When you are loyal to your family, are you loyal to them, or yourself?

Equestrian-UBR (United Bolos Republic) DMZ

Checkpoint 211, between the towns of Helmsteed and Marenborn

The checkpoint was nothing to write home about. A small booth stood in the middle of a street, surrounded on both sides by a border zone, an empty, stretching field that separated the two countries. Tall concrete walls were constructed, keeping trespassers out of the zone.

Around the Immigration Booth were empty areas surrounded by barricades and chain link fences topped with razor wire. A guard tower overlooked the entire checkpoint, sharpshooters ready to fire on any who "jumped the wall" as they say. This area between the two countries and between the wall made for a juicy target for any who attempted to illegally cross, or to execute an attack. It was given the grim name of "Killing Field", after the massive strike in 660, Equestrian Calendar. Although no attack since then involved a total of forty terrorists, Checkpoint 211 remained closed for an entire decade. And when it reopened, the deaths decreased to two a year, if that.

So while the "Killing" part of the name didn't happen often, the guards would tell you that label applies to everyone. Including the Inspector. Nay, especially the inspector.

Like the checkpoint, Helmsteed was nothing to include in a letter. It was a cramped, bare brick city, stereotypically filled with shady characters, the poor and downtrodden, immigrants, and foreign food parlors operated by said immigrants. It was on the lowest rung of the ladder, desperately needing funding and serious reconstruction.

But even as the cold, winter winds chilled their souls, it could not extinguish their spirit.

A griffon walked out the wire and concrete checkpoint booth with a very red blush on her cheeks. Her hips were very stiff in comparison to the rest of her body, and she brought her rear legs up much higher than a normal griffon would. Her tail was curled between her legs, tightly protecting her sensitive parts from further intrusions. Ink Pad stared at her through the steam rising above his cheap cup of coffee as he sat on a bench that sat adjacent to the checkpoint exit.

With shaking talons, she packed her documents into her sling bag and motioned for her children to follow.

"Daddy, where are we even going?" asked the smaller of the two.

Ink Pad was silently grateful he had decided to let his hot drink cool, for the next moment was spit-take worthy.

"Rae, we're going to stay here for the night, and then we're going to take the train to South Chestnut."

His voice was one of the most masculine sounds he had ever heard. It rumbled with power, but at the same time, he wouldn't have minded that same voice reading him a bedtime story.

"We're going to see mother?!" her twin squeaked in excitement.

"We're going to see mother." he nodded in response.

They walked towards the local inn, his children chattering in excitement. Their voices faded into the wind, and eventually, they also disappeared into the city.

Ink Pad sipped his coffee, now somewhat cooler. His ash-grey coat blended in well with the stones on the street, while his jet-black mane somehow seemed blacker than his coffee. His mark was, unsurprisingly, of an ink pad.

"Daym...! That was a guy?!"

Ink Pad turned around to the voice.

The guard was young. He seemed like he wasn't two months out of Basic Training. His voice sounded even younger, like it belonged to a pony no older than thirteen. In fact, his armor appeared loose around his small stature, and his wings seemed like they had never gone past puberty. But on his adolescent body was the blue and white armor of a Border Guard, complete with battle damage.

"Yes. It appears so." Ink Pad murmured, still wondering about the griffon.

"Aw fuck! Now I got gay thoughts!" the guard groaned, holding his head between his hooves, "I can add Trans and MILF to the list..." he stopped, and started to laugh nervously, "I am so fucked up..."

Luckily for him, the immediate area around them was empty.

Ink Pad didn't exactly know what to comment on. The griffon that had just passed, or the guard behind him that was trying hard not to lust after said griffon. He simply opened and closed his mouth in confusion.

"Guh... what?" he finally asked.

The guard sighed, as if he was disappointed in Ink Pad's inability to follow.

"Ya know, trans or Transsexual, somethin' that don't have the equipment you expect them to-"

"No! No! I. Do Not. Need. To. Hear. About. Your. Messed. Up. Fantasies!" Ink Pad screamed, waving his hooves in a vain attempt to stop the lech from explaining any more terms.

