen grenades like this before and had no clue just how long its fuse ran (I should've counted during the first one, damnit!). I managed to get my hooves on the grenade, fumbled it once, and heaved it out the door. Jester had already corralled the second with his magic in mid-air and directed it outside. The third, however, had rolled behind the fridge. I leaped on my stomach and stretched my hooves as far as I could while Jester tried to lift the fridge with his magic, but after the gators and the raiders, he was running on empty and couldn't get it off the ground.

Time slowed down while I wondered how it would feel to have my face blown off. The raider's body collapsed in on itself, his blood slowly pooling around my outstretched hindlegs. I was barely touching the grenade but couldn't find enough purchase to roll it my way. Jester was galloping at the fridge, but he wasn't going to make it in time to pull it away from the wall. So I went the other way instead. With a massive stretch, I shoved the grenade to the far corner of the cabin, scrambled to my hooves, grabbed Jester in mid-stride, and dove into Jester's room, slamming the door and flipping his mattress over us for extra cover.

Nothing happened. Of all the goddamn fucking stupid pieces of bullshi-

BOOM

Ringing. Something was ringing right in my ears and something heavy was laying on my body. I opened my eyes to a spinning room. Celestia, somebody please slow the room down, I want to get off.

Jester lay on top of me, knocked senseless, and his mattress on top of him. I shoved him off and rolled right-side up, waiting for the room to decide which way was up and down. I might've finally thrown up.

"Jester?" I could've sworn I said his name out loud, but all I could hear was that Celestia-forsaken ringing. "Hey. Buddy. You ok?"

He stirred and opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling. A rush of relief coincided with the ebbing of the ringing, and I wobbled over to him, helping him sit up and take stock. Other than a nosebleed and possibly a mild concussion, he seemed none the worse for wear.

I wish I could've said the same for his room. Somepony, who will remain nameless, had blown a huge hole in the corner of his room. I could see the splattered remains of the first raider on the opposite wall. I could also see the Whitetail Woods through the same hole.

"Ah," I said.

"Fuck," said Jester.

He was still having trouble getting to his hooves, but after crawling to the footlocker at the foot of his bed and scrounging up and downing a healing potion, he managed to shake off the vertigo and stand beside me staring out the wall.

"Well... it was the best idea I had at the time," I explained.

He threw me a sideways glance. "I take it back, let me do all the thinking from here on out."

I helped him set his mattress back on the metal bed stand and started shoving the larger chunks of debris out the hole in the wall. He went through his footlockers and dressers, making a mental checklist of what was still around and growling when he found something missing.

With a wooden slam that made me jump, Jester closed the last dresser and turned to me. "Four grenades, two healing potions, and a pack of cigarettes are missing. I'm sure the potions and the cigarettes are somewhere in the rubble, though. All things considered, that wasn't as bad as I expected."

He helped me push a large piece of metal that I couldn't move on my own out the hole in the wall. It looked suspiciously like the stove top, and Jester looked none too happy about that. We worked our way into the main room, cleaning as best we could. I found my shotgun underneath the fridge, which had toppled over from the explosion but miraculously chugged back to life when we plugged it in. The stove was nowhere to be found (or, technically, was everywhere to be found) which earned a scowl from Jester. The table and three of the chairs survived, as did my cot, though it had tipped over. Thankfully it seemed like the grenades had a relatively small blast radius, and soon enough we had the main room more or less in shape.

I was heading out the door to grab our meat and bags when a cough sounded from the back room. Jester went rigid. He pulled his knife from the sheath with his mouth and glared at me as he tip-hoofed over to the doorway.

"Wait, Jester wait!" I sprinted over to him and bit his tail right before he could dive into the room.

"Heef aat aarmd. Heef hur. On't thab im." I strained against his pull as his eyes glinted murderously at me. He yanked as hard as he could, dragging my hooves over the wooden floor. His tail slipped another couple inches; I was losing him.

Celestia forgive me for my moment of desperation: I punched him right in his little Jester. Not hard, mind you, but enough to take the fight out of him. It was all I could think to do - he was much stronger than me, and the green and gold hairs of his tail were slipping out of my mouth. He fell to his side with a wheeze and dropped the knife.

I galloped over to the bleeding buck and stood over him, wood chips and dirt still drifting down on me from the hole in the ceiling I made with the shotgun (I decided not to shoot the raider earlier. So sue me). The buck still shook, probably as much from blood loss and shock as from fear.

I turned and faced Jester, who lay grimacing and wheezing on the ground. "Look man, I'm sorry about that but you gave me no choice. This buck isn't armed and he's grievously wounded. I didn't kill him because he hadn't done anything to us worth killing over."

Jester took a couple deep breaths and got back to his hooves, staring daggers at me. He bent over to pick up his knife and walked over to me until he was inches from my face.

"Move," he said around the knife, his tone neutral, calm, and scaring the hell out of me.

"Goddamnit Jester, no," I said. "Look at him! Is he any threat to us? There's no reason we have to kill him. The other ones were dangerous but he's not."

He sheathed the knife so he could talk clearly and moved even closer to me. "I will say this one more time. Move." The unnerving calmness in his voice continued.

"No. If you are going to kill this buck, you're going to have to get through me." I stuck my chin out and locked my hooves, a slight tremor in my jaw the only tell that I was terrified out of my fucking mind.

