“We all need something that keeps us going, despite all the terrible things around us.”

When Foxglove finally found me she was…well, I’m not sure what she was. My mind was a little bit hazy at the time. I’m pretty sure that it started out with a lot of yelling and screaming. Some of it was angry screaming, and some of it was horrified and concerned screaming. I don’t think the violet unicorn was all that comfortable yet with seeing ponies’ bodies splattered across the Wasteland the way these were. That was a bit hypocritical, I felt, since she was the one that made the ammunition that did this to the ponies I shot. I wisely decided not to inform her of this, so that she continued to make more of it for me.

Instead, I puked all over her hooves.

Vodka sucked.

I think the purple unicorn mistook my transitory nausea for something far more serious and immediately shifted her priorities from berating me to treating my injuries. In hindsight, I suppose that I had been covered in quite a bit of blood, and that most of that blood was indeed my own. The wounds weren’t really all that bad when I thought about the sorts of injuries that I had suffered over the years, or even rather recently. They were actually rather mild and superficial, come to think of it. Still, given how recently I’d been at death’s door, I suppose her concern was understandable.

The healing potion certainly helped to take the edge off. I was a little less enthusiastic about the syringe of Med-X that the mare used on me. After that fight, the last thing I wanted to experience were additional losses of sensation in my body. Compared to feeling nothing at all, I actually preferred the pain. At least I could talk through pain!

“Danks, Fozzi!”

Inebriation, on the other hoof…

“For Celestia’s sake, Windfall,” the violet mare cried out, exasperated, “what were you thinking! You could have been killed!”

“Waddn’t doh,” I managed a broad smile at the mare. Then I winced as she started screaming at me again.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?!” well, actually, yes. She didn’t seem to see it that way though, “Windfall, you can’t just fly off and pick a fight with a group of raiders!” show’s what she knows. That was exactly what I did. In your face, bonehead!

I must have said some of that out loud though. Something sure set her off, “Windy, I know you’re upset about Jackboot and your mother, but getting yourself killed isn’t going to help anything!”

A lot of my intoxication cleared up pretty quickly upon hearing the unicorn mention those two. What the fuck did this bitch think she knew about losing ponies? Who had she lost? Everypony that she knew was still safe and sound back in her old comfortable stable where they had all the food that they could want, and never had to worry about raiders or White Hooves. She was going to pass judgment on me?

“Shut the fuck up!” I screamed at the mare, causing her to draw back with wide eyes as she slammed her mouth shut. It was clear that she hadn’t expected me to roar at her like I was. Well, too bad. You want to yell? Fine, we’ll yell, “you don’t know a Celestia-damned thing!” I staggered up onto my hooves, straining through the alcohol and Med-X induced numbness which was fortunately nowhere near as potent as what that black unicorn had done to me.

I fixed a steely glare on the violet mare, “you think this was dangerous?” I gestured around at the surrounding carnage, “well then welcome to the fucking Wasteland! This is what I’ve lived with my whole fucking life, you stupid fucking stable-twit. You see this?!” I turned so that my flank was directly in front of her face and jabbed a hoof at my cutie mark, “it’s a fucking sword stabbing through a fucking heart! You want to know how I got it?” I glared at the mare with cold eyes as the scene in question replayed in my head for the hundredth time that year. I don’t recall ever having actually told the mare about that day, “I shot a pony in his fucking head when I was six years old. And do you know what it means?” the unicorn very wisely didn’t attempt a guess.

“It means that I kill ponies,” I growled at the unicorn, “that’s what I do. It’s my special Celestia-damned talent,” I jabbed my hoof at the nearest corpse, “and I’m damned good at it. You think this was some brutal fight that had me in over my head? Bitch, I’ve survived a factory filled with roboponies and a stable crawling with ghouls. I’ve fought hell hounds, demon ponies, and gangs of slavers twice this size.

“Maybe for a mewling pathetic stable-pony like you, facing down six puny little raiders on your own in a fight would be a life-defining experience. But for me? It’s a fucking Tuesday!

“So take your prissy little lecture about ‘being safer’, and shove it up your fucking slit!”

The vast bulk of my rage was finally spent with that last utterance, and I was left seething in the face of a very surprised—and immensely hurt—Foxglove. Deep within me, I did feel guilty about what I’d said to her. A tiny little voice in the back of my mind recognized that the unicorn was just concerned for me, but I sealed it away quickly. She was wasting her time if that’s what all of this was about. I certainly wasn’t concerned about me; there wasn’t any need for somepony else to be either.

“I guess I really shouldn’t expect you to understand,” I continued in a much calmer tone, “you haven’t had to live with this your whole life,” I glanced at her own cutie mark, “what’s a pony with a damned flower on her butt know about surviving in the Wasteland anyway?

“Let’s just…get to New Reino.

“I need another drink.”

New Reino.

I used to have so many happy memories about this place. In my head, I could clearly recall the first time that Jackboot had brought me here. We’d been tracking a bounty all the way from Seaddle. I couldn’t quite remember exactly what the stallion we were after had done—those were the sorts of details that Jackboot kept track of—but I did remember how I’d felt when we crested the hill and saw all of the city’s colorful blinking signs and lights.

To me, it had been one of the most beautiful things that I’d ever seen. New Reino wasn’t the largest settlement in the Wasteland, or even just the Neighvada Valley, really. I was pretty sure that title went to Seaddle. Jackboot told me that Hoofington was much bigger, but I think he was just being biased. I had to fly pretty high up in the air to see from one side of Seaddle all the way across to the far end of those old ruins. Even the currently inhabited portion was fairly large, taking up many square blocks. You couldn’t miss the midnight black converted theatre that served as the Princess’ palace either.

By contrast, New Reino was much more compact; but it was fun and colorful. At least, that was how I had thought of the place once upon a time—also known as ‘last week’.

Now…it was where everything had started to go wrong. This is where we’d left from to track down Homily’s missing expedition before heading on to McMaren. That was when Foxglove must have had her falling out with Jackboot. At least, I’d thought they were having a falling out, before I found them in the stable. They seemed to make up pretty fast…

The bounty hunters had found us here too. That had caused us a few problems and nearly gotten both me and the older stallion killed. Then we’d come right back and got hooked up with Cestus.

I could feel my teeth starting to clamp down, hard, as I thought about the White Hoof. That damned griffon wasn’t far off the top of my growing ‘list’ of creatures that needed an express ticket out of the Wasteland in a gruesome and permanent fashion. The temptation to bolt right on in there and just gun down that feathered bastard was almost overwhelming.

My gaze flashed towards the purple unicorn mare trudging along the ground below. Foxglove had previously expressed how little she cared for my going in with guns blazing to solve issues. Truth be told, Jackboot had never been a particular fan of that approach either, now that I thought about it. Besides, I knew that if I launched an attack on that griffon’s casino stronghold, I’d be fighting a lot more than a half dozen clueless raiders. Heck, I might just find myself getting labeled as a ‘raider’ myself for doing something like that; and while New Reino wasn’t my favorite place in the valley anymore, I didn’t need to go around alienating entire settlements.

