Fallout: Equestria - Zero Hour

~bzzt-- *KER-tshh* *Weeeeewoo-Weeeeewoo* “...eather.” *Clip-Clop* --bzzt~ *hss-KRRT* *Clip-Clop* *Weeeeewoo-Weeeeewoo* *zzz-ZZZ* “... Ahh-GH!” *thunk* “Glue F...” *Weeeeewoo-Weeeeewoo* *Clip-Clop* *Click-Beep* --bzzt~ “Blow 'em up, put your...” *Weeeee-Click-Boop*

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“... ready–” ~Bzzt~ “... paid your dues?” *ZZ-ZZ* “Please– NO– not me!” *ZZZzz-TK-tk* *thunk* “... check is in the mail.” *zzz-ZZ* “..anyone out there!? Pl–” *ZZ* *Click-Beep--ZZ-tk--Click-Boop*

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-- BZZT~

“Hold up, listeners! All of you, old and new, false and true– From every state, every size, every shape, every TYPE– Eastern, Western, finned, gooey, or striped. Hear muh words... As the storm grows, builds, brews– we do too; and whether you're boarding up yer home, or marching to defend it... though you know where you go and know you may die. I'd be remiss, if you were dismissed; without ever knowing why. If you're anything like me, you've been tired AND losing sleep. So keep an ear to the wire, and don't make a peep... Well I hope I have yer attention, because I'm out of rhymes. Listen closely to the coming tale and you just might hear yer own name, and it wouldn't be that strange; after all, it's our story in a way– how we got to this moment– and I have it right here in my hooves.” ~Kershhh-SH-pOP~ “Well, the hour is upon us and the clock is ticking... And I read:”

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“Doodley-Do Doodley-Do Doodley-Do” - Wayne and Garth

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“War... war never changes.. It's productive, intense, and destructive. It brings out the best and worst of every party involved. That's why here in Dr. Buckley Prosper's Academy of Natural Sciences we strive to look on the bright side of war! New advances are being made every day, advances that will carry Ponykind into the future; well past the defeat of the despicable Zebras. But just in case those lowlifes were to successfully strike our Academy, our caring founder has developed the most advanced emergency procedures to date! Just for you precious students.”

“Pfft. Oi fellas, I know we're trying to do something but this is going to be hilarious,” said a large stallion. The group glanced at the television between tasks of collecting books, holding back a door, and chopping off a raider's foreleg with a meat cleaver. When the screen displayed an animated diagram of radiation safely passing over a desk, three of them lost it. “Ohmypatronpony,” the large stallion wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, nearly taking his back off the door, “that's the biggest pile of Brahmin shite I ever seen!”

“How can you be laughing right now?” asked a hooded mare.

“I'm looking on the bright side of course. The tele is right about that one.”

“Bright side? You said these bastards would be gone.”

“Majority of 'em are, doll. These few must have done something to warrant being left behind; Twelve Scars go to battle full force. Haven't ya been keeping up with your reading?” The graffiti coating the room stated as much about the raiders' tactics.

“Oh and you're such a dutiful student.” She pointed a hoof to a plaque above the door.

“Ponies are not Mules, never leave a job half done.” – Buckley Prosper.

The door was closed, the books were collected, and a foreleg lay harmlessly on the ground. An impossibly well-kept journal had been left nearly empty, with the exception of seemingly random bits of information scattered among the pages a few sentences at a time; this was picked up as well, though it wouldn't see new use for quite a while.

The video was right about one more thing. War never does change. History books are always sure of when they end, but when they started is always a much trickier question. When did this war start? A thousand years ago? When first a Pony spoke to a Zebra? Sometime before that video was made? When this gang decided to steal some books? Just a moment ago? Perhaps, the true war hasn't yet started. These ponies– These wasters were not the kind to answer such questions; perhaps, that was their greatest virtue of all.

“Ya know what always get's me in the mood to kill?”

Something wet rhythmically banged against the door. “MY leg, give IT BACK! I want to taste it.”

“We are not here to GIVE!”

“... remember these safety tips young ones. For better or worse, the future rests with you.” And the monitor cut to static.

1._________________________________________________________________________I Don't Know Where To Start

“Alpha, Rita has escaped! Assemble a team of teenagers, with attitude!”

NOT ONE INCH!

“That's what we're giving to them,” I said, as the raider continued thumping their bleeding nub against the door; the pulse reverberated through the wood, into my back, and clashed with the one in my chest. The resulting beat reminded me of a tune I'd heard, and I guessed that Twelve Scars could have death-songs too. I took a breath, and sing-talked, “We waste away every day, and the land does too.”

If I could just remember all the lyrics.

“Booster, just no,” the cerulean mare said. She was nervous as usual, and stroked her white mane so fiercely– it was a wonder she still had any seafoam streaks left in it. “We need a plan, and right now.”

“Would ya kindly supply one? You can supply all of them if you want, Serene. Just say the word.”

I began stuffing my pockets with every explosive charge we had and fretted over how much safer this would be had I more than a makeshift, tactical vest.

Serene's forehead wrinkled, and eyes bulged. “What're y– do you know how much those are worth?”

“Aye, less than our lives. I don't see another way out, but I'm far from the keenest one here. If ya have a plan, I'm all ears.”

She needed time to respond, so I inspected my battle-saddle and the semi-auto rifle mounted on its right side; I tested the action on the bit, inserted a fresh magazine, and cranked back the slide.

She trotted to the window, glanced at the ground, and shook her head. Her creased brow seemed grim in the red light of the descending Sun. Her eyes darted about the bare schoolroom in near silence. The beating on the door was dying in volume and tempo, but I kept the beat alive in my mind. She gritted her teeth, but said nothing; no amount of song lyrics were gonna make my plan less suicidal.

“Every day we fight, when we have so much to do.” I tossed her the detonator. “Three second delays.”

Unlike her sister, Bitter Shores was ecstatic and practically drooling over her pistol. I lost myself in her wide, starry, and green eyes a moment. Those that noticed her four-pointed pupils tended to stare a moment, and then try and ignore them– but not me. Like the stars themselves, I found them alien but beautiful. She started to say something, but kicked the olive green stallion in a fetlock instead.