"-MILF, acronym for Mother I'd Like to Fuck, I don't think I need to say anything more-" he continued without a slight notice to the stallion's objections.

Ink Pad shoved his hooves in his ears.

"But above all... My one dream... Is to fuck a dragon!" the guard finished with a hoof pointed dramatically in the air.

Only when the klaxons shook the air with their wailing did the guard realize he was still on duty. With his front legs still in a gesture, he looked around in confusion. Yelling and orders shot through the air, but only one was audible.

"Cease all movement! Drop your weapons and hold your paws in the air!"

Though he had heard the orders from the megaphone, the diamond dog continued on, his paws tightly gripped around two bottles of flammable fluid and burning cloth. Foam bubbled from his mouth, a clear sign that he was too far into his madness to be reasoned with.

Crossbows were unleashed, and though the guards were able to land a few hits, the dog launched his firebombs before succumbing to a well-placed bolt to the neck, his war cry dying into a gurgle.

The booth erupted in flames, screams of once hopeful immigrants echoing throughout the city as they scrambled away in terror.

"Oh shit... Medley! Medley!" the guard yelled in panic as he rocketed towards the burning checkpoint. A small fire team was already splashing the flaming building with buckets of water, pumped from well nearby.

Ink Pad galloped as fast as he could after him.

The fire was more-or-less put out, but according to how the guard from before was looking for an entrance, there was still a pony inside. He growled in frustration, then swiped a bucket of water before emptying it on the roof.

With one last breath, he smashed head-first into the blackened and smoldering remains.

***

Medley chugged, the cold, refreshing water dripping down her mouth and spilling out the sides, dampening her already dark purple coat even darker. The ash didn't help, her mane was an absolute mess, though after the attempt on her life, her mane was the least of her worries.

"Fuckin' A sis'! Ya good?"

"Ah'm good Deadeye! Ah- Hey!"

However much of a pervert Deadeye was, his sister was an entirely different matter. The guard threw off his helmet and nuzzled his sibling, glad that she was still alive. Medley playfully pushed him away, her very large grin showing how moved she was about the incident.

As the two talked, guards heaved heavy concrete barriers in front of the entrance and exit of both sides of the checkpoint. Red and yellow striped signs were also erected, indicating that Checkpoint 211 was closed for the day. Needless to say, the burned-out booth and the smell of smoke would turn away even the most desperate.

Ink Pad looked on as the guards worked. They had already torn down the old building, and were already beginning to construct a new one. They all had bored looks on their faces, a sure sign that this wasn't the first time this had happened. Most likely it wouldn't be the last.

"Ey' Are you ma'h replacement?" Medley asked suddenly, coming up from behind and surprising the daylights out of Ink Pad.

"Re-Replacement?!" he stuttered, not expecting the words that came out of her mouth.

"Yep. Replacement." she whispered as she brought her face close to his, making Ink's heart race in nervousness.

"Well, no- but."

"Well aren't ya' some sort'a fancy paper pusher 'r somethin'?" Medley asked, this time with all seriousness.

"Yes, and-"

"And ya' got sent by the Ministry?"

"Of?"

"Acceptance."

"Ah, that's Admissions." he corrected.

"Well, did'ja get sent by em' or not?!" she raised her voice and legs.

"No!" Ink Pad matched her volume.

"Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Whoa." Deadeye wedged himself between the two. "Alright. Let's settle this like civilized folk, no more a' this yellin' and fancy talk." He turned to Ink Pad. "Did you get sent by the Ministry?"

"No."

"They why're you here?"

"I need a job."

"You good at paperwork?"

"Yes."

"Good. You got the job." Deadeye turned towards his sister, ending the conversation.

"Wait! What?!" Ink Pad exclaimed, not knowing what had happened.

"I said, you got the job." the guard stated.

"What job?"

At this, Deadeye simply pointed towards the booth currently under construction.

"Ah... I'll pass." Ink Pad backed off, not wanting to die a fiery and quite painful death.

"Look," Medley sighed as she stepped forwards, "if yer' wonderin' about the fire bombs... That's because ah' me." her face fell.