Jester exploded. "He's a fucking raider, Collateral! You don't know shit about what these guys do, how they fucking torture and rape ponies. Fillies! They rape and fucking murder fillies!! You think this sick piece of shit deserves to draw another fucking breath?!" Jester was close enough that his spit was hitting me in the face. "They go around and tear ponies apart, chaining their bodies to the ceilings and walls. Some of these fuckers even EAT other ponies. And now you, some pansy-ass nancy mare without a fucking clue about who these assholes are, you're going to protect one of them?! Who the fuck do you think you are?!"

At some point I had started crying. "I won't move. He's done nothing to us and I won't allow you to kill him. I have no doubt in my mind that if you wanted to get through me to kill him, I wouldn't be able to stop you, but you WILL have to go through me." I reared and stamped my hooves to drive home my point. "He doesn't deserve death."

Jester tried to pull my shotgun from under my hooves with his magic, but his horn had had enough at last, the magical overglow sputtering and dying. He shook with fury, and I was shocked to see his eyes glisten. Finally, he slumped, shoulders sagging.

"You have no idea what they've done to me. You have no idea what they've taken from me. I never want another pony to face what I've been through." He turned and slowly walked out the door. "He's your responsibility. If I ever see him again, I will skin him alive while you watch."

I watched him walk into his room and shut the door, which promptly fell off its hinges again with a crash, earning a loud expletive from Jester. I turned back to the buck, whose eyes slid in and out of focus as he slumped lower and lower in the corner. Before, when we had cleaned up the main room, I had found both missing healing potions and had set them on the table. Though I was sure Jester would have an aneurysm, I grabbed both up and sat the buck up, slowly pouring them into his mouth while he reflexively swallowed.

After a time, the bullet wounds started to close, and little round pellets pinged to the floor as they were pushed out by the healing magic. His eyes fluttered open and focused on me, going wide when he realized I hadn't killed him. He tried to push away from me but his body hadn't healed enough. His arms slipped feebly off my body.

"Easy, easy," I said. "I'm not hurting you. I'm just..." Hell, I had no idea what I was doing. If Jester was right (and I wasn't ready to doubt him), then this guy was part of the worst monsters I'd encountered in my short time in the wasteland, someone who would have been tried and executed back in war-time Equestria without a second thought. Who was I to be judge, jury, and stay-of-executioner?

I am Collateral Damage, damnit, that's who. I decide what I do, and if I'm not going to kill this asshole, so be it. Jester can go mope on his own time.

"What's your name?" I asked.

He tried to speak, coughed, and tried again. "I'm Lock Nut. Get me get out of here, man. We didn't know. If we knew, we never would have hit this place."

I arched an eyebrow at him. "Didn't know what?"

"This is Jester Hoofbury's place, man. Every raider's ever crossed his path got buried," he said hoarsely, still scrambling to get his hooves underneath him. "Please, let me get out of here. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, we would have stayed away. Please."

He was shaking and couldn't keep his balance. Dear Celestia, just who the hell was Jester that he could cause this sort of reaction?

"I'm not going to let him hurt you, Lock Nut. Stay still for a sec and let your body recover." I kept trying to hold him down but it was like trying to wrestle a greased pig. He managed to push me away, but as he stumbled to his hooves, one of his nearly closed wounds ripped open again and he dropped with a cry.

Fresh blood ran down his dingy brown coat. I helped him pull off his muddy armor (and I'm using armor loosely here; he had like maybe one or two joints covered by hard plastic connected to a tiny breastplate. Leather held everything together. Did they raid a belt factory or something?). I'm not a particularly good medical pony by any means, but we still had a little bit of one of the potions left, which I fed to him. As his stomach healed, he lay on his back, too exhausted to move anymore.

I walked to the opposite corner and sat with my back to it, watching Lock Nut as his chest rose and fell.

Jester Hoofbury. He said he was a mercenary, and he said he was good, but the fire in his eyes and the murderous rage he flew into the second he saw any raiders gave me an unpleasant view into what made him tick. I unbelted Magnolia from my back and held her tight, trying to keep away the shakes of being in the crosshairs of Jester's fury yet again. I knew he had been a hair's breadth away from killing me over Lock Nut. I'm not even sure why he didn't.

Good Luna, I had punched him right in a bad area. In a lifetime of idiotic moves, that one was definitely top five. I started going over in my mind all the times I had gotten myself in trouble by acting without thinking when Lock Nut spoke from the floor.

"Why're you here?"

I shook myself out of my memories. "What?"

"Why're you here with him?" he said, too tired to lift his head. "Our clan stays way west of here, but every time any of our raiding parties came into contact with Jester, any pony lucky enough to make it back alive said Jester worked alone. And there weren't many who made it back."

"He..." I had to think for a second to decide just how honest I wanted to be. I settled for simple answers sprinkled with the truth. "He saved me. I owe him so I'm helping him 'til my debt is paid off."

That earned a rusty laugh from him. "Saved? Jester Hoofbury doesn't save. He's one of the deadliest bucks this side of Equestria and only gives a shit about who's paying him. He's the coldest there is, man."

His words opened up the vault of questions in my head I had been struggling to keep closed since I woke up in Jester's shack. Not only had Jester saved me, but he had nursed me back to health and had even spared my life twice, despite me crossing the line multiple times and almost killing him. Why, damnit? What was he looking for from me? What made me so special?