“Oh, what is the plan exactly?” Olive asked.

“Divide and conquer, OJ. And stay out of each other's way.”

Olive put on a smirk and a floating sash consisting of four straight blades, a kitchen knife, and a bloody meat cleaver. The orange glow of his horn glared against the scarred dome where, I assume, his mane once was; in all our years together I'd never seen it. “Gotcha.”

A fresh raider had taken up the task of beating down the door, with what sounded like the other's corpse. “But we all want more. It's not enough to go around.” I took a few, wide prances to the far side of the room. “Try to snatch it from my mouth, it's not my fault if my teeth come down!” I galloped, at ramming speed, towards the door. “HERE WE GO AGAIN!”

*KER-CREAKSH* We had barred the door with a raider's severed leg, but my momentum carried me– and the ancient door– into the hallway as if it was held up by tape.

“What's–” the raider said, as the door tumbled to the ground with all my weight... and a wet crunch.

I rolled off my left shoulder and over the door; as I skid onto the floor– the cracked, vinyl tiles tore into my knees. I rose to my hooves and galloped down the hallway– bleeding as well as singing. “Whooaa, Whooaa, Whoa. I gave up my share of the pie.” As I neared the end of that stretch of hallway, a couple Twelve Scars lifted their heads over a row of sandbags set across a doorway directly ahead– and were met with a barrage of small rounds. One took a bullet in the throat, but the other ducked unscathed. I hit the ground a half-second too late for it to matter, and glanced back at the source of the noise.

Bitter babbled something indecipherable around her 9mm pistol, and waved me onward. Behind her, Olive and Serene were working their way up the hall.

I armed an explosive and tossed it in the sandbagged room before turning left to continue my trek. “Whooaa, Whooaa, Whoa. But they wanted another slice!” More sandbags, but this time obstructing–

*KABOOM* … the hall; three raiders, two with pistols, stood guard behind them. I sank my teeth into my bit and sprayed 7.62 in their general direction. One battle-scarred raider with a sledgehammer decided not to duck. He stood fast, but I ran faster. His eyes narrowed at my approach, and he bared his teeth around the hammer's wooden handle. The raider craned his neck as I reached the barricade, but it was too late. I lept over the sandbags and trampled over his face before he could swing; arming and dropping a bomb in my wake. “Whooaa, Whooaa, Whoa.” I was off beat, and ducking bullets until...

*KABOOM* Serene was counting fast. “Even if it cost my LIFE.” From a door on my right, a bullet punched through a– luckily, empty– pocket and dug into the barding underneath. I traded the blow for a live explosive and ran on. I glanced left, down a hall, and glimpsed Olive buzz-sawing his way through a raider brandishing a– hopefully spent– sawn-off. “So I had to make them think TWICE. NOT I.”

*KABOOM* “I NEVER SAY DIE!” Four more– armed with pipes and knives, thank Luna– poured into the hall. I dived between the first two, but lost speed fishing through a pocket for yet another bomb. I produced and armed one before the third raider– a Unicorn– struck my leg with a glowing, metal pipe. I lost grip of the explosive; a mistake I planned to leave far behind. I drove my shoulder into the fourth raider and yanked my bit; she was too preoccupied to pursue me further. If I stopped moving for even a second, Serene would paint the walls in a layer of Booster. I didn't know how Serene would–

*KABOOM* Heat and gore rained upon me. I picked up my pace, despite the excruciating sting each heavy step drove up my leg. The hall ended with a left, and I took it. Seven raiders, four with shoddy rifles, stood at the other end; in one mass, they charged at me. I ducked into the next room on my right, and dropped all but one charge by the door. “Where there is no law there is no crime!” I emptied my magazine into the window, dropped one live explosive, and ran. My mother, and her mother, had died singing; seemed stylish enough for me. “But I don't need rules to take a bite out of grime!”

*CRASH* *CRASH* *KABAB'BOOMBOOM*

“Fuck...”

“Oi, Nelly. Wait– what?” I opened my eyes and found the sky; then the ground. A high pitch ringing in my ears gradually became the swooshing of a strong wind. I lowered my gaze from a drifting cloud to the academy, to the broken second storey window, and finally to a raider. Her hindlegs bent and twisted in several, unnatural places. I was scraped, bruised, and my side ached with every breath. Then I noticed a flickering light at the end my tail.

“Shite.” I promptly summoned the strength to stomp out the flame. Then sat back with a sigh–

“I am gonna. Eat. YOU!” the raider said between sharp gasps; she slithered on crooked forelegs with each word then, as if to punctuate, pounced on me. My hoof placed itself under her chin, and snapping jaws, while the other reached for my cattle prod; but the leather loop above my saddlebag was empty.

Amber gunk crusted the corners of her yellow, tribal-scarred eyes and her filed teeth were pinked with blood; probably her own, judging from the loud *CRACK* that sounded each time she viciously clamped her muzzle. She had a savage strength, even in her battered legs, but she wasn't the lanky oaf I was; I had no real trouble keeping her off of me– until she drew a knife from a shoulder-sheath and drove it into my injured, left hoof. And again.

I yelped as the dull blade wedged into my leg a third time. I wanted to bring my hindlegs under her, to kick her away, but my large frame ensured she was safely out of reach. She lodged the knife further in and twisted. “Fuckin' STOP THAT.” I headbutted her hard enough to compel a cacophony of snaps from her nose, and felt a warmth splatter against my forehead.

She ripped the knife from my leg and drove it at my face, but I knocked it off course with a swipe of my right hoof. As the Twelve Scar planted the knife into the dirt beside me, I rolled over and forced her muzzle to the ground. With a hoof against the back of her head, I slipped a foreleg around her neck.

She spat out her knife and tried to scream as she struggled– instead we got a disturbing, exasperated, and choke-filtered *ahhhgrrrrr* that struck an awful chord somewhere in my chest. Her yellowed iris sought to rend my flesh wherever her teeth gnashed and, as it bulged and reddened, the open triangle scars that outlined it filled with tears; it reminded me of the Sun. She snickered; not hysterically– but in a genuine, heartfelt way. Her head twisted grotesquely in my grip as she attempted to bite through my barding. Her teeth found something hard in one of my pockets, and somehow managed to fish it out.