The griffon needed to die, I knew that much, but this time it might behoove me to find some way of taking care out of him that wasn’t going to involve turning a block or two of New Reino into a warzone. Something along the lines of how we dealt with Tommyknocker.

There was time enough to come up with that sort of plan though. The griffon wasn’t going to be picking up and moving shop anytime soon. I could wait…for now.

My more immediate concern was getting my hooves on a decent drink. That vodka hadn’t taken nearly enough of my edge off, and left a rancid taste in my mouth. I needed whiskey.

That meant choosing a place to get it though. I didn’t want to go to the Lucky Bit, or any of the other well-known places like that. It was unlikely that the griffon was going to be keeping a sharp eye out for Foxglove and I. Jackboot had clearly been the pony he’d meant to sell out, and the two of us would just be collateral damage. I still figured it would help to keep a lower profile though, so that he didn’t immediately notice that we were back and put himself on guard.

It’s not like I was the sort of pony that blended in well anywhere though. Ponies with wings weren’t a common sight on the ground. Still, keeping to the lower key bars couldn’t possibly hurt.

We found exactly the sort of place that I had in mind on the outskirts of the settlement. A whole-in-the-wall joint whose flickering red sign identified it as being Crow’s Bar. The odor of hard liquors hung thick in the air even before you actually stepped a hoof inside. Once through the door, I knew that I’d found exactly what I was looking for when it came to a place that I could acquire quality spirits. It didn’t check all of the right boxes as far as ‘blending’ went though…

Just about every eye in the place locked onto me when I glided on inside and set my hooves down. It was clear that a lot of ponies didn’t know what to make of me. Ninety-nine out of every hundred winged pony currently alive in the world was an Enclaver, and their type was hardly welcome in most places on the surface due to their rather dismissive attitudes towards the typical Wasteland resident. The pegasi that left their terraphobic order and committed themselves to a life on the surface tended to be Dashites, and thus bore very specific brands where their cutie marks had once been. My mark was rather clearly intact, so I couldn’t be a Dashite. To ground ponies, that meant that I was either an Enclave agent—which wouldn’t score me a lot of points with the locals—or I was a genuine Wasteland resident who had been born on the surface like the rest of them.

It had hardly ever been an issue in most places that we’d gone when I started traveling with Jackboot, since I’d clearly been a young filly and was in the company of an earth pony. Ponies had written me off as his daughter and gone about their business. By the time I’d gotten older, ponies in those places already knew who I was, and Jackboot hadn’t been keen on causally introducing himself to new ponies when he didn’t have to. He stuck to the contacts that he’d been creating over the years.

For the first time in a long time, I was in a completely new place with new ponies who had no clue who I was, and without the benefit of anypony to vouch for me. This…could get awkward.

“Glovy-darling, is that you?! It’s been ages!”

My head whipped around as a blur of movement caught my attention from out of the corner of my eye. My body tensed up instantly in anticipation of an attack and I launched myself up into the air and whirled around to face the pony coming at me. Only, it had not been me that they’d been after, it seemed.

My unicorn companion’s eyes went wide as she found herself gathered up in an enthusiastic embrace being foisted upon her by a midnight blue earth pony mare with a silver mane and braided tail. There was a brief look of panic and surprise on the violet mare’s face, and then an expression of recognition.

“Kashmir?”

The blue mare pulled back slightly, enough for Foxglove to regain and steady her footing, and continued beaming brilliantly at the unicorn, “of course, silly! Who else?” her face instantly fell into an exaggerated mask of concern and worry, “where have you been?! I haven’t seen you since that big poker game a couple months back. I’ve been worried sick!”

“Oh, um, yeah,” the violet unicorn cringed, “Tommy and I had a…falling out. I needed a change of scenery, you know?”

“You poor dear!” I watch as Foxglove was consumed into a second, even more potent, hug by the other mare, “I’m so sorry to hear that!” the hug was released as suddenly as it had begun, “did you hear that Tommy died?!” before waiting for an answer, she launched into further details, “they found his body in an alley outside his suite. Dreadful!” now her features soured considerably, “some pigeon’s running things now, and I guess he doesn’t have a taste for refined mares like us, so me and the other girls were sent packing.

“Now I have to serve drinks in a bar like a…a…drink server!”

“I…” whatever Foxglove had been about to say was interrupted by a rather loud shout from the direction of the bar.

“Hey, Kash!” a burly gray stallion wearing a white shirt and a poorly knotted bowtie snarled from behind the bar, “I’m not paying you to gush over your old whore friends! Get back here and pick up these orders!”

A dark sneer crossed briefly over the mare’s face as she looked at the bartender, but it was gone by the time she looked back at Foxglove. In its place was a warm smile, “looks like duty calls. Catch you up later, Glovy!” the mare gave the unicorn a peck on each cheek and then bounded off towards the bar.

I settled back to the ground and shot the unicorn a questioning look, “friend of yours?”

“…sort of,” Foxglove replied, rubbing away at her cheeks, “let’s get some seats, and you can ask me about it.”

The bright side of the whole encounter was that it looked like it had been enough to provisionally vet me in the eyes of most of the patrons in the bar. The server very clearly knew the purple unicorn that had come in, so that marked her as a local, and I was very obviously a friend of that same local. I was sure a few were going to be keeping a wary eye on me throughout the night, but at least I wasn’t the focus of everypony’s attention anymore.

The two of us found ourselves a booth in the back that offered what passed for privacy in a place like this and took our seats. It was another pony—for which Foxglove seemed thankful—that took our order. While we waited, the unicorn decided that she might as well get an explanation out of the way.

“Kashmir and I were both ponies that worked for Tommyknocker as his ‘companions’,” the word made the mare shudder ever so slightly, “he had a few of us that he kept around so that he could ‘lend’ us to some of his high-roller friends when they came by.”

“She was a slave like you then,” I concluded, and was surprised when the unicorn shook her head.

“Not like me, no. Tommyknocker didn’t need to use threats or drugs on her, or a few other mares. They seemed to actually like working for him and doing that sort of stuff,” the idea that such ponies existed sounded like it surprised her, and I could understand that bafflement. Why would anypony want to be used like that? I asked her as much.

“We weren’t paid,” Foxglove explained, “but we didn’t need to buy anything either. We had places to sleep, and they were pretty comfortable—when we weren’t keeping his friends ‘company’ in the suites that is. If we wanted food, all we had to do was ask for the kitchens to send up whatever we wanted. Sometimes the ponies we spent time with gave us jewels or other gifts.

“I suppose if you don’t care that you have to bump flanks with a bunch of stallions whenever they tell you to, then it probably wasn’t a bad gig,” her gaze went to the distant Kashmir, wandering around tables as she deposited full bottles in exchange for those that the customers had finished. Every so often I’d notice a bolder stallion tap her on the rear with a hoof. Depending on how attractive they were, the indigo mare would either flash them a wink or smack them across their face with her tail in response, “Kashmir certainly didn’t seem to mind. She even picked out a couple of favorites that she made sure she got paired with whenever they came by.”