Dark answers came to the forefront, despite me desperately trying to hold them back. He was a ruthless killer. Who's to say he wasn't a filly diddler too, or a rapist? What if he was going to kill me once he got his money, or worse? I'd seen the mad glint in his eyes multiple times now. He always tried to keep his composure but there was a darker pony underneath the surface. How deep did that monstrous well go?

Again, Lock Nut brought me back to the surface. "I ain't never eaten a pony before. I ain't never raped anypony either, no filly or grown pony," he mumbled. "You saved my life so I figured you should at least know that."

Now it was my turn for questions. "Ok then, so why are you a raider? Why the hell did I stick my neck out for you, go against Jester and almost throw my life away for some raider I've never met?" I'll admit, that last question was as much for me as it was for him.

He was silent for a bit. I was about to check if he had passed out when he answered, "It's... one of the only ways to live out here. West of here is nothing, man. A few tiny cities here and there, but they've been ruined by the bombs and time, and then the ocean way out west." He coughed a little. "Jester can say what he wants about the raiders, and he's pretty much right about them, but sometimes you gotta find a way to keep living. There ain't too many options."

I holstered Magnolia again and picked up my shotgun while Lock Nut continued. "I've done some shit I ain't proud of. Sometimes you have to, just to keep other raiders from blasting your head to pieces while your back is turned. I've seen some shit that would turn your grey coat white."

He rolled his head to face me. "Everything Jester said was true. I've seen it all happen way too many times. Some of those things... they stick with you, man. You close your eyes at night and you still hear those fillies screaming as their parents are butchered in front of them, other raiders holding them down to rape them." A tiny shudder ran up his body as he closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, the green had hardened to gemstones. "You gotta put your hoof on the line somewhere. I've seen shit way past the line. It may not mean much to you but I ain't passed that line and never will. You cross that line often enough and one day you don't come back. Too many raiders lose their fucking minds, eating ponies, doing that crazy shit."

He looked past me. "I see pieces of Bloodborn on the floor over there. Fuck that crazy asshole, he got what was comin' to him. That's exactly the shit raiders become when they see and do too much one too many times." He shook again. "It's coming for me too, man. Almost every raider turns at some point or other, except for those lucky enough to bite a bullet."

I opened my mouth to respond before he cut me off. "Don't even think about offering for me to join your little group. Being a raider is a tough life, but Jester will skin me alive the second you turn your back. At least being a raider, I might not end up dead or crazy too soon."

I closed my mouth. That was, in fact, exactly what I was going to ask him. I offered him my hoof and helped him up. "You seem... decent enough for a raider. I'm not mad I saved your life. Who knows, maybe someday you can get out of there, start over somewhere new. Build a life so far away from that line that you'd never fall across it."

The briefest glimmer of naked hope flitted across his eyes before they hardened once more. "Yeah, yeah, you nancy mare. Ain't gonna happen in my life time. But... it's a nice dream."

He started to strap his armor back on before he stopped and pulled out a few small items. "Tell you what. You saved my life, the least I can do is teach you a little sum'n to help you out."

He laid down a small box with a lock, a screwdriver, and what looked like some bobby pins. "All across Equestria, you're gonna run into boxes and safes and doors and all kinds of shit that somepony decided to lock up before the bombs drop. Most raiders don't give a fuck about anything they can't open, but I grew up with this box and taught myself how to pick its lock. Shit, now there ain't anybody on this side of the forest who can open a locked box better than me."

He pulled off a leather strap from his barding and tied a single bent bobby pin to his hoof. "Unicorns can use their magic to float these pins into the lock, but we Earth ponies have to make do a little differently. It's tougher, but with practice it becomes as easy as with magic. Easier, I think, because you can feel the tumblers shift with your hoof touching the bobby pin."

He bent over and picked up the screwdriver in his mouth, inserted the pin and the screwdriver into the lock's hole, and slowly started rotating both until with a snap the box popped open. "Hah! Fuckin' easy!" he said. "Here, you try."

There was an open toolbox sitting in the corner of the room. With a bit of digging, I found a small flat-head screwdriver that would work for me. Lock Nut gave me a bobby pin and his leather strap, snapped the box closed, and talked me through picking the lock.

The first bobby pin snapped almost immediately, earning a groan from Lock Nut. "Easy, I said! You gotta be gentle when picking a lock, because once you run out of bobby pins you gonna be shit out of luck out there. Rotate the screwdriver until you feel pressure, and then back off and work on a different tumbler. Don't force that shit!"

He coached me for almost an hour, and finally, three bobby pins and a metric ton of cursing later, the box popped open with another well-oiled snap. I thrust my hoof up in triumph and earned a hoof-bump from Lock Nut.

He was able to walk around with ease now, his wounds almost completely healed up. He gifted me a box of bobby pins (ten in a box!) and made sure I knew to not force a lock (because I could jam it, sealing the locked items away for eternity). I walked him to the door, keeping a wary eye at Jester's room in case of rampaging pony.

"Thanks, nancy pony. I owe you big for keeping me alive back there. Ain't often someone stands up for a raider, but looks like today was my lucky day. I'll do my best to keep any raiders out of this area, as much for their protection as yours."

He offered me his hoof, which I bumped, and then set off at a trot away from the house.