“Nonono!” I said as she fished out that cruel, toothed heirloom. As my eye recognized the blade, my hoof reached for it. In the moment after; I had it in my blood-soaked, goosefleshed foot. Between the rhythmic spouts of blood, marrow seeped from the mare's spine and into her esophagus. I could almost hear that wrenching cross between a sigh and growl again. I got up, limped to the side of building, and chundered; no, false alarm, I spat. “Oi, there's my cattle-prod.”

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The Everfree Forest has grown wilder and larger since Red Eye's forces burned the majority of it a decade ago. Many believe slash and burn fertilization cannot fully account for its rampant growth in recent years.

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I sat at the foot of the academy steps and watched the sunset; mirrored in Olive's shiny, bald head.

“It looks fractured,” Olive Juice said. “Don't put any weight on it.” He began bandaging my left foreleg with his glowing horn. “These stabbings are what I'm worried about. Who knows where their knives have been.” He scratched his dome, and undid a couple of layers of bandage.

“Gear?” I asked Olive. I had taken ten minutes to catch my breath and limp around to the front of the school; Olive met me at the academy steps while Serene and Bitter cleared the place of stragglers. I wasn't told that last part, but heard familiar small arms fire from a window on my way around.

“We'll find out, real soon.” Olive looked past me toward the eroded, five storey academy. A knife glowed orange, and rose into the air. “Don't worry. He's FINE,” he called over my shoulder, as he pulled the bandages tight and knife-swiped off the excess.

I turned around in time to catch my mare in my good foreleg. “Iknewyouwerefineallalong; I didn't doubt for a second.” Bitter gasped. “What happened to your tail?”

“Fire,” I said. I whinnied as I took a look back at the two feet of tail I had left. I imagined if my entire tail was black, or just the brown splotches. Or if I was only– “Oi now!”

Pain tingled throughout my side, stemming from where my barding had taken a bullet. I must have had a bruised rib or something.

Still in my embrace, Bitter held a fierce scowl and a hoof reared back for another blow. “I know what that look means– on your face at least,” she practically barked at me. “No self-pity on my watch.”

“I'm sorry, love.” I gave her a squeeze, until her expression softened, then addressed her sister; who ambled down the academy steps, like she had been rejected from it. “So, anything worthwhile?”

“Well,” Serene said before sighing long and hard, “between what was left of the raiders and the bookshelves, compared to the amount of explosives we wasted–”

“Utilized,” I corrected. “They weren't even that great; not powerful enough to bust down a wall, or even my eardrums.”

“The video mentioned the building was conventional-bomb-proof and sound-resistant.” Serene crossed her hooves and turned towards the ''Buckley Academy of Natural Sciences'' sign “We've lost a hundred and thirty three caps, IF the Followers come through on their end.”

“The Followers always want books and stick to their word. I bet we can chat them into treating my hoof for free.” That put a grin on Bitter's muzzle.

“Oh yeah!” Bitter said. “Leave it to lady tough bitch talks-a-lot.”

“Well that previous estimate didn't include medical expenses so, still,” Serene said.

“Got a plan as to how we should proceed then?” I didn't chide; I never chided. “Seriously, I'm all ears.”

“No.” Her eyes, and hoof, ran once across a seafoam streak in her mane. “Where to now?”

“Greenhouse.” I let down Bitter with a kiss on the forehead. My eyes were drawn South over the mountains, and West to the rolling hills. In the twilight, Las Pegasus shone like a star; halfway between here and there and further South, nearly on the river, stood New Reino. Its glow reached around the edge of the mountains; I knew a few miles past that was the up and coming agricultural settlement. “I remember hearing they were trying to open a library in an MoP hub. That screams Followers with too many caps on hoof to me, don't it?”

I got a few nods and the course was set.

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In our time on the road, me and the gang only ever encountered two kinds of ambushes: the kind one never saw coming, and the kind one saw from a mile away. I've been robbed more times by Ponies standing on the road than ones hiding on either side of it; so, as a policy, we would first kind of ambush any second kind of ambush we came across.

“I'll scout down the left side; see if I can listen.” As I said it, my eyes drifted up and to the left– and my thoughts drifted in a similar direction. I shook off the idea to focus on the three equine shapes posted on the road– just before an ancient, stone bridge; they looked like mercenaries.

“Whoa now,” Olive said as he put a hoof on my shoulder, “you can't scout on three legs.”

Bitter made eyes like she wanted to say something, but that would require spitting out her pistol; something she refused to do in the presence of a, possible, threat.

“OJ, ya know how I feel about the word: can't.” I trotted in place a little with my left hoof raised. “And you're forgetting I can outrun the lot of ya still.”

“But if one of us breaks a leg we can still get away,” Serene whispered, though we were well out of earshot of the suspect Ponies. The dry, clay road sloped down towards the bridge for nearly a hundred meters from where we sat– midst skeletal shrubs in the mountain's shadow– then leveled for another fifty; until the rigid arch of the bridge. “How are you gonna run that far on two legs?”

“Serene Shores, ya seem to be forgetting that I can outrun the lot of ya still.”

I was skipping down the slope before anypony could protest; I kept South of the road, fauna grew most wildly near the base of the mountain, and began creeping as soon as I was on level ground. Anypony who has ever been a foal on the road knows a thing or two about stealth, but most of them don't grow to be near the size of Celestia.

I kept my belly to the ground in a lightly foliaged ditch a few yards from the road, that didn't run quite parallel with the road. I could hear voices, but I couldn't make out the conversation. I crawled along and, as the wall of loose earth grew higher and skewed further South, the voices began to fade. I followed the ditch to where it met the creekbed that ran under the bridge. The stream itself was pathetic and rank. Perfect, they wouldn't hear nor smell me a' creeping. I was practically under the road and hugging the wall of the ditch before I heard them clearly.

“Blah, blah blah,” said a feminine voice.

“Bleep. Blorp. Radda radda,” answered a more sultry one.

I facehoofed. “Shite.”