Foxglove shook her head, “not me though. I’d just as soon never touch a stallion ever again.”

I flashed the mare a sour look before I realized what I’d done. That was an interesting thing to hear from the only mare I’d ever known who was lucky enough to get a shot at Jackboot. The unicorn caught my gaze before I could properly school my features and raised a curious brow in my direction. I kept silent for a few moments, waiting for the unicorn to realize why I might have looked at her like that.

When I didn’t get a reaction, I cleared my throat, “and I suppose you decided that in the last couple of days?”

“Huh? What are you—oh,” for a mare who had a purple coat, she actually blushed rather noticeably, “…that.”

“Mmh-hm.”

It was at that moment that our drinks arrived. I didn’t even wait for our unicorn server’s magic to get my bottle of Wild Pegasus and glass all of the way onto the table before I snatched it out of the air and started to take several generous gulps of the amber fluid. Both the server and Foxglove looked at me for a moment before the violet mare took her own Sparkle Cola and settled the tab.

When we were alone again, Foxglove tried to muster up an explanation, “look, Windy, I realize that what you saw looked…um, well, it wasn’t what it looked like.”

I swallowed my current mouthful and frowned at the mare, “it looked like you were fucking him on an examination bed.”

Foxglove cleared her throat and looked away, nodding, “yes. Yes it did.”

“Were you not fucking him?”

“No. I was.”

I rolled my eyes and took another long pull from the bottle, “so, when you said it didn’t look like that, what you really meant was…?” I waited expectantly for her answer.

The unicorn was looking thoroughly uncomfortable right now, but I didn’t feel a whole lot of sympathy for the violet mare. She was a grown mare, and Jackboot had been a grown stallion. They were perfectly free to do whatever it was that they wanted with one another. That was their business. I’d taken my shot and missed the mark. As much as that hurt, as did knowing that he’d chosen Foxglove instead, I was a grown mare and I could deal with it.

What I was having a hard time dealing with was Foxglove’s evasiveness. Just own up to it already!

“What I mean is that I didn’t have feelings for Jackboot like that,” the mare winced, “you know I never really liked him, and not just because I knew he was a White Hoof. It was more than that, and I don’t want to get into it with you,” was this supposed to make me feel better about it somehow? “but what you saw? It didn’t mean anything.”

I really hoped that none of that had been meant to make me feel better about any of it, because if that had been the case, Foxglove had failed miserably. It wasn’t enough that she’d stolen Jackboot from me, she had to emphasize that she’d never had any actual feelings for the stallion? Meanwhile, I’d had all sorts of feelings for him. Very specific and passionate feelings that I’d been nurturing for years!

“I see,” I somehow managed to keep my tone far more civil than I thought I could have under the circumstances, “so, you just needed him to get off,” Foxglove managed to blush even deeper somehow without making any effort to deny the accusation, “your hooves weren’t cutting it that night? I figured you’d have a spell or something that could hit that sweet spot just right and do the job in a sec.”

Each subsequent statement made the unicorn even more uncomfortable and ashamed. Seeing her descend even further and further into that state only served to throw more fuel onto that growing fire of outrage that was slowly growing inside of me.

She’d known how I felt about Jackboot. I hadn’t been very shy about those feelings around her when the stallion was out of earshot. I’d never had a chance to talk about stallions like that with another mare for long periods of time. French Tip had always been up for a bit of saucy fantasizing when I visited her to get my mane styled and trimmed, or my hooves polished. She’d been rather supportive of my feelings.

Foxglove hadn’t been. The unicorn had kept asking me questions about how Jackboot acted around me and whether or not he made me do anything with him. She’d never been explicit, but it hadn’t been long before I picked up on what she’d thought our relationship had been like. At first, I thought she’d been put off by the age difference. Whatever other ponies might think, I was well aware of how much older Jackboot had been than I was. While the usual story had been that he was my father, the truth was that he was old enough to have actually been my grandfather—as young as most mares in the Wasteland sometimes were when they had their first.

That being said, the thought of how much older he was hadn’t bothered me. I’d known plenty of younger, more ‘age appropriate’ stallions in my time; and most of them were hot-headed, immature, assholes who just wanted to prove how much of a stud they were to the pretty little pegasus mare so that they could get her to lift her tail for a night while they took her for a ‘test flight’. Jackboot always treated me like a genuinely useful pony; and not just some prize to be won, or an idiot that could be tricked into bed with enough flattery and drink.

Besides, Foxglove obviously had a thing for older stallions too. Jackboot had certainly been old enough to be her father.

Then, when the older stallion’s secret had come out, I thought that maybe she’d known from the beginning that he’d been a White Hoof, and that was why she’d been warning me to keep my distance. The memory of how I’d reacted to the news still made me feel guilty. Whatever he had been once upon a time, he’d never been like that with me. I should have judged him on the pony I knew him to be, and not the pony that I’d never even seen since we’d met. Obviously, though, his White Hoof history hadn’t been all that much of a strike against Jackboot in Foxglove’s book either.

He might not have been good enough for me in the unicorn’s eyes; but Jackboot had obviously been good enough for her to get a good time or two. There really wasn’t any telling how long they’d been a thing, now that I thought about it. There had been plenty of times when the two of them could have been going at it without me knowing anything.

Had it been Foxglove’s idea to keep it a secret from me?

Was she the reason that he’d turned me down? With all of the things that she’d been saying to me, what could the unicorn have been talking about with Jackboot?

The tip of my hoof started digging into the table’s surface, putting a wide scratch into its surface, “what were you telling him about me?” I asked in what had nearly come out as a growl. I hadn’t quite intended it that way, but I wasn’t feeling very calm and collected at the moment. I had to know if the unicorn had had anything to do with Jackboot rejecting me.

“What?”

“Jackboot. What were you telling him about me,” I elaborated, doing my best not to raise the volume of my voice too much. I didn’t want to create a big scene here. Yet, at any rate. I suppose that it very much depended on what I heard out of this mare, “how long were you and he a ‘thing’?”

The unicorn shook her head vehemently, “Jackboot and I were never a ‘thing’, Windy. That thing in the stable was just a one-time thing, and that was just a fluke. I swear,” the violet mare even managed to sound sincere. Then she hesitated for a brief moment and bit her lip.

“But…?”

“Nothing. Nothing else happened.”

Foxglove didn’t sound completely convinced about that, and neither was I, “so you spent months badmouthing him, trying to convince me that he wasn’t worth feeling the way I did; but then—out of the blue—you decide you want to get a piece of him?

“I’m really supposed to believe that?”

“It’s the truth, Windy, it really is!”

“Okay,” I took a deep breath and finished off the bottle in my hooves. I needed a break from this mare’s lies before I did something that was going to leave her regretting it, “I need another bottle,” I slipped out of the booth and headed for the bar. Foxglove, rather wisely, didn’t make an effort to follow me. The unicorn chose only to bow her head and bury it in her hooves.