"The name's Collateral, you raider jackass," I yelled after him. "Collateral Damage!"

I heard him laughing until he was out of sight, and then I went to finally collect our bags and radigator meat.

Chapter 4: PipBucks and Hoofprints

Author's Note

Those of you who may be confused about the reference to a place called Adams Apple, I had to go back and rename Collateral's air force base, since even after all my fact-checking I had moronically switched up air force bases from Fallout 3 and Fallout NV. Adams Apple takes the place of Neighless, just like Adams AFB is the capital wasteland's air force base and Nellis AFB is from NV. It took four chapters and a prologue for me to finally pick up on that?

This change has been reflected in all previous chapters. And so we move on!

Chapter 4: PipBucks and Hoofprints

The next few days passed in strained silence. Jester wasn't speaking to me, and when I tried talking to him, I'd receive mostly grunts and single-word answers (if anything at all). I spent most of the time fetching wood from the outskirts of the Whitetail Woods, taking care to imbibe a RadAway at the end of the day to flush out the building radiation poisoning.

Several times out of the corner of my eye I had seen shadowy movement deep within the forest cover, but every time I tried to focus on it, all stood still. Between Jester's silence and the malevolent forest looming over me, every passing hour felt longer than the last. At least with the wood I retrieved, Jester had been able to patch up the walls of his house. I had been sleeping on the beat-up sofa because I couldn't clean the blood from my hospital cot, which had earned a scoff from Jester but nothing more. I needed a way to get through to him, but for the life of me I couldn't do a damn thing to defrost the chill in the air between us.

A chance finally came with the arrival of a rotting pony pulling a beat-up wooden cart. I'll be honest, I nearly shit myself when I saw that flying zombie drop out of the sky, and had already pulled out (and fumbled) every gun I owned before Jester pushed me aside and waved to the zombie. The pony landed softly and gave Jester a hug (a hug?!) and started showing him the wares in its cart. As Jester walked alongside the cart, a small lavender head with a blonde mane popped out of the cart, gave me a tiny smile, and then jumped on Jester's back. My jaw dropped when Jester laughed and tickled the little lavender filly, earning a squeal and a giggle.

"Hey kiddo, good to see you taking care of your mom's deliveries. Celestia knows she could use all the help she can get," Jester said. The little filly giggled again.

"Mommy doesn't need my help. Sometimes I don't want to be all alone at Absolutely Everything, so I come along with mommy to help her deliver goods," said the little filly. When she said the word "alone", the faintest shadow passed across her face, but her bubbly smile came back immediately.

I stayed back, partly because I was taken aback by the sudden appearance of a flying bag of skin, muscle, and bone that looked like it was being held together by a hope and a prayer (I wasn't scared damnit, don't even think that), and partly because I felt like I was intruding on a private moment between friends.

Deep inside swelled an ache I hadn't felt in years. I wasn't the friendliest pony at Adams Apple, and subsequently I had very ponies at the base I could call friends. Even Spitfire often seemed less like she liked me and more like she tolerated me so I could make myself useful. Before that, at the orphanage, I kept other ponies away because I kept picking fights with everyone. I pawed at the ground moodily, only looking up once a shadow crept over my hoof.

It was the zombie. Up close, it (she? Did the little filly say "mommy"?) was... horrifying. Her skin covered far less muscle than a normal pony's should, with fragments of bones peeking out from gaps in the muscle. Small tufts of golden hair stood defiantly amid her bald and tattered skin. Celestia, even her eyes pointed in two different directions. I tried to keep the terror off my face, but by the split-second look of long-felt hurt on the zombie's face, I could tell I had failed.

She had a chalkboard in her mouth. As I gulped back my fear, I noticed small writing covering the board.

"Hi! My name is Ditzy Doo. I can't speak because I have no tongue, but I can write! Who might you be?" The zombie pony gave me an earnest look.

I felt like an ass. "Umm... hi Ditzy. My name is Collateral. Collateral Damage." I pushed my hair out of my face and tried to smile. "I'm sorry about my, uh, reaction earlier. I'm... well, I'm new to this" (I almost said time) "place, and I've never seen a pony quite like you before."

She gave me a blank look for a second before her face split into a friendly smile, and then she started erasing her chalkboard. Deftly maneuvering a piece of chalk with her mouth, she wrote, "It's totally ok! Everypony has a tough time the first time they run into a ghoul. I'm just glad you didn't shoot me!" She looked pointedly over my shoulder at the mishandled pile of guns and I had the proper grace to look ashamed.

"Ghoul? Is that like a zombie pony?" Me and my big mouth. Jester covered his face with a hoof and the little filly snickered. To my surprise, Ditzy smiled wider and nodded while shrugging. I was about to respond when Ditzy made an Aha face and turned back to her cart, rummaging around behind the curtain. Jester and the little filly were coaxing a new stove off the back of the cart, and I was happy to see Jester using his magic to successfully keep the stove from toppling sideways.

Ditzy cantered back to me with a book in her mouth, a thick grey book with a black pony skull on the cover. It read, "The Wasteland Survival Guide." If I could've hugged the pony (without losing my lunch), I would've. I loved to read, and it looked like this book would go a long way towards helping me not get myself or Jester killed. My joy slowly faded, though, as I remembered the main reason I was still with Jester: my distinct lack of funds. I told her so.