"You...?"

"Me." she nodded, "If ya can tell, I'm a singer. I use'ta work at an inn, but ever since the attack two months ago, the border needed a new inspector' an' all. Before the inn job, Ah put mah' name in the job list. Course' Ah forgot bout' it. But after the attack, mah name was the only one on there."

"And you took the job?"

Medley sadly nodded her head, "The inn Ah' worked at closed, and this 's the only place Ah even heard that was hirein'. Ah knew mah' brother was workin' here too, so it wasn't like there was any choice."

Ink Pad breathed out, "And then what?"

"After I got the job..." she trailed off, but her brother continued for her.

"...The attacks increased like hell." Deadeye closed one eye in thought. "Before she worked here, there were... bout'... three firebombs every two-ish months..."

Ink Pad braced himself for the answer, "And after?"

"Five a' week."

Ink coughed, both in surprise and in reaction to Deadeye's nonchalant tone.

"Five?!"

"A week."

"Why?"

Medley sighed, and took over, "It's cause' I suck at mah job. The last inspector took fifteen minutes with each person. I took about three hours just to check their passports." Her frown only got larger as she continued. "Everyday there were folks who got pissed because they waited hours just to be turned away. Ah try mah' best, but there's just so much to check, and re-check, an' identify an'-!" she stopped, sighing.

Ink Pad was silent. He had quit his last job simply due to the fact that his boss was, quite frankly, an idiot. But for some reason, a mare in a small town had a job she didn't want, but wanted done. It was a foreign thought to Ink Pad.

"Why?" he asked.

"Why what?" Medley looked up.

"Why do you want this job done so badly?"

Silence.

Her brother stood back. This was for her to answer.

"Have... Have ya' ever looked past the border?"

Ink Pad shook his head.

"Well, it's... pretty bad. There's plenty of desperate folk who want'ta escape. To get out." she sniffed, "Equestria may be xenophobic and specist, but there are plenty of people who'r willin' to go through that, just to get outta' their own countries."

"You... really want to help..."

"Aye. Ah truly wanna help. 211 has low MoA priority, so I've been workin' as a temp. New guy should'a been here months ago, but we've heard nothin' from em'."

Ink Pad was split. Half of him could not forget the burned-out checkpoint booth, but the other half reminded him that a job opportunity wasn't within spitting distance, but rather shoved in his face.

"I'll do it."

***

He followed Medley into the building adjacent to the checkpoint. It was a run-down, clearly underfunded residential building. Whatever paint that was applied at the time of construction had already peeled off, and the floors hadn't been swept for some time. The lowest level were the guard barracks, small, dimly-lit rooms lined with bunks. Medley led him into the shared shower room.

She introduced him, but got only uninterested looks if he was lucky. Most didn't even look in his direction.

"...And 'ere we have the Lt." she gestured to a bored-looking unicorn currently brushing his teeth, staring into the cracked mirror.

He grunted, and with only a glance to acknowledged his existence, continued.

"Ah think his name's Pinhead 'r somethin'." she whispered as they walked out of the barracks and back into the dark hallway.

Hooves clopping as they ascended the tight and steep spiraling stairs, Ink Pad opened his mouth to ask a question. But as if fate herself intervened, Medley started talking.

"Now, Ah know what your thinkin'. And yes, there's a good reason."

They skipped the next floor, the doors covered in signs warning of ongoing construction. But by the overall look of the building, it seemed that they haven't even started.

"They don't wanna know you."

"Why? Is there some sort of 'New Guy Hate' everypony participates in?"

Medley laughed, her voice booming throughout the building. They passed a few more floors, all of their doors boarded up and warning signs nailed on.

"Nah..." the last few giggles left her lungs, and her mood darkened slightly, "There's just... plenty a' stories..."

"Stories?"

She nodded, "Stories."

By the time they reached the fifth floor, the sky was dark, and the moon was peeking above the horizon.

"Twinkle Spot. Unicorn. She lasted eight days before bein' burned alive." Her voice was no louder than a whisper.

"She... was the Inspector before you... wasn't she?"