Funny what guilt did to some ponies. Especially when those ponies were stallion-stealing, backstabbing, lying, cunts! Jackboot had wanted to cut her loose too, I recalled. Just one more example of how he’d had an uncanny sense about a pony. I should have listened to him then too, it turns out.

Too late though.

I alit into one of the open stools at the end of the bar, “Wild Pegasus,” I barked at the stallion behind the bar. A glass slid over in front of me and a bottle floated over in front of me and filled it up. Just as it was about to drift away, I wrapped a wing around it, “leave it,” my other wing fished a small pile of caps out of my saddlebag and flipped them at the bartender, who caught them easily in his magical grasp as he obligingly released the bottle.

The contents of the glass, and a third of the contents in the bottle were gone in two quick gulps. Between that and the first bottle that I’d already downed, I was finally feeling the alcohol take a firm hold of my mind. It was taking more and more of it these days. It used to be that two glasses was all I needed to numb myself enough to deal with a hard day like this one. Now a whole bottle was barely doing anything for me. Perhaps it was time that I tried something else to relax me.

Flirting with Jackboot had always been pleasant. That was off the table though.

Another long gulp from the bottle.

“Now there’s a real mare,” I heard a silky voice say as a pale green unicorn stallion poured himself into the stool next to me. I must have grimaced rather noticeably, because the next words out of his mouth were, “relax, darlin’, I’m not here to ruin your night. Actually, I’ve got a business opportunity for you.”

Maybe a job was what I needed. At the very least, it wouldn’t hurt to hear the stallion out. I turned to look at the new arrival and give him a quick look over. Almost immediately, I could tell that this wasn’t the typical fixer that tended to scour these sorts of places for ponies to do difficult jobs out in the Wastes. He was way too greasy. Like, literally. His chestnut mane was slicked back with so much styling gel that it had a polished sheen to it. His tail had been bobbed up short. The unicorn stallion wore a broad grin that revealed an array of gold and silver fillings along most of his teeth that were almost as tacky as his pin-striped purple suit and polka-dotted tie.

This probably wasn’t going to be a job that involved going out and mowing down bandits, “and you are…?”

“My apologies, where are my manners,” the stallion extended a hoof, “Money Shot,” I glanced at the hoof for a second and then back at the stallion without making a move to take it. His grin didn’t waver for a moment as he continued as though he’d never actually even expected me to shake it, “I run an up and coming little establishment on the edge of New Reino. Perhaps you’ve heard of it? Golden Horseshoes?”

“Nope,” it wasn’t a casino that I was familiar with.

Once more, without missing a beat, the unicorn stallion continued with his pitch, “I’m not surprised, we’re very new in town, and we’re still getting our proverbial hooves into the valley’s proverbial door. But, don’t doubt for a moment that we won’t soon be the premiere business in Neighvada.”

“Right. You mentioned a business opportunity?”

“I very much did!” his garishly wide grin somehow expanded even further as his amber eyes twinkled, “I am scouring the valley for the perfect talent to make our business the resounding success that I know it’d going to be, and I could tell from the moment that I saw you that you, Miss…?” his words hung as he waited for me to supply a name. I declined and merely continued to stare at him with a bored expression, “…are perfect for the position.”

“What position?” I inquired when he paused, waiting to see how his proposal was being received thus far. I was hearing a lot of fluff talk that I really could have done without. I hoped he’d get to the part where he wanted me to kill somepony.

He waggled his eyebrows a couple of times and leaned in close, “diamond-dog-style, reverse cowpony, congress of the griffons, whatever tickles your feathers, gorgeous!” he leaned back and slapped his knee with a bout of raucous laughter, “no, but seriously,” the grin returned, “you have just that exotic look that I know our customers are going to love to feel for themselves,” his eyes traced over my body, and I suddenly felt sick. I was pretty sure it wasn’t the whiskey either. Pretty sure…

“Excuse me?” I was probably going to have to hit him before this was over. That would probably get me kicked out of here. I took another swig in case they didn’t let me keep the bottle, “are you trying to hire me to be a hooker?”

“What? No! Of course not,” he actually sounded sincere, to my surprise, “sleeping around with strange ponies for money is dangerous, and messy, and can lead to all sorts of problems! Besides, with a hooker, you have to pay every time you want to be with them.”

“That’s the way I understand it, yes…”

“And, you can’t experience sex through the eyes of the hooker either!”

“What?” What was this pony talking about?

In response to my question, he reached into his suit’s vest pocket and pulled out a tiny little pink orb.

I’d never actually seen one of them this close up, but I had heard them described to me enough times to know what it was that the stallion was holding up, “a memory orb,” my curiosity piqued. I was admittedly a little intrigued to learn how those ancient relics tied in to what the unicorn was talking about.

“Exactly! I take it you also know what they can do?” I nodded, “well, as it so happens, I have come into possession of a couple of devices that can create these little beauties,” I felt my eyes widen at the revelation. I’d not heard of anypony in the valley being able to do that.

“Now, most of the memory orbs that you find in the Wasteland contain a lot of boring tripe that only mattered to ponies two hundred years ago,” the unicorn slipped the orb back into his pocket, “but the ones that I’m creating are important to the here and now. Ponies in this valley won’t know how they ever managed to live without what I’m making once word gets around!”

“What exactly are you making?” as curious as I was, I found myself also feeling a growing annoyance. This unicorn had done a great deal of talking up until this point, but I had yet to hear about how any of what he was talking about related to me.

“Experiences!” the stallion beamed, “and I’m giving you the opportunity to get in on the ground floor. Once ponies learn what’s in store for them in these little beauties they’ll be throwing caps at us by the cart load!” he leaned back in his stool and looked me over once more with that same appraising glance that turned my stomach, “and you, my dear, could be our star attraction…”

I had a sneaking suspicion that I knew what he was getting at, which was rather pointedly killing what growing interest I’d had in the notion of taking on his job, “…and what would I be ‘attracting’, exactly?”

“Pegasi are a rarity, especially radiant beauties such as yourself,” I got the impression that the unicorn felt like I should feel genuinely flattered by the ‘compliment’ that had was giving me, “and there are ponies that would pay a fortune to know what being with one feels like. Together, we could fill that need, and make enough caps to buy our own private valley!”

I scowled at the unicorn and turned away, back to my bottle, “I’m not going to go around fucking stallions for money. Goodbye.”

The unicorn waved his hooves and shook his head, “of course not! And I’m not suggesting anything of the sort—quite. This is a purely professional offer. Nothing so tawdry as prostitution!” I frowned at the stallion and he continued, “what I’m proposing is that you and other professional ponies, in the safety and comfort of a professional studio, put on performances that are captured and put onto memory orbs which are then, in turn, distributed to the masses.

“You’d never even have to meet any of the actual customers!”

I raised a dubious brow, “so…you don’t want me to sleep with anypony?”

“Well…I mean, you would be interacting with one or more of your fellow professionals,” then he thought for a brief moment and nodded, “although, it occurs to me that there might be a market for, let’s call them: ‘solo performances’. So, we’ll certain leave that on the table,” his grin returned as the unicorn beamed at me, “see? We haven’t even produced your first orb yet, and you’re already helping to grow the business! I knew you were the perfect candidate.”