She kept trying to give me the book until I finally gave up and took it from her. She wrote, "The book is free! I've lived quite a long time so I wanted to share what I've learned with everypony and help everypony out. Turn to page 81 to read about ghouls!"

I stared at her. "You wrote this? How old are you?"

"Over 200 years old!" she wrote.

Wait.

"Wait, wait, wait. When were you born?"

"I was born several years before the bombs dropped! I kind of lost track of how many years ago that was, though, some of the years seem to blend into one another."

Sweet Celestia. I pieced together her skin in my mind, gave her long, flowing golden hair, bubbles for a cutie mark, and kept her eyes the same. Oh my Luna, I knew this pony. Or at least knew of her.

"Did you know a pony named Rainbow Dash?"

She nodded vigorously, beaming at me.

"I don't mean this to be insulting, but I once heard her talking about a friend of hers from Cloudsdale who ran a delivery service, a pony named... Derpy?"

Ditzy Doo danced around joyously, bouncing and fluttering with her wings that by all laws of physics shouldn't work.

"Yes!" she wrote. "Ponies used to call me that to make fun of me because of my eyes, but my closest friends called me that so that eventually no one would use it to make fun of me anymore! How did you know that?"

"Ditzy, this is going to sound unbelievable, but... I'm from back then too." I pulled out my dog-tags, which had survived without too much rust. "I was part of Equestria's Airborne Division, Vertibuck Unit. I was a pilot in the great war."

Ditzy Doo dropped her chalkboard and with an ecstatic bounce flew over to me for a hug (she was surprisingly, but not disgustingly, squishy). I didn't even care, I had found someone in the wasteland who came from my time, someone who went through the same hell I did and lived through the same end of the world I knew. I hugged her back, laughing and crying (where the hell were all these tears coming from?!) and laughing some more. I wasn't alone anymore.

Jester and the lavender filly had deposited the stove in the house and were watching us, the filly laughing and bouncing around Jester. He caught my eye and gave me a half-smile; for the first time in days, progress!

Ditzy Doo and Silver Bell (her adopted daughter) stayed over for dinner. I helped Jester cook the radigator meat while he caught up with Ditzy, regaling her with stories of our adventure to the radigator lake as she shook with silent laughter. He floated a pad of paper and several small crayons over to Silver Bell, who squealed with delight and immediately started coloring while I sizzled the meat on the stove (Jester gave me brief instructions on how to cook them, and I had so far burned nearly zero of the steaks).

Jester explained to me what a ghoul was, and how Ditzy Doo had managed to survive this long in the wasteland (she ran a little store and delivery service called Almost Everything out of a town to the northeast, New Appleloosa). He explained how she had been just far enough from the Cloudsdale megaspell to survive the radiation blast, but had taken such a large amount of radiation in such a short amount of time that she was transformed into a ghoul. He refused to tell me about Silver Bell's history though, looking gently at the scar on her forehead and whispering to me that sometimes things in the past should stay in the past.

Jester had changed dramatically over the course of the night. I had never seen him in the presence of other ponies he wasn't actively trying to kill (or, in my unique case, trying not to kill), and it was a heartening sight. He played with Silver Bell and helped her with her drawings; he haggled friendly-like with Ditzy Doo over supplies, eventually depositing a small bag of bottlecaps in her hooves; he even complimented me on my cooking.

By the time Ditzy Doo and Silver Bell left for the night, Jester looked like he had gained years back on his life. He was an angry, dangerous pony yes, but I was overjoyed to see this side of him too. I was afraid the fatherly pony who nursed me back to health was a figment of my recovering mind's imagination and not a real part of him.

I cleaned the dishes for him as he sat watching the cloud cover get darker.

"You know, Collateral," he said, "I think... I've been too hard on you so far. I didn't want to believe you were a pony from before the bombs, so I kept trying to figure out what your angle was. But after seeing you with Ditzy Doo, I'm kinda forced to believe you really did go through all that."

I kept silent, waiting for him to go on.

"I can only imagine what you've gone through so far, and I can promise you you're going to go through a lot more from here, so you need to learn as fast as you can," he said. "It's not that you're stupid, it's that you really don't understand what life is like nowadays. Read the book Ditzy gave you. You've got a good heart and a loud mouth, which is a deadly combo out here. I can't have you getting killed."

I turned and gave him a searching look. He continued, "Because you owe me a lot of money, don't forget that."

I sighed and turned back to the dishes as he gave me that fatherly half-smile again.

He walked over and put a hoof on my shoulder. "Thank you for the way you recovered with Ditzy Doo back there. She is by far one the best ponies in the wasteland, and also one of the only caravans willing to fly all the way out here, and..." he coughed, "well, she's also a friend. There ain't too many opportunities for friendship out here, so I try to keep the ones I have as best I can."

He trotted over to his door, which we had finally fixed earlier with supplies from Ditzy Doo.

"Also, clean up this shit. I'ma teach you about your PipBuck tomorrow and we're going to need more room. And get to bed soon, there's a lot of stuff to go over and I can't teach you if you're going to be dumb."

I stuck my tongue out at him. "Thanks, dad. Ass."

His smile froze on his face for a second, the fire going out of his eyes like a candle that's been sneezed on.

"Well... goodnight then." He walked into his room and closed the door.