“Alright then,” said the first voice; hooves clopped louder as they crossed the cobblestone threshold before the bridge, “you got pretty close without alerting us but push–”

*BZZZZT*

A mare fell onto the bank with a wet thud. Her leather barding bore a mark, of two interlocking horseshoes, I didn't recognize.

“Throw over your weapons, now.” said the sultry voice.

I clutched my cattle prod tight against my chest; along with my bandaged leg. I had no time to think. “No, I have your friend,” I said. “You throw over your weapons.”

“You have one of ours, but we have all of yours.” said a raspy, masculine voice.

“Nice bluff, but I don't have friends.”

“Nice bluff yourself, but we know different.” There was a very, very long pause. Lone wanderers were rare– live ones at least– and I didn't know how long ago I had been caught, but neither Bitter nor Olive would've gone quietly. “Ha, so you do have friends!”

“HA, so ya don't actually have any of 'em.” The sound of a hoof striking a skull resonated as surely as the hooves on the cobblestone.

“Listen to me, tribal,” said the, probably, female mercenary. “Just throw your weapons up here and show yourself. We're looking for a red Unicorn, a stallion, with a white mane.”

Now they were probably bounty hunters. “Well, I'm not a Unicorn. Nor am I red with a white mane.”

“Then what are you?” asked the raspy one; his tone rose with a certain, lighthearted curiosity.

I glanced down at my legs, and then to various layers of clay– exposed as hueful streaks– in the dirt wall. “I'm... not a red Unicorn, alright? And neither are my friends.”

“Ha, so you do have friends–” Once again, the sound of a hoof going upside a head.

“I'm just not convinced,” said the mare. “Come out now, or I'll drop a stick of dynamite on you.”

The blonde, poofy-maned mare lay face down in the mud beside me. “Oi, what about your friend?”

“I'm assuming she's better armored than you.”

“Shite.” I picked up their friend, and made a ruckus out of it. “*Huff*... Damn.” I gasped, femininely, while throwing the mare's hoof over the ledge above me. It slid off almost immediately, and the mare tumbled back into my hooves. “Help. Now,” I said in a gruff interpretation of her voice; clean of what little accent I had. I hoisted her on my shoulders and threw both her forehooves over the ledge. Sweat beaded on my brow as I waited. I heard a hoof against a skull, and then hoofsteps scuffing over stone.

“Hey, is he red?” he asked, as he wrapped his talons around her hooves. “And a–”

*BZZZZT*

He tumbled over the unconscious mare, knocking her off my shoulders, and fell softly on his wings.

“Ya know, I'm quite surprised ya fell for that,” I said. “Honestly. Why didn't your Gryphon fly around?”

“Enough, you asked for this.” The strike of a flint sounded overhead; then a fizzing fuse. “Fire in the hole.” I looked to the two bounty hunters, helpless, on the ground.

“Nelly, guide me.”

One by one, I bit down on their collars and lifted them onto my back. I trotted along the creekbank for two excruciating gaits before my left foreleg buckled; like a grating, collapsing pillar under the weight three barded statues. We spilled onto the wet mud and loose stones, the dynamite fell nearby, and I heard hoofsteps approaching– encroaching on stone. The dynamite had a long fuse that went out the moment a green glow enveloped it. The hooves stopped atop the ledge.

“I knew that'd flush you out,” she said as she aimed down the sight of a floating, lever-action shotgun. Her eyes widened, her brow twisted, and her lips curled back in a snarl as the green light of her horn flickered; fear, anger, and disgust– like I had insulted her goddess. “You're–”

An orange light tugged her shotgun into the air, just as a large rock rebounded off the back of her skull. Her eyelids fluttered a moment before she toppled over the ledge. *THUD*

“Not a Unicorn; I know.”

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“Ponies see strange things in the desert, both the kinds of things ya know are just mirages and the things ya spend the rest of the day telling yourself were mirages.”

– Caravan Merchant

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We continued West, following the road that paralleled the Rubycon. According to the quill-drawn map those confirmed mercenaries were carrying, we could take a detour north to a small trading post and probably catch a caravan going West. I told the others as much. “One problem though. It's well out of our way and there's always the chance they are... inhospitable.”

“There's always the chance they're a bunch of Zebras,” Olive said while inspecting his new shotgun.

Serene's pockets were lined with a few sticks of dynamite, and a hooful of trade stuffs clinked in my saddlebags with each lopsided step. We left the mercenaries with everything else– well, everything but the bounty note Bitter was reading and the detailed– but crude– map I was currently deciphering.

“They probably wouldn't be any more hospitable.”

“Or they might not have a caravan and it will be huge waste of time,” Serene said. “Giving those mercs enough time to catch up with us. You know, since we left them with enough gear to kill us later.”

“We left them with enough to move on. But you do have a point.” I didn't want to kill those mercs before, I doubted that would change even if they did seek revenge. Best to simply avoid the possibility. “Alright, we aren't exactly loaded down and there are other places on the road to Greenhouse. We'll stick to the Long 80 for now.”

“I doubt that trading post would have any medical supplies anyway,” Olive said. His shotgun hovered in search of a place to sheath itself. Finally realizing he had neglected to lift the holster along with it, Olive awkwardly stuffed the gun into his saddlebags.

“Why are going so far again?” Bitter chimed in. “I don't like those Followers of the dumb shit anyway.”

“Because we happened on a– relatively empty– school and they pay almost double for books. Besides, we'd have to double back and around the Gorge to get to next nearest base of theirs.” It was actually much closer than that, but I didn't need to tell anypony that crossing the Gorge wasn't an option.

“Why are we still at this cap and bit horseapples.” She emphatically prodded the bounty note. “These Hired Hooves sound like a bunch of badasses that get things done.”

“Really?” I wasn't impressed and my tone expressed as much.

“Well, okay so not as badass as us. But look at this bounty; twenty thousand caps! For some renegade thief.” As she threw the tattered note over the map, her starry pupils may as well have been bit signs. Rex Rhetoric, a former member of the Society, had apparently stolen pre-war technology from the Steel Rangers; the proprietors of the bounty. But this was years ago. Since then he had killed a dozen Rangers, raided seven convoys, and instigated two skirmishes against the Enclave and Applejack's Rangers. “Yeah, these Steel Rangers sound like a bunch of badasses that get things done.”