‘Interact’, huh? “one or ‘more’?” my frown got deeper, “exactly how many ‘more’ did you have in mind,” I’d already decided that I was going to turn him down, as I had no interest is sleeping around with ponies for caps. However, I did have an interest in relieving some of my growing tension in other ways, and this stallion’s answer might determine whether or not I let him keep any of those metal-plated teeth of his.

“It’s hard to give a hard number right now,” the unicorn admitted with a shrug, “obviously, we’ll want to appeal to a wide client base, which means accounting for tastes. Right off the hoof, I know we’ll want to cover the basic demographics: young and old stallions, young and old mares, unicorns, earth ponies—I’m putting out feelers for some of the resident Dashites too—I know an interested zebra mare…” his voice trailed off as he continued to silently consider a few more options, then, “fourteen? Though, that number could grow as we receive requests to fulfill specific ‘appetites’,” his grin returned, “ponies out there have some weird kinks, let me tell you!”

Yeah, he was probably going to end up losing his teeth. I took a deep breath and another swallow of the whiskey. Mentally, I weighed the pros and cons of getting thrown out of this bar, “no,” this stallion really thought that I—or any mare—would go for something like this?

“Now, I know that it can sound intimidating at first,” the unicorn admitted in a conciliatory tone, “but I can assure you that you could do this hundreds of times and never feel like you’ve done it once!” then he winked, “except for maybe not being able to walk straight the next morning,” another round of laughter.

I nearly spit up the sip that I was currently taking, “hundreds?” that was a far sight higher than the number he’d just thrown out earlier.

The stallion didn’t miss a beat though, “unfortunately, the memory extraction process only works once per experience, so performances would have to be repeated in order to get multiple copies; and your own recollection of the event is erased, I’m afraid. But, that just means that every performance with one of your co-workers gets to feel like the first time! You’ll get to meet the same great ponies over and over again!”

“No,” I said far more firmly this time. This unicorn was crazy! Who would be okay with something like this?!

He wasn’t quite ready to give up that easily though, “how about a test run?” the stallion suggested in an encouraging tone. He pointed over his shoulder at a table nearby where a pair of ponies were seated, an earth pony stallion and a unicorn mare, “those are a couple of good, professional, ponies that I’ve known for years. All I’m asking is for a few minutes of your time to give it a chance before making your final decision.”

“I said: no,” I winced inwardly as I heard my words slur ever so slightly. The alcohol was starting to catch up with me finally. It wouldn’t be so bad if this unicorn would just let me be drunk and numb in peace like I wanted.

The greasy pony leaning in close to me glanced between me and my nearly empty bottle. Then he raised a hoof to signal the bartender as he spoke, “I feel like we can come to an agreement if we just work together to meet in the middle. How about we get a fresh bottle while we iron things out?”

I pinched the bottle I was currently holding between my hooves and sighed. I had a good, solid, buzz going. If this stallion ruined it, so help me Celestia...

“Go away. Now.”

“Awe, beautiful, don’t be like that…” the unicorn slipped his hoof under the table and placed it on my thigh.

The bottle in my hooves exploded in a shower of fine shards as my body tensed and I crushed it. I guess I was going to get kicked out of here after all. A shame.

Before the unicorn sitting next to me knew what he’d brought down upon himself, my elbow shot out and caught him just below his jaw, pitching his head back. My wings flicked out and caught enough air beneath them to act as a pivot point. A deft stroke was all that it took for me to spin my body out of the stool, sticking out a hind leg as I whirled through the air. My kick caught the stunned stallion in the side of his head and set it slamming into the counter in front of him. His skull bounced off the polished surface with a loud ‘thwack!’ before rebounding back and sending the pony sprawling to the floor, unconscious.

He probably wasn’t dead.

The fight could have ended there—if anypony could have even called that thrashing a ‘fight’. Unfortunately, somepony seemed to think that grabbing a irritated flying death machine from behind without any warning was a good idea. In hindsight, if probably hadn’t been meant as an actual grab, and was just a well-meaning pony who was hoping to diffuse what they’d perceived as an escalating situation. Their well-meaning intentions, if that’s indeed what they were, had the opposite effect, unfortunately.

Still hanging in the air, it took no more than a flick of my pinions to spin myself around, my leg still out, and catching the pony that had laid a hoof on me in their jaw. The blow was enough to stagger the earth pony mare that had approached me. It was an action which a pair of stallions at a nearby table took exception to. They lunged from their seats in an effort to tackle me. I bobbed up in the air, dodging just out of the reach, mindful of the ceiling. As they sailed harmlessly beneath me, I rolled myself into a tight ball and used my wings to flip myself forward. At the opportune moment, I lashed out with both hind legs and delivered a ferocious double-buck to one of the stallions right on his backside. He was forced into the floor with a pained grunt.

There were a lot of ponies moving now. A wise hoofful were trying to make their way to an exit and escape from the maniacal Pegasus mare that was thrashing the other bar patrons. A lot more were keen on trying to subdue her. Which was unfortunate for them, as this mare was in no mood to be calmed down. I rolled aside as a stool sailed through the air and crashed into the bottles arranged behind the bar, much to the ire of the establishment’s owner.

Distracted by the flying furniture, somepony managed to get themselves onto my back. This turned out to be an ill-conceived plan on their part. With an enraged snarl, I hurled myself upwards at the ceiling and slammed the misguided pony against the rafters. I heard him groan just before I rocked backwards and shot myself towards another scrambling bar patron, using my passenger as an impromptu battering ram. My wings allowed me to come to a quick and painless stop. That pair of ponies, on the other hoof, were introduced to a chair, a table, and a window, in that order.

Throughout the brawl, I did catch the occasional hoof or flying bottle, but they were rarely more than irritations and didn’t break my stride in the slightest. If anything, they only served to fuel my rage as I continued to maneuver through the bar and subdue the ponies that had been foolish enough to remain. These simple morons had no concept of what they were dealing with. Their moves were clumsy and uncoordinated. Meanwhile, I darted through the air in and around them as I delivered blow after blow.

Jackboot had been a ruthless teacher growing up when it had come to hoof-to-hoof combat. He’d never pulled any punches when we’d sparred, having no reservations about throwing me across the Wasteland if I was careless enough to let him get a hold of me. This resulted in a lot of bruised flanks and cracked ribs at first, but pain had been a very good teacher. It got easier once I’d become a competent flier, because it meant that it was harder for Jackboot to throw me to the ground. My aerobatic abilities also allowed me a lot of flexibility when it came to adapting what he’d taught me about fighting with my hooves.

Now, I was capable of fighting with the savagery of a veteran White Hoof warrior, but paired with the elusive grace of a Pegasus. These ponies found it nearly impossible to defend themselves against somepony who could swoop in, deliver a staggering cross on their chin, and then be on the other side of the room before they could blink. To say nothing about the throws I could pull off when all I needed was enough open air to spread my wings in order to provide myself with enough leverage to send them in any direction I wanted to.