I closed my eyes and hung my head for a second, angry at myself for knocking the mental wind out of him like that with a careless comment. Jester still had his secrets, his hidden, weeping wounds, and that was ok for now. I wanted to treat him better. He's already given me my life back and helped me meet one of probably the only ponies I'd meet from my time out here. For now, I was going to stay away from family talk, especially since we had just gotten back on track again. Maybe in the future I'd be able to help him out with that.

For now, dishes.

One of these days I'm going to put a bullet through that hospital light. Jester flicked it on right into my face, causing me to desperately claw at the couch cushions to cover my eyes.

"Rise and shine, Collateral. Today is PipBuck day," he said, floating a couple bottles of Sunrise Sarsaparilla from the fridge and tossing me a package of Fancy Buck Snack Cakes. I deftly caught the package and tore it open, washing down the centuries old sugar-topped confection with a swig of Sunrise Sarsaparilla. Hunger and thirst stated, I trotted out the door to relieve my full bladder.

By the time I came back, Jester had levitated the table out of the way and rolled over the medical tray that housed the computer. All of his furniture either leaned against the wall or hid away in the other rooms. I had a bad feeling about how much room he was creating: either he was worried I would damage something while getting the hang of whatever he was going to teach me (possible), or what I was going to learn was painful and he needed room for me to roll around in pain (or maybe that was my imagination getting away from me).

Either way, with some trepidation I found myself sitting at the computer, PipBuck once again wired into the terminal. Jester clacked away at the keyboard, pulling up lines of code and weird symbols. None of it made sense to me, but after a minute Jester clapped his hooves together.

"You have a real early version of the PipBuck software, but thankfully this PipBuck has all the right hardware for the special arcano-tech spells that later models used. You got really lucky on that," he said.

"Yeah, according to Spitfire, this was one of the prototype models that the Stable citizens' PipBucks were based off," I answered. "This wasn't a mass-produced model, but it was supposedly one of the last prototypes and was nearly production-ready."

Jester answered with a distracted "mhmm" and lost himself in the codes again. After a few minutes, the computer pinged at him, and he turned to me with a smile of triumph. My PipBuck's screen turned off and then flickered back on, displaying, "PipBuck updating, please do not turn off your PipBuck." It whirred and beeped and clicked, turning on and off several times. The back plating against my arm started to warm up, prompting me to warn Jester, who waved off my concerns.

With a final ding, my PipBuck screen displayed, "Updated complete! Reboot now? Y/N." I turned the knob until "Y" was highlighted and pressed the button. And promptly screamed.

All of a sudden, my vision was full of floating and moving objects, colors and numbers swirling around each other. I backed away in a panic, waving my hooves and rubbing my eyes to make them go away. Sideswiped by anxiety, I tripped over my hooves and fell into a wall.

"Whoa there, Collateral!" Jester yelled as I lay on the ground in a daze. "Keep your eyes closed and listen to me."

I dutifully closed my eyes and hugged myself to stop shaking, reminding myself there were no floating objects and that I was not losing my mind.

"What you're seeing now is called Eyes Forward Sparkle, or E.F.S. for short. Depending on what your PipBuck is capable of, you should be seeing at least a compass with floating marks and maybe some numbers."

Oh. Damnit, I recognized some of the swirls now. This was just like having my helmet on, but, you know, without the whole actually-wearing-a-helmet thing. I am not a scaredy pony, damnit! I slowly lowered my hooves and opened my eyes. As the numbers and colors settled into position, I started to pick apart what information was being shown.

Directly below my line of sight, I saw a compass that had a little yellow tick on it. When I turned my head left and right, the compass changed direction with me, and the yellow tick stayed pointed at Jester. I asked him about it.

"Ok good, your E.F.S. has a friend-or-foe designator. Yellow is friendly, red is foe. Feel free to shoot anything that pops up as red, but sometimes if you're quick with a word or a hiding place, you can turn an enemy back to friendly."

He also added a word of caution: "If the E.F.S. detects a threat to you, the designator will be red wherever the enemy is located. It is NOT, however, a moral designator. First lesson: not everything that is red should die, and not everything that is yellow deserves to live."

I felt that I had learned that lesson enough times from him, and I had opened my mouth to point that out, but he continued without pause, assuming the air of a school teacher. "Second lesson: all you will see is a red tick. Is it a little bloatfly? A radroach? Or is it a massive manticore that could rip you apart with its bare claws? Always be aware before you charge in headfirst. Discretion is the better part of valor and also the better part of staying alive."

I closed my mouth after that. That was actually good info to remember. I kept moving my head around, trying to spot a red tick, but came up empty.

"Third, the E.F.S. sees everything in a full sphere around you, but it only displays on a 2D line. If you see a red tick, it could be below or above your position, so remember to look up and down as much as you look side to side."

I nodded, watching his yellow tick stay stationary even as my head moved up and down.

"And finally, the E.F.S. does not have to be a permanent display. From the menus in your PipBuck, you can choose whether or not to keep it up. Honestly, I recommend keeping it up at all times except when you're asleep. You'll never know what it'll pick up that we can't see."

"That's really cool, actually," I said, trying to force down the mild dizziness that crept up while I was spinning my head around. "What else can this thing do?"