“Like catch a single juvenile delinquent in under five years?” Olive said around my shoulder. He paced carefully; aware of the lever and stock hanging out the side of his saddlebag.

“Let's stick to–” I began. My right forehoof slipped from under me, paper erupted from my bandaged hoof, and– as the notion of catching myself drifted through my mind– my muzzle met the ground; busting my lip and rattling a tooth in its socket before I went head over hooves onto my back. Bright, streaking lights littered my vision a moment– until they decayed into the heavens ahead.

The early, crescent Moon was thin enough slice cleanly through the lonely cloud drifting its way. Beyond it were countless stars– each and all– flickering to some brilliant, unfathomable rhythm; with the exception of the seven that never moved: The Frozen Stars, or Still Lights as some called them. I could almost hear them– wait, what was...

“You okay, Booster?” somepony asked.

I licked blood and sand off my teeth and spat it to one side; then wiped the remaining on my bandages– the ones I had on hoof. “Bits, what did I trip on?”

“Just a skeletal leg,” Bitter answered.

“Actually,” Olive's voice held concern, just as an orange light held the leg, “it's freshly burned.” I rolled onto my hooves– ignoring the pain in my side, teeth, and leg– as Olive sniffed at the charred bone. A dark wave swept across his face, washing it of all expression, before his eyes locked with mine. “Seasoned.”

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“Are ya sure about this one, OJ?” I looked ahead at the campfire and those surrounding it. “They aren't the usual suspects.” But I would have asked even if they had been.

The mounds of loose dust piled along the edges of their tents suggested they had been camped in the valley for at least a few days, but the proximity of the road didn't suggest anything worthwhile. It was close by, but not within sight.

“As sure as my cutie-mark is a bunch of veggies on a cutting board,” he said, with a voice as low as the grave.

“They have foals.” Bitter spoke even lower, with longing; the shy words crept from her lips as she hid her face behind Serene's binoculars. We had been trying for one of our own for so long.

“I'll head down and greet them,” I said with a cough. “Watch for a signal, I'll let ya know what's cooking.”

“I'm coming with you.” Bitter wrenched up the corners of her mouth, and fought against the weight on her brows.

I nodded.

“Wait how will you know they're... you know?” Serene asked, as she retrieved her binoculars.

“Simple, they'll be much too friendly,” I told her, with upturned hooves and crested shoulders. “Who doesn't smile at a meal?”

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The Followers of the Apocalypse often send missionaries to tribal regions to learn the tribes' local dialects and languages, and to educate the tribals themselves.

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“Th-Then I said to him: It won't matter. All they'll hear is the punchline!” Bitter said, not quite as beautifully as she could have. Everypony was laughing anyway.

I admit, that one wrenches a laugh out of me still. “I never tire of that one, love,” I said; I stomped in applause and then winced at the pain in my hoof.

“Whoa now,” said a bright, yellow mare. “You should let me take a look at that.”

“Aye, sure enough,” I said as she ambled towards a tent on the far side of camp. I leaned over and gave Bitter a nuzzle before following after the mare.

Once we were out of earshot, the mare asked, “So, have you two been together long?”

We stopped just short of the tent. I looked back at Bitter, who was playing with a foal. “Years; she's been my main dame since we were little more than foals.”

“Oh, main dame?” She ran a hoof through her orange mane as she raised a brow. “Does that mean you have room for another?”

She wasn't that much older than me; a few creases strewed from the corners of her eyes, and her bones– cheekbones and ribs especially– were visible through tarnished skin. The elements in the wastes tended to carve gaunt statues of us all, but she was an alluring one.

I couldn't say that last bit about myself. “Oi, that's not funny.”

“Who's joking? I asked you a question.”

“There are times when we–” I shook the thought loose from my head. “Absolutely none. She's been my mare and I her stallion since before we were either. When my sis...ter died, Bitter was there for me more than anypony. We grew up together, and even when my– my looks became a problem...” My eyes drifted to Bitter, who was prying back an eyelid for the couple of– likewise– wide eyed foals sitting in front of her. “It was never a problem for her. I've never not been good enough in her eyes. More than I could ask of most Ponies.”

I looked back to the mare, who was fighting– and losing ground to– a smirk. “Tell me more,” she said.

“You were joking.” I emphatically stomped the ground and then pranced in place a bit waving the injured hoof about the air.

“Let's get you inside before you hurt yourself– and, please, forget I said anything.” I caught sight of two glints atop the hill before she shoved me inside and told me to sit. I found the least stained portion of mattress, sat, and then held out my hoof. “I was joking; sorry. No offense, just wanted to know h–”

“I never did catch your name, Miss.” Most Ponies don't ask for the names of Ponies they may have to kill, but– from my experience– that kind of logic would lead to never asking names.

“Just call me Summer.” She furrowed her brow at the bandages wrapped around my hoof. “Well, she kinda knew what she was doing– no offense to your mare, but this needs a splint and a tighter wrap.

“So... we won't have to amputate?”

“Of course not!” She snorted as she pulled a bag close and began rummaging through it. “What gave you that idea?”

“Just foolin', but what about these stab wounds?”

“Well one goes to the bone, but it's an easy fix.” She reached into the bag took out a healing potion and fresh bandages. “Drink that while I try to find a clean wooden plank.”

“Shouldn't I wait for the splint– I mean, won't this heal my bones?”

“No. It's really weak, so don't worry about that.” As she left the tent I took the bottle in my good hoof and pulled off the cork with my teeth.

“It might be sleeping poison,” Serene said. She had crawled through a hole in the tent, I assumed, and still had her belly to the ground.

“Let me know if I wake up,” I said from the side of my mouth. I spat the cork at the mattress before turning up the potion over my open muzzle. I didn't taste much of it, but my hoof felt better almost instantly. We waited a while. “I don't feel sleepy. Tell OJ to hold his position a spell.”

“Okay, if you're sure.” She threw her hood over her eyes and slipped out without a sound.