I guess though, at some point, a pony got fed up with getting thoroughly thrashed by one little filly and decided that it was time to escalate matters further. Just as I finished heaving my latest victim over the bar and crashing onto the pile of shattered glass bottles and spilled liquor there, a gunshot rang out. It had not been fired as a warning either. At the same moment the deafening sound reverberated through the bar, I felt a sharp, burning, pain in my right hip.

Oh, it was on now! I was just playing with you assholes up to this point, but if that’s how you wanted to do things…

I engaged SATS and scanned the slowly moving scene. My eyes soon locked onto the one pony that I could see who was armed. It was an earth pony stallion with a revolver in his mouth. I probably could have drawn my own compact .45 and dealt with him quickly enough, but that would have been too easy. He’d pissed me off by brining guns into this fight, and I wasn’t going to be letting him off with a quick and easy death.

Slipping out of SATS, I quickly looped through the air and dove behind a nearby overturned table. Another pair of shots rang out as I ducked behind the cover. Coiling up my hind legs, I released them in a powerful double buck that sent the table surging towards the armed stallion. He seemed ready enough for this, and reared up to catch it with his forehooves.

However, what he was not ready for was the Pegasus that flipped up from behind it and flew directly into him. I wrapped my hind legs around the stallion’s neck and wrenched him to the ground. The revolver went clattering across the floor. With my target right where I wanted him, I leaned in and began delivering strike after strike directly into the stallion’s face. He went limp after the third hit, but I didn’t abate right them. It wasn’t until the right side of his face felt like putty when I punched him that I finally released the stallion.

“Windfall!”

Somepony else was coming in from my left side. I leaped off the unconscious—and perhaps even dead—stallion that had had the gall to shoot at me and spun around to kick my new attacker in the face. The charging pony was sent sprawling to the floor as they tumbled into a nearby table. Then my ear twitched as I heard the sound of a pistol’s slide being cocked back in order to chamber a round. Somepony else was looking to escalate the violence.

Fine by me. Unlike them, I was an expert at killing. After all, I thought bitterly, it was my fucking talent, wasn’t it?

When I whirled around to meet the new threat, it was with my own firearm in my mouth this time. I had SATS already engaged and queued up three shots at the pony’s head. All I had to do was commit myself to the attack and that asshole’s face would be reduced to bloatsprite gizzards. That was all you had to do, Windfall. Just will the pipbuck to execute the commands that you’d given it and kill him. It was what you were good at. This is what you made Jackboot train you for all these years: killing ponies.

Just. Kill. Him.

A concerned little yellow statuette gave me a worried look. I blinked in surprise. In fact, I fell right out of SATS. The pony I was facing off against took advantage of my hesitation and fired. At the same instant, I threw myself to the ground as I realized the danger I was in. My left ear suddenly hurt a whole lot and I felt something warm running down the side of my head.

With a glare, I once more engaged the pipbuck’s targeting system. I didn’t lock onto the pony’s head this time though. Instead, I focused a shot on their weapon and executed the attack. The .45 in my mouth bucked once. I watched with satisfaction as the weapon in the other pony’s mouth sparked and was wrenched free. The pony that had been holding it cried out in fear and pain as they were disarmed.

I stood back up and advanced upon the now unarmed pony, debating just how badly I was going to hurt them.

Then I was forced to draw up short as a violet unicorn mare with green eyes interposed herself between me and my target. My shock gave way to anger as I noticed that the mare’s cheek below her right eye was discolored and starting to swell. She was also bleeding from a split lip. It looked like she’d been treated a little roughly by the ponies in this place too, and I knew that she wasn’t nearly the fighter that I was.

I glared around at the few ponies left in the bar who were still standing. They were all keeping a respectable distance from me now, very aware of just how dangerous I was as evidenced by the dozen or so moaning figures lying on the ground among their unconscious brethren. My piercing blue eyes fell to those remaining ponies, “which one of you hit her?” I snarled at them.

“You did!” said the pony standing in front of me.

I whipped back around and looked at Foxglove with wide eyes. When had I…then I recalled a purple blur that I’d lashed out at. Guilt churned my stomach. The unicorn mare was glaring at me, wiping away the blood that had started to dribble down her chin. She inspected her hoof, and then looked back up at me, “Windfall, what the fuck is wrong with you?” she gestured around at the bar, “what was all this about?”

My eyes once more scanned the surrounding scene. In my head, I went back to the impetus. Some sleazy stallion who wanted to get me to sleep with other ponies for money. Yeah, well, maybe that didn’t truly justify all of this, but I’d just wanted to deck him in the beginning. After that, I’d just been defending myself, “they started it.”

The unicorn looked at me with a bewildered expression. Okay, so I wasn’t sure that I really bought that either. Whatever. The moment was over with anyway, and my stride had been broken. Nopony was taking any more swings at me, or pointing guns at me. The fight had ended. I put my compact pistol back into the holster tucked beneath my wing and turned away from the unicorn. As I headed for the door, the ponies that were anywhere near my path made noticeable efforts to back away even further from the crazy mare that had just destroyed their bar.

I glanced around my surroundings. It was really late at night now; about time to find someplace to bed down. My eyes fell upon a nearby hotel that had been set up by an enterprising pony to cater to the needs of traders and merchants passing through New Reino. It wasn’t like the usual rooms that we’d rented from the casinos that Jackboot and I had stayed at, but that was probably a good idea. I’d done enough drinking for the night, and the last thing I needed right now was to put myself back in a public setting like dice and card tables. Drunken stallions got excitable around pretty mares, and one throw-down melee a night was plenty.

I heard movement behind me, and glanced back over my shoulder just enough to catch sight of Foxglove following me outside. She was still nursing her split lip and sore cheek. In the back of my mind, I did feel a little bad about that; but only in the sense that I hadn’t realized that it was her that I’d hit that time. The rest of me wasn’t the least bit sorry that she’d suffered at my hooves. It was the least she deserved for all the manipulating she’d been doing where Jackboot and I were concerned.

Frankly, I was half tempted to tell her to go ahead and get lost right here and now. It was a fleeting urge though, born more of my own alcohol addled brain and recent revelations than any real desire to be rid of the unicorn forever, and I recognized that. As much as she might not be my favorite mare right now, I also knew her well enough that I was willing to give her a chance to explain herself. Eventually. Tonight though, I could do with a night alone.

“You have money for a room, right?” I asked over my shoulder at the mare.

Foxglove looked at me in confusion, then the nature of my question seemed to dawn on her. She was a bright one when she wanted to be, this mare, “oh. Um, yeah, I should.”

“Good. I’ll see you in the morning,” I turned and started walking away, “we’ll meet in the markets. See you then.”

“Windy…”

“Good night, Foxglove,” I hopped into the air and flew away from the violet unicorn without looking back. It should have been a suitable hint.

In the distance, I heard a familiar voice coming from Foxglove’s direction, “Glovey, darling! What was all that about? Are you okay? Who was that mare? Do you know her?”