"Well, several things." He started counting on his hooves. "There's the auto-repair module - that comes in handy when you want to repair your armor and weapons; there's the radio module - not much to listen to nowadays except that yapping DJ from Tenpony and that crazy fool from Fillydelphia; it can download and play messages from terminals - if you have an earbloom you can plug it in and listen to it in your ear; you can connect a long distance transmitter if someone has a receiver on the other end - I have one for the terminal, that's how Ditzy knew to bring a stove; it has a heavy-duty flashlight; it can keep track of your health and your inventory..."

On and on he went, and boy did I feel pathetic. I never even knew this damn thing had a light, much less that it was capable of all that. I picked up Magnolia and it immediately showed me how many shots were in her, how many bullets I had for her, and what condition she was in. This was awesome!

Jester pulled me back to his attention. "The one other main thing it has, and what I think is going to be most important for you, is the Stable-Assisted Targeting Spell, or S.A.T.S. This spell allows you to speed up your perception to the speed of thought so you can line up your targets and plan your attack. Do you see a full bar somewhere on your E.F.S.?"

I nodded that I did. It was in the bottom right corner of my vision.

"Ok, now here is the tricky part: firing off the spell. It's different for all ponies. I've heard it described as 'popping', 'slipping', 'dropping', or 'stepping' into S.A.T.S., though some ponies say they can mentally ask for it or even use a spark of magic to trigger it. You're going to have to learn by trial and error, so catch!"

With that last word, his magic flared. I turned wildly around and caught a sofa cushion to the face. Needless to say, I did not "pop" into S.A.T.S., though I did hear a pop from my jaw. Urgh.

I spent the next hour galloping around the room, dodging cushion after cushion as Jester howled with laughter. I had worked up quite a sweat and had yet to bring up S.A.T.S. even once, though I did manage to bring up a particularly nice bruise above my eye when I had tripped into the wall again.

I needed a second to collect myself. I sat with my back to the corner as the cushions continued peppering my face. Closing my eyes, I focused and thought about what I knew of S.A.T.S. It was supposed to speed up my perception, right? Does that mean like slowing time down? I went with yes, so then what else slows time down? Ponies always talk about their lives flashing before their eyes if they thought they were going to die, but despite my best efforts I couldn't pretend the pillows were going to kill me anytime soon. Thought after thought flew threw my mind without reprieve from the cushy bombardment.

And then it hit me (the thought I needed, not the cushions. Well, also the cushions). That moment right before Vertibuck take off. That deep exhale as I pushed forward the throttle brace and felt the engines roar. In that moment, time would stretch forever and liquid calm would flood my body. I was no longer a pony bound by the laws of gravity. I was free.

I opened my eyes to see the cushions floating in front of me. Jester lay flat on his back, unmoving, eyes closed and mouth set in a wide laugh. I couldn't move, but I could turn my head side to side, taking in to account all friends and enemies in the vicinity. The only thing I could aim at was Jester, and I was surprised to see a percentage number floating above him once I locked on.

Of course, it was a big fat zero. I wasn't that surprised, seeing as I was unarmed and he was way out of my reach. I guessed that S.A.T.S. probably had a specific range tied to whatever weapon I had equipped at that moment, and hooves just weren't going to cut it. There was, however, one more cushion sitting on the floor...

I relaxed my grip on the memory of Vertibuck takeoff and stumbled back, taking two cushions to the face. Jester continued laughing; the poor fool didn't realize I'd figured it out.

I dove for the prone cushion and slipped into S.A.T.S. again. This time, with sofa cushion in mouth, I had the choice to aim for any of Jester's extremities or body. When I aimed at his head, the percentage jumped to nearly 100% percent. Perfect.

I locked on, felt a mental beep in my mind when I chose to attack his head with the cushion, and released my hold on S.A.T.S. With a perfect wind-up and throw, the cushion flew through the air, hitting him smack in his big fat stupid open mouth. He choked on a laugh.

"Yes!" I yelled, jumping in the air and avoiding the last of the moving cushions. Jester sat up with an amused look on his face, spitting the cushion out of his mouth.

"Yup, I think you got it now. I think that's everything I can teach you about your PipBuck, so any other learning about it is going to be on your own."

"Thanks, Jester," I said. "How do you know all these things about PipBucks?"

Was it my imagination, or did Jester's eyes get shifty for a second? "I've, ah, been around ponies who've had them before, and this terminal has a lot of info on them."

I was sure he was hiding something, but now wasn't the time to pry. He seemed thankful when I moved on.

"Well, this is all really cool. Do you know what's this percentage thing I see up in the corner?"

"No idea, never heard of that one," he answered. I had a suspicion it was maybe the suit's talisman, since it had dipped into the 90s and slowly inched its way back up as my face stopped hurting. Good to see it was still working.

"Oh hey, I totally forgot about something!" I said. I ran through my PipBuck menus, found the right setting, and turned it on. "Watch this."

I crouched down and felt my suit start to tingle. The word "STEALTH" popped into my E.F.S., and I could tell the suit still worked by the way Jester's eyes popped out of his face.

"Holy shit!" he yelled. "That's gotta be zebra magic or infused Stealthbucks or some crazy shit in there."

I flickered back into view with a crackle, even though I hadn't stood up.

Jester wrinkled his nose. "Doesn't look like it's working right though..."

"Bah. Apparently it wasn't ever fully configured, but maybe I can still get some use out of it," I said. "I'm going to leave the stealth setting off for now though, that crackle would give me away as badly as actually being visible."