A few minutes later Summer was back with a marginally clean piece of wood. “This is best I could find,” she said.

“The Wasteland provides,” I said. “Just mostly waste.”

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It felt good to put all four hooves on the ground again. It had been almost an hour since our arrival, Summer was readying the foals for bed, but me and Bitter were still enjoying ourselves. I wasn't convinced of anything yet, and we hadn't had a moment alone to compare theories. I looked down at the fire and then to the splint secured to my foreleg. “I wonder if this is how a PipBuck feels like.”

“Don't they have parts that go under the skin?” asked Bitter, as she raised her eyebrows; she was comically incapable of raising just one. I shrugged.

“Only particular models,” said the knowledgeable, wrinkled, and bearded stallion they called Old Pony Winter. “Sometimes, I see advertisements in magazines.”

“That reminds me.” I took out a stack of books we lifted from the school. “We haven't read these ourselves, but perhaps there's a foal's tale among 'em.”

“Thank you so much.” Summer sifted through the stack. “Do you know any of these Old Pony Winter?” She presented them one by one while he adjusted his spectacles.

“Nope, nope, that's a textbook, no– uh nope, nope, yes it's terrible, and nope.”

“Well not these two. We're making progress.”

“Read this one,” said a navy blue stallion, as he pointed to the thinnest of the unknown books.

“How long has he been here, Bits?” I whispered. She answered me with a scowl, and then a shrug. I didn't know what to make of that.

“The Cyclop's Wails,” Summer read with inflection. The foals were tucked into bedrolls within a nearby tent, and peered out with eyes the size of saucers. I put a foreleg around Bitter and she leaned close against me. “Once there was a great Kingdom that suffered from many ails, their cures all delivered by a magic Cyclop wail. When the hearths grew cold, mountain veins stripped of gold, and plague and beast devoured crop. The Queen sent her soldiers bold, deep into mountain hold, with blade and bludgeon for Cyclop. He was tall as oak, wide as river, and long as pond. His heart as broke, his steps as ginger, but of war unfond. To every soldier he begged mercy, but all his efforts were in vain. Soldiers struck his hooves viciously, and Cyclop cried out in pain. Long did the Kingdom beat his hooves sore, until at last Cyclop wailed no more. One day an Earth Pony peasant was traveling to town, above the trees he spotted the Cyclop's crown.

“The poor sight made even the peasant pony frown, his eye was dim and hooves notched and coat blood matted brown. The pony asked: 'Mighty Cyclop, tell me please your ails.' The Cyclop muttered: 'The townsponies, they abuse me for my magic wails.' The Cyclop's eye grew fierce as he said: 'But no more, their blows are as common as the breeze and I shall no sooner wail than the Sun.' The pony was shocked to hear of this, and hurried to the Queen to see what could be done. The peasant pony found the townsponies crowded outside the castle gates, the court Unicorn spoke from the balcony of the estate. 'The Queen has fallen to an illness of which the only cure is the Cyclop's wails, whichever pony can cure the Queen will have her daughter to wed!' After hearing the Unicorn's tale, the peasant pony raced home to bed. The next morning the peasant pony went back to find the Cyclop in his foul mood, and said: 'Cyclop your hooves are terribly notched let me make you finer ones of wood.' So the peasant set upon the task, and the Cyclop was very glad for the deed. When the hooves were set the Cyclop was made to laugh, and his booming chuckle imbued the pony with great speed.

Summer spent a few moments struggling with a stuck page.

She cleared her throat before continuing with the story. “In just a second the peasant pony was in the town's core, all the townsponies were working faster than ever before, but the Queen had yet been cured. In a moment the peasant pony was with the Cyclop once more, his coat was dirty with bruises and sores, peasant pony said: 'I will wash your coat of all you have endured.' The Cyclop was very pleased, he thanked the peasant pony at great length. Soon his coat shown like gold, his sigh of relief gave the peasant pony great strength. Once again into the town, once again the townsponies toiled the better, but again the Queen was very ill. Once again the Cyclop was found, once again asked what upset him, and the Cyclop stood tall and still. He said: 'Today I feel much grander than any day of my life, but I am very lonely as I will never have a wife.' The peasant pony found a hill and shovel and dug–

“Okay, I'm just going to skip this part!” Summer said. “Everypony grew incredibly beautiful, especially the princess, but the Queen's still sick– ... the peasant pony returned to Cyclop's hill. 'What great gesture do you bring to me now my friend?' asked the Cyclop of the peasant pony. The peasant pony said: 'Something of a surprise! If you will only close tor eye, and lay down for me!'”

“Tor?” The navy stallion asked.

“That's a typo. 'I would trust you to any end!' said the Cyclop. 'For you are unlike any pony.' He close his grand eye, lay down on his side, and tucked in every knee. With great speed rope tied him in alarm, and with great strength he was beaten. When he opened his eye to what did him harm, the traitor pony was there to greet him. The Cyclop wailed and wailed, until his voice grew sore. From the Cyclop a tear flowed, and when it doused the peasant pony was young once more. Though the Queen had died, the peasant pony wedded her daughter all the same. The whole of the Kingdom rejoiced, until the Cyclop grew old and lame.”

“Who wrote that shite?” I let slip. I glanced into the tent on my right, and found both foals with shut eyelids; statuesque but for slow, minimalist breaths. “Oh, thank the Patron.”

“I know,” the navy blue Pony scoffed as he picked up the book, “these rhyme schemes are completely inconsistent.”

“Not the first flaw I noticed, but you're right. Did anypony catch the meaning of that story?” I got a whole mess of shrugs. Something glinted thrice from a ditch behind our hosts. “Excuse me, I need to file my shoes.”

I gave Bitter a nuzzle and a whisper, and then trotted to where anypony would be hard pressed to witness; not difficult, given the hour. Olive and Serene were waiting behind one the thick, canvas tents.

“That was a... interesting story,” Serene whispered.

“Wait, you could hear that?” I asked just as quietly.

“Yeah.” Serene's eyes shifted left then right. “We should move further away.”

“Aye.” We crept several yards more, behind a pile of rubble and an uprooted tree.