“I’m fine, Kashmir,” the violet mare assured her old co-worker, “and Windy…she’s just had a bad day. I’m sorry,’ a pause, “hey, do you have a spare bed…?” I couldn't hear anything more after that.

So much for a nice, quiet evening. I guess I never had been all that good about staying calm and out of sight, now that I took a moment to think about it. That had always been Jackboot’s thing. He was the pony that wanted to hide himself away in some dark and quiet place while he came up with a calculated plan to get at whatever we were after.

I wasn’t wired that way though, in spite of all the advice that he’d ever tried to give me somehow. It just…

How was anypony supposed to just sit back and not do anything when they knew that something needed to be done, and they knew that they could do that something?

Case in point: Scritch—or Scratch, or Scrunch, or whoever—needed to be taken down. It was a matter of justice, and doing right by Jackboot. There was no doubt in my mind about that. He was just one old griffon who ran a casino, no different from how Tommyknocker had been; and that fat tub of lard had been foal’s play to take down. How much more difficult could it be to handle some griffon who wasn’t, by all accounts, even a Neighvada local? He was out of his element, which gave me the home field advantage!

I bet if I were to find him right now, and get the drop on him, it wouldn’t even be a fucking fight.

Maybe it was the adrenaline that was still pumping through my veins from the fight. Maybe it was the two bottles of Wild Pegasus sloshing around in my stomach. Maybe it was still that lingering frustration about Foxglove and Jackboot. Any or all of those factors might have contributed to why I spread my wings and veered right with specific destination in mind.

If Jackboot were here, he’d be telling me that this was a bad idea. The older stallion would be suggesting some more subtle approach, probably like the one that I had discussed yesterday with Foxglove about using that holographic projection device. The thing was…subtlety and elaborate plans were Jackboot’s thing. I didn’t have the experience to pull off anything like that. I just knew how to do what it was that I knew how to do:

Fly in. Kill things.

It’s what my cutie mark is telling me, I thought sourly as I angled towards the Lucky Bit.

That was a lie, of course. My cutie mark had never told me anything, ever. I’d never even wanted a mark like it. All I’d ever wanted to do was to help. I’d wanted to help out on the farm, and after it had gone away, I’d wanted to help out pretty much anypony else that I could. Killing…that wasn’t the same thing all the time, even when I was killing ponies that did bad things.

But what else was a pony good for when she had a sword on her butt?

So be it. I’d do what I did best.

I’ll get the bastard, Jackboot. I’ll make up for all my mistakes, I swear I will…

…no matter how many I have to kill.

I was going to need a lot more alcohol before the night was through.

The Lucky Bit wasn’t all that far off from Crow’s Bar by air. It took me less than a minute to get there, even at a flutter pace. I didn’t land immediately though, instead taking my time to survey the layout. Because I’d always been here before while in the close company of ground-bound ponies, I’d never really appraised it from above. I was glad that I did though, since I had forgotten about one of the more peculiar renovations that the griffon had made after moving out: he’d removed a wall of his office which exposed it to the outside.

For a creature of the skies, I could actually see the merit in that, especially for an upper level room. We had wings, which meant that we didn’t have to worry about leaving a building on the ground floor.

It did mean that it was hard to keep out other fliers though. I wouldn’t even have to tangle with all of the security on the first level to get to him.

My eyes narrowed as I spied the soft white light indicative of an electric illumination source spilling out of that unique office. The griffon was in residence. So were a few other ponies.

I fought back the urge to simply dart up and open fire into the office and mow down every soul in the room. It would undoubtedly have been a simple affair, but it also would have been quite noisy. Plus, I didn’t know exactly who else was in the room with that griffon at the moment. Being identified as taking out a big player in New Reino was going to make my life in the city a little difficult as it was, since it would undoubtedly put the other influential ponies in the town on edge. They’d wonder why I did it, and probably spend a good deal of time trying to figure out who put me up to it; which would only get worse when they discovered I was a ‘free agent’ and there was no guarantee one of them wouldn’t be next.

The last thing I needed was to accidentally kill two of those bastards and cement myself as a pony-non-gratis in New Reino.

So I glided in silently, alighting gently against the side of the casino, just beside the opening in the wall. Soft flaps of my wings kept my hooves planted to the vertical surface as I craned my head to listen to the conversation being held nearby.

“—Y’all don’t need to concern yourselves with the White Hooves, I assure you,” a voice that I recognized as belonging to the griffon said in a tone that sounded to border on exasperation, as though it was not the first time he’d had to say it recently, “they’ll settle themselves down in due time.”

“It’d be nice if we had proof of that,” a stallion’s voice growled, “we’ve never seen this sort of activity from them before! White Hoof raiding parties have been sighted within twenty miles of the city! Twenty miles!”

“They’ve never come this close before,” an older mare chimed in, sounding equally unhappy about the topic of their discussion.

“And they likely never will again,” the griffon said, “my own contacts in the White Hooves assure me this is about an internal matter. It has nothing to do with New Reino.”

“Opening negotiations with the White Hooves was stupid,” the stallion didn’t sound very placated by the assurances he was getting, “now they think we’re desperate and can’t defend ourselves! They’re probably scouting us out for an attack…”

“It’s nothing of the sort!” the griffon snapped, “I have spoken personally with their representative and brokered a very good deal for the city.”

The mare sounded even more unhappy about this news, “you’re saying you took unilateral action on ‘behalf of the city’? That’s not how this works, Mr. Scratch,” her tone grew very icy.

I might not be an expert on New Reino politics, but even I knew that the griffon was going off the reservation if what he was saying was true. While the city might not have had a real ‘government’ in the same way the NLR did, there was an…understanding among the ponies that owned large stakes in the city: the casino owners. They cooperated and worked together—for the most part—to make sure that they could all get rich together without an excessive amount of backstabbing going on. One of their ‘rules’ was that anything that dealt with other prominent groups, like the NLR, or Steel Rangers, or the White Hooves, had to be agreed upon by a majority of the owners to make sure it was in all their interests.

Dealing behind everypony’s back like this was a huge ‘no-no’.

I might not even need to kill the griffon. The other ponies in this town might do it for me…

“There wasn’t time to arrange a meeting with all of you,” Scratch insisted, “certain developments came up that accelerated my timetables.”

“Developments?” the stallion stressed, clearly not liking the word, “care to elaborate?”

“Just an irritant that needed to be dealt with. It was an internal matter, nothing that affects your own operations. However, it also presented me with a unique opportunity to make a deal with the White Hooves, so I took it.

“The best part is that it won’t cost you a thing, and it cleared up my own problem in the process,” the griffon said in a satisfied tone, “we all win.”

“You really expect us to believe that the White Hooves can be bought that cheaply?” the mare was clearly not convinced. I wouldn’t have been either.

“I helped them with something very important to their current leader. Apparently, it was a problem that she’d been having for a long time: a loose end that needed tying up. I helped her solve her problem.”