"That's surprisingly good thinking for you," he said. I stuck out my tongue.

He floated over what were becoming my honorary saddlebags and a pile of leather scraps he bought from Ditzy Doo. "Collateral, it's about that time. Pack what you need and see if you can make yourself some holsters with these leathers. We should start heading up to your base tomorrow."

"Yeah, I agree," I said, trying to mask the cold whisper of fear that shot up my spine. "You've been waiting long enough on me, and I'm not going to get much better than this. You gonna help me pack?"

"Yep. I'm going to bring out my supplies so we can figure out what to take and what to leave." He walked to his room and started floating out items into a pile in the main room.

I wasn't much for sewing, but I pulled a staple gun from Jester's toolbox and fashioned myself a rough utility belt. Magnolia was too large for a hip holster, so I added a couple loops to the straps of the saddlebag and made myself a back holster, with the butt of the gun peeking out over my shoulder for an easy draw. The shotgun fit cleanly in its own holster between my flank and one of the saddlebags.

We parsed through the pile together, healing potions and wraps divided between us along with boxes of ammo for our respective weapons. Rad-X and RadAways were divided similarly. I told him about my suit's ability to hold and dispense medical aid, and with his help we finally figured out how to work the control panel on my right flank. Most of my healing potions and RadAways went into the control panel.

Jester's saddle bags already had sewn-in holsters for his weapons - and he made sure to grab nearly all of them. Two large-bore and long-barelled pistols, a beat-up combat shotgun ("I'll repair that on the way," he said), criss-crossing assault rifles (one with a scope and a silencer, the other set up for extended magazines), his knife, and of course the big wooden box housing his sniper rifle. He looked like a walking armory, glistening with blue steel and smelling of gunpowder and oil. He tossed me a bandolier with apple grenades hooked on, which I caught gingerly, and then he floated in a massive footlocker.

With a flourish, he turned it over, spilling its contents all over the floor. I tip-toed around the mess, looking for something useful, but from what I could tell, this was all trash. Cigarette packs, toy cars, old hot plates, even heavy irons occupied space along the floor. I gave Jester a questioning look, but after a few minutes of intense concentration, he dumped nearly all of it into our bags.

"You being serious here, Jester? Why are we carrying all this trash around?" I said.

He started pulling the items out of his bag and showing me them. "This here? It'll fetch us 5 caps. Cigarette packs are 10 caps apiece. That iron's gotta be worth somethin' to somepony."

"Well then, why didn't you just trade with Ditzy Doo while she was here?" I had him there. See? I was already picking up on how things worked out here in the wasteland.

He opened his mouth, blinked, and then closed it again. "Ah, ponyfeathers. I knew I was forgetting something." He glowered at me as a smug smile crept across my face, which then promptly fell off as he transferred the heavy iron to my bag.

Man, me and my big mouth.

We spent the rest of the night talking tactics, which more or less amounted to me staying way out of the way and letting Jester handle enemies. Apparently, he thought I was loud and incapable of either stealth or intelligent thought or tactical awareness and would be more a liability than anything. No idea where he got that from. I would be one step to his back with my head on a swivel, using the PipBuck's Eyes Forward Sparkle to scout for foes. He said that hopefully the additional warning we'd gain from the PipBuck would offset my inexperience in the field.

We also finished packing up, making sure not to smash the food we were taking. He gifted me the pistol I had first used against the deadly scourge of Sarsaparilla bottles, which fit neatly into my jury rigged side-holster. He wanted me to take some sort of blunt melee weapon, but without magic I couldn't figure out how I'd be able to do any damage. I told him I'd gladly take a knife, but he only had the one. A sword was also out of the question, though that would have been so cool. I settled for a lead pipe with a heavy nut on the end, figuring if nothing else I could probably drop it on someone and do some damage.

With our bags fully packed, Jester set off to bed. I tossed and turned for a time, then switched over to playing around with the settings on the PipBuck. I changed the E.F.S. colors to something more my style (green!), used the inventory software to better arrange everything I was carrying, and I was making hoof-shadows with the flashlight before Jester finally yelled at me to get some sleep.

Morning came dark and abrupt. We split a box of Sugar Bombs and washed it down with more delicious Sunrise Sarsaparilla, and then headed out the door.

Jester made sure to lock up, and while his back was turned, I strapped on a bobby pin and pulled out my trusty flat head and started working on it. The click of the lock opening caught his attention while he made last minute rearrangements to his saddlebags, his facial features fighting between amusement and exasperation. With a pointed look, he locked it again and started down the trail away from the woods with me right behind.

I saw Lock Nut's hoofprints leading away to the west as we trotted on, and I also saw Ditzy's cart tracks where she landed and where she took off. With a twinge of jealousy, I thought of her wings and still couldn't figure out how she could fly with those twisted, skeletal remains. Maybe Almost Everything sold something to help ponies fly. I'd have to look into that.

We hit a fork in the road, one path leading south and one curling back towards the northeast, a wide sweeping curve that put us right at the edge of the forest. What was left of Maripony glimmered sullenly at the edge of the horizon to the east. With one last look to Jester's house, we set off down the northeast path, me keeping time and matching his hoofprints step for step.

I wasn't scared at all. Bring on the wasteland.

Chapter 5: The Air We Breathe and the Stories We Tell

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