“So, Booster, what's the plan?” Olive asked; his voice hadn't lost an once of intensity.

I cleared my throat. “Uhh...”

“Yeah, if we're gonna make a move it needs to be soon.” Serene, of course, was still whispering.

“I've seem to run dry of ideas.”

“What!?” they whispered– or its equivalent to shouting– in unison.

I shrugged. “Well, typically, they try to eat us by now.”

“Maybe they're not hungry,” Olive suggested.

“Cannibals are always hungry,” Serene said before raising a brow, “and yet they're never fat. What is up with that?”

“Oi,” I said, as my eyes drifted in their favourite direction. “That's actually a great question, but we're ill equipped to answer it. The point is: I don't know how else to determine their diets. Suggestions?”

“I got one,” OJ addressed Serene. “I need you to sneak into the tents and bring me any spices you find. My nose will do the rest.”

Serene looked to me– I nodded– then slinked about her business.

“OJ, don't lose your head over this,” I said.

He nodded.

I took a few steps the way I came and said over my shoulder, “I'm leaving my trust with you.”

A few moments later, I was sitting next to Bitter again; now if only I didn't actually need to piss like a racer.

“... right. Perhaps it is about manipulating others,” said the nigh invisible stallion. He tossed the book carelessly onto the pile and his pitch mane fell into his eyes, creating the illusion of a floating muzzle.

“Maybe,” Old Pony Winter said as he stroked his gray beard. “Or maybe, it's about finding joy in both the happiness and the suffering of others.”

There was a long pause while everypony pondered that one.

“Hopefully the Followers will pay us before reading it,” I said before throwing the stack back in my saddlebags.

“I doubt that,” Summer said. “I've dealt with them a number times.”

“Oi, is that where ya got your medical training?”

“Some of it, yes, but most of my skills come directly from my mentor here.” She patted Old Pony Winter on the back.

“So,” Bitter chimed in. “I hope I'm not imposing, but we are really low on supplies. Do you have any food or water to spare?” A chuckle escaped through her exposed teeth. “We have caps.”

“I'm sorry, but we only have enough greens and canned goods for the foals.” Summer readjusted herself. “We have a few bottles of water if you really need them.”

“No other food? Then what do you eat?”

“Not anything you would want.”

“What do you mean?” Bitter added a slight inflection.

“Meat,” said the floating teeth. “It isn't good for us Ponies, but it's all we have; and not enough to share even if you did want it.”

“I'm sorry.”

“No need to be sorry,” Winter said with a smile that creased his entire face. “You already said you didn't mean to impose.”

That smile was contagious.

“How long have you been traveling together?”

“About six years now,” the navy stallion said with an ounce of warmth; first I'd heard from him. He shot a smirk at the bearded, old buck. “Ever since this kind stranger helped deliver our foals unto the wastes.”

Bitter smiled at that. “They're beautiful by the way.”

“Thank you, we're very proud of them,” Summer said, and returned the smile.

“We've been trying to have one for quite a while now.” Mouths and brows– especially their outermost edges– slowly yielded to some great weight that found its way onto my eyes and my heart.

None of that mattered now; Olive was levitating a blade at each of our three host's throats.

In the light of his horn, Olive's eyes were like hot coals. “It's definitely them,” he said.

“This is dangerously close to losing your head, OJ,” I said with a sigh. I knew, somewhere in that cook's head, there was a voice preaching to him about the culinary blasphemy he had just witnessed.

“I'm fine.” He levitated an open cooler to where me and Bitter could see inside; legs and ribs. “Now what are we doing with these monsters?”

“Who are you?!” the navy stallion asked with an, only slightly, raised voice. It was obvious nopony wanted to wake the foals. “We are not monsters, we are just trying to survive.”

“Even if that means becoming cannibals?”

“We don't like it any more than you do.”

“I seriously doubt that. You make me fucking sick. Most of us have had to kill, but how can you chop up and cook another Pony!?” Olive pressed his blades closer against their throats.

“If you must know, I get blind drunk first. I hate it, we all do, I even overseason it. I have to make absolute sure it taste, different, awful.” In the orange glow, I noticed a mortar and pestle on his flank.

“And what about the foals?”

“Like Summer said, they get all the greens and pre-war food we find.”

“What do you do when you run out? Go out hunting?”

“I don't know; probably starve. It hasn't happened and, Goddesses willing, it won't.”

“Yeah, we can probably help with that–”

“Olive. Just stop,” I said, and gave him a look I hoped would remind him where my trust went. I looked over our hosts. “None of what I've heard excuses murder.”

“But we never murdered anypony!” Summer pleaded; her eyes tried desperately to ward off the razor floating at her neck.

“She's speaking the truth,” said Old Pony Winter. “We found her– the last one– gut shot on the road. We did everything we could, but it wasn't enough.”

“That doesn't justify what you've done, you old bastard.” Olive raised his blades a centimeter.

“Is it stealing when you loot bodies, or rummage through a building?”

“Uhh, is it?” I asked. I turned to Bitter; she shrugged. “Serene? OJ?” A hooded specter shrugged before joining her sister's side. “Well, if that's the case, it's not unlike lifting a can of apple slices off a corpse.”

“This is completely, fucking different!” Olive barked; a filly stirred in her bedding.

My eyes and ear twitched as I held my breath, silent, until the foal stilled. “Different enough though?”

“They're deviant cannibals, this is not natural; this is just plain wrong. And they have foals! Maybe they won't kill Ponies for food, but what about them? What's going to happen when these foals grow up with these freaks? Is it going to seem so strange to them then? Are they going to see everypony as cattle?”

“OJ, this isn't–”

“You two could raise the foals– You'd be doing them a favor!”

“OJ, are we stopping future murders or are we purifying the Wasteland?” Bitter asked; her voice held a certain finality and regret.

“That... That isn't a fair comparison. But we can't just let them get away with it. Can we?” The sheer amount of shrugs was starting to get awkward.

“What were we supposed to do?” Winter asked; his face was as routine as somepony who had asked this question countless times of their own reflection.

“Bury them. Just about anything else would have been better. Booster, is that how you want to go out?”

“This night is turning into a regular shrug fest,” I said.