Medley nodded, "When Ah worked at the inn, she usually came up and chatted with me when Ah was on break. See, Ah knew her before she took the job. Worked as an intern, but then disappeared for a month. Then Ah found out that she graduated."

They reached the top floor, the only one with a door that wasn't completely blocked off. Medley pushed it open, the hinges squealing loud enough that a mandrake would've been jealous.

"I dunno what she was after, but one day a letter came sayin' that she was the new inspector. Sure Ah was happy, annoyed an' all that she disappeared, but happy that she came back."

The floor creaked alarmingly loud, as if the old wood wasn't supported by anything underneath. Ink Pad stepped lightly, not wanting to fall through. Medley paid it no mind, having gotten used to it during her time here.

"...And then?" Ink Pad asked, wanting to know what happened next.

She stopped in front of an old door at the end of the hallway. Her head drooped.

"Boom."

He kept silent.

***

"And this," Medley cheerfully pointed out as she pushed the old door open, all traces of her somber mood disappearing within the span of a few seconds, "is yours."

At a first glance, Ink Pad thought that he was to sleep in a bathroom that was missing the bathtub, sink and other objects that made a bathroom what it was.

A faint click sounded as Medley pushed the wall switch, and the wires behind the walls buzzed as a single light bulb flickered on.

The room was no bigger than the inside of a large cargo wagon, and the walls and floor were just as bare as one. The bulb hung from a wire that was crudely secured to the ceiling with what looked like office staples. The room was otherwise completely empty.

"Eh... yeh, we're gonna hav'ta get a mattress for ya." Medley mumbled as she kicked floor where the old bed had left a thin layer of dust in a neat rectangle. She continued on explaining about bath times and how the heat was broken, but stopped when she noticed that Ink Pad wasn't listening.

He slowly walked towards the window, dominated by a view of the city of Marenborn in all of its glory. Medley came up beside him, and sighed in sadness.

"Yep. That's Marenborn."

It was shit.

Ink Pad tried hard to think of other words to describe it, to describe the city literally falling apart, and the slums built in alleyways and under bridges. He could see the massive trash heap, and the desperate picking through it. What could only be described as the usual city waste was what their homes were made out of.

If Helmsteed was the garbage can, then Marenborn was inside of the can, and the slums were at the bottom.

He opened his mental dictionary for any other word that could give a glimpse of the situation.

Unfortunately, he could find no suitable substitute.

It was shit.

"Ever since the Machete War, there've been folks trying to get in. Some do. They kept their papers and passports. But others..." She sighed. "Ah know that it's policy an' all, but these folk can't get in here, and they can't get back out. There's this one buffalo that's been tryin' to get in for years. Never has the right paperwork. He never yells, he never gets mad, he jest'..." Medley trailed off, lost in thought. "He jest'... accepts it and goes off. It don't feel right."

It don't feel right.

***

As Ink Pad lay on the tattered mattress, Medley's words echoed in his mind. He always hated making choices, especially one that involved ethics. He was a cog. There was an input, and he responded. There was a deadline, and he met it. One and one was always two, and the apple always rolled down the hill.

He turned, trying to sleep. The blanket was itchy, the mattress was flat, and there was a phantom breeze blowing across his face. Unfortunately, the blanket wasn't large enough to cover his face and legs. Groaning in annoyance, he kicked off his blanket and rolled off his mattress.

His hairs stood on end as he shivered in his own room, and he quickly wrapped himself in the blanket.

Outside, the first snowflake of the winter fluttered outside his window. Ink Pad stared as it slowly floated down into the city.

It was near midnight, but Helmsteed was far from asleep. The lights were on, and in a nearby bar, a slow song began to play. He couldn't tell what kind of instruments they were using, nor who was playing it. But the band's attempt to slow the night down certainly worked on the new Checkpoint Inspector.

For the first time that night, Ink Pad yawned. The smooth, catchy beat perfectly matched the sleepy atmosphere of the night city. He turned back to his mattress, and rolled back on.

He took one last breath of cold air and exhaled.

The song continued.

Author's Note

Checkpoint Alpha, Helmstedt–Marienborn border crossing.