True confusion was setting in and tensions were straining what sense was left. Once again, I was left to make a call that I really wasn't sure about.

“Booster, we have to do something,” Serene said

“Yeah,” I inhaled sharply, “we need to leave.”

“What?” Olive said, as if he truly didn't hear me.

“We aren't doing anything productive here. It's time we left.”

“What!?” Olive did not notice, nor regard, the stirring foal. “I CA–”

*BZZZZT* Olive hit the ground in unison with his blades.

The navy Stallion glanced at a knife, locked eyes with me, and then turned away.

“Mind hoofing over those blades?” He kicked the knife in my direction; Summer and Winter were more civil about it. “Serene, Bits; can the two of ya start hauling away our friend? I'm going to properly excuse ourselves to these Ponies.” Bitter's forehead creased like her sister's. “I'll only be a moment. I promise.”

They obliged, but with a fair amount of reluctance.

I waited till the gang was out of earshot. “I can't say I know the right from wrong in this situation, but I can say I feel sorry it happened. This is in no way an approval of your actions, but a disapproval of my own and that of my friend. He's typically a kinda reasonable fella. No hard feelings?”

“That's just fine by me,” said Old Pony Winter; he still had the courage to smile. I was envious.

“Well I, for one, cannot say there are no hard feelings,” said the heated, navy stallion. “We don't need anypony to give us a hard time; we do so well enough on our own.” After a moment of scowling, he sighed in a way that expelled his previous fire. “That said, I have something more to say and though it does not please me to say it– I no longer believe I will regret it either.”

“Please, allow me,” Summer said, biting her lip and averting her eyes. “There's no easy way to say...” Her eyes locked with mine; they were determined and pitiful. Her lips moved, but I heard no sound. When she was done speaking, her steely expression twisted into concern. “Are you–”

“I want... a second opinion.” The words rolled off my tongue with no rhyme or reason known to me.

“Well, now I do feel terrible,” lamented the navy stallion– I just realized I never caught his name– as he picked up the cooler and walked it like a prisoner back into his tent.

“Good luck then, and thank you for treating my leg.”

I ran onto the road, turned left, and trotted until I'd caught up with my party. The Shores didn't get too far with Olive on their shoulders so, as I passed, I bit down on his collar and threw him onto my back. We made our way West, with very few words.

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“This is definitely not a good place to be!” – The bad guy from that one movie.

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We made camp behind a sand weathered billboard, complete with a scrap metal fence to break the wind. I hated places like these; they always brought up bad memories. But it was too dark to start searching for one of the cool, repainted ones– and Olive was finally returning to his senses. Serene and Bitter were out hunting, as I tended to the fire and my friend.

“Oww,” Olive said; he rolled off his stomach and gave me a sidelong glance.

“Ya feelin' alright?” I asked, as I rearranged the fire with the stick. “Nothing worse for wear I hope.”

“Just a headache,” he prodded his neck with a hoof, “and an electrical burn.”

“I'm truly sorry I did that.”

“I'm sorry I wigged out. You shouldn't have trusted me not to. Just like you shouldn't have let them go.”

“I didn't know what else to do. I just went by my gut instinct.”

“Yeah, so did I, so maybe we're both idiots.”

“Morality is a tricky subject.” I rested my chin on the rough clay, and watched the flames whip about for as long as my nose could bear the battering heat. “Maybe it's morality that's stupid.”

“Somehow, I find that to be a less likely scenario.” He rolled onto his back, looking straight into the heavens, and sighed.

“What is it about them, other than the obvious, that upsets you so much?”

He paused a moment. “You'd think it's stupid.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“Okay.” He paused again. “They make me lose my appetite.”

“What?”

“Can you imagine if a Gryphon hated heights, or if Serene hated meditating, or Bitter... being active. What if something took all the fun out of running, carrying things, or– what exactly is it you do again?”

“I get the picture.” I glanced at my cutie-glyph. As a child, I had skimmed through every textbook we could find; but I never saw the parallel pair of single-pronged arrows– pointing in either direction, and bisected by a slashing line– that decorated my flank.

“It's as if, the idea poisons my very purpose in life. Like, I don't even want to think about it.”

“Well, now you don't have to.” I rose to my hooves, threw the stick onto the fire, and placed a saddlebag full of Olive's knives down beside him. “Sweet dreams.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Ya already said that.”

“No, I woke up about twenty minutes ago and just let you carry me out of spite.”

“Oh, sweet nightmares then.”

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The Ghosts of Danu are one of the tribes of the Long 80. They are of a shamanistic culture that views the Spirit of Discord as being a spirit of nature and a bringer of chaotic harmony.

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Everything was so large and imposing. The dead rose from the earth, emaciated, with vacant souls. Sister... Mother. She picked me up, threw me on her back, and ran– so fast. Her battle-saddle wouldn't fire. As the dead gained ground behind us, the rifle assembly lost part after part. I took it in my hooves before it fell from her side. I aimed, restricted by what was left of the rig, and kicked where the bit met the firing mechanism. She ran, I gunned, and the dead would not reach us.

Summer stood majestically, despite the heavy packs stacked upon her back, but her eyes were liquid pits full of pity; pity for me. She spoke, and I heard her voice a moment later. “... to say this. Zonies are sterile. You can't ever have a foal of your own.” I blinked at the increasing number of packs falling onto her back, and colours smudged with each bat of my eye. “Did you hear me? Are you going to be okay? Are you–”

“... okay Booster?” Bitter asked; she was shaking me fiercely.

The cold night air and sweat chilled me to the bone. “I... No, I'm not.” I held her as tightly as I dared.

“Booster, you're crying.” She rested her head against my chest. “Is it because of what happened today? Is it your hoof?”

“No, love.”

“Did you have the dr–”

“No.”

“Is it... because of your stripes? I'm sorry, I know you hate calling them that.”

“Yes,” I held her just a bit tighter, “it's because of my stripes.”

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Footnote: Level up!

Perk Added: Deft Hooves (Rank 2) – Your hooves can gracefully manipulate objects, allowing you to access your inventory at half AP cost and wield melee weapons in a single hoof so long as you meet the STR requirement.