“I swear to Celestia, Scratch,” the stallion snarled, “if you don’t stop beating around the bush and talk straight, I’ll—”

“Snake Eyes,” the mare snapped abruptly before continuing in a slightly calmer if audibly strained tone, “let us remember to keep these meetings civil. Please,” there was a snort from the stallion, “though, he does raise a valid point, Mr. Scratch. Keeping the rest of us in the dark like this would be…unwise.”

There was a long bout of silence before the griffon finally spoke, “very well. Whiplash apparently had an older brother.”

“Steel Bit had a colt, yes,” the mare confirmed, “but our sources said he was killed in the coup where Whiplash seized power.”

“He lived.”

“What?”

“He fled east,” the griffon continued, “apparently Whiplash’s warchiefs just told her he was dead so they didn’t look incompetent. I met him there, actually,” Scratch chuckled, “he used to work for me.

“I didn’t know who he was then. He was just another thug that I paid when he did things for me. Imagine my surprise when I learned that he could have been one of the big players in the Wasteland?

The griffon’s tone became slightly cooler now, “he screwed up back east and had to disappear. I guess he came back here. He dropped by a few weeks ago and did a job for me,” there was ice in his voice now, “then he tried to blackmail me.”

I blinked. Jackboot had tried to screw with his ‘old friend’ from back east? I mean, I suppose I found it hard to sympathize with the griffon, since I knew he was a fucking asshole. Jackboot likely had known that too and was just trying to capitalize on getting the most out of the griffon.

“A little birdy told me he had a bounty on him, so I tried to direct some hunters his way,” so that was how they’d found us! Scratch was turning out to be some piece of work, “somehow they screwed it up and he got away.

“That was when a chance conversation with Whiplash’s representative clued me in to who he really was. So I set him up to be delivered into their hooves in exchange for New Reino being exempt from White Hoof raids for the next decade or so.”

My blood ran cold. Scratch had known. He’d known exactly who and what Cestus was and had specifically put him in contact with us to get Jackboot captured and killed. Thinking back on it, that little raid out in the Wasteland had probably been ‘Plan A’, which was why the brown stallion hadn’t been anywhere in sight when it all went down.

That made my abduction his fallback plan.

What had happened to me, to Jackboot, and to my mother; it had all been this griffon’s fault. I had my confirmation of guilt, straight from his own mouth. Which meant that I was going to have to kill him. I might even be able to wait until those other two ponies were out of the room.

“So these patrols we’re seeing are because Whiplash has been looking for her brother?”

“Yes,” the griffon confirmed, “and now that she has him, I’m sure they’ll move on so that you can all relax.”

“They’d better,” then stallion snarled.

“They will. Now, if there is nothing else?” the other two ponies must have nodded or shaken their heads or given some other indication that the conversation had indeed come to a close, because he followed his question up with, “then I bid you good evening. Let the other’s know what’s going on—oh!—and please don’t forget to spread the word about the frequency for Valley Radio. The inaugural broadcast will be in eight days, promptly at seven in the evening.

“Please have any advertisements or messages you’d like to have featured in that broadcast to me no later than the day after tomorrow so I can sure they’re worked into the script. Thank you!”

There was the sound of two sets of hooves clomping along the aging floor of the office, followed by a door opening and closing. The griffon sighed, “fucking ponies,” I was holding my breath as I inched closer to the missing segment of wall. If he was alone now, this was my chance to get the drop on him and end all of this tonight. Just a little closer and I’d be able to see his—

“No offense,” Scratch murmured idly.

“N-n-none taken, s-sir.”

I froze. There was still somepony else in the room. I was pretty sure I recognized that stutter though. I’d heard it before.

“We’re going to need to edge those two out,” the griffon went on, “but first we’ll need to find suitable replacements.”

“I-I-I’m feeling out th-their staff now. Got s-s-some prospects l-l-lined up.”

“Good. Good…” I heard a barely stifled yawn, “go ahead and knock off, Itchy. I’m going to play with Homily’s speech a little more. It’s going to be hard to break up DJ Pon3’s monopoly, but if we can get the locals really hooked the first time they tune in…”

“Y-y-you’ll nail it, b-boss!”

“G’night, Itchy.”

“’N-n-night.”

I heard the sounds of another pony leaving. It should just be the griffon now. My heart was pounding through my ears with the anticipation of it all. I was seconds away from avenging Jackboot and my mother. This was my chance to start balancing the scales…

I waited several more long seconds. There was the sound of a pen scribbling upon paper, occasionally punctuated by the muffled buntings of a cigar being tapped against an ashtray; nothing else that suggested the griffon wasn’t completely alone in his office. With a deep breath, I detached myself from the wall that I had been perched against and floated slowly in through the opening.

The smart move would have been to waste absolutely no time and simply open up with both barrels of the submachine guns mounted on my sides, using my remaining explosive rounds to reduce the griffon into so much feathery fluff and blood. I’d be gone before anypony could respond to the chaos and offer any sort of reprisal or even make a positive identification of who’d slaughtered the casino boss. It would have been so simple and easy, and really was the smartest course of action.

Gunning him down from behind was exactly what a pony born to kill should have done.

I could feel my teeth grinding themselves into powder as I found myself unable to give the necessary verbal instructions to the weapon systems that Foxglove had designed for me.

The first pony that I’d killed had been from behind. A screaming farmer standing over a rust-colored stallion that I’d known for only a few short days. Both of them had been the next best things to strangers to me, and I had felt no special loyalty or devotion to Jackboot back them. I could have probably found a way to throw my lot in with the farmer and convinced him of my innocence by helping him deal with the stallion that had obviously been trying to rob him.

It was just that…I couldn’t stand by and let somepony who was clearly helpless been pummeled to death. There certainly wouldn’t have been any way that I could have brought myself to help kill Jackboot in that condition. It wouldn’t have been right. Taking a few bits shouldn’t earn anypony a death sentence.

Not that I’d had any intention of killing the farmer either. I’d just wanted to scare him with the gun and make him back down. The pistol had been heavy and awkward and I must have done something wrong though, because it had gone off. I’d saved Jackboot though, and I’d been immensely grateful for that much. The farmer’s death had hurt…and the mark his slaying had earned me had cut even deeper.

Can you do it one more time, Windfall? I thought bitterly, this griffon killed Jackboot, like that farmer was going to.

All you need is one more bullet in the back of one more head…

My eyes darted briefly to the bottom of my field of vision, and the classification that the pipbuck mounted to my fetlock had assigned to the griffon. He was showing up as a golden blip. The Old World aid insisted that he wasn’t a threat. He wasn’t a bad pony—er, griffon. I’d made a promise long ago to only shoot those whom I knew were bad. A killer I may be, but not a killer of innocents.

This griffon was no ‘innocent’ though, I knew that much, at least. Still, the pipbuck insisted that he wasn’t like other bandits and murderers that I’d put down. I shouldn’t let that me dissuade me though. The pipbuck didn’t know what I did: that Scratch had arranged for Jackboot to be killed—twice it turned out. Surely that was cause enough to just pull the trigger…

…no. I winced with the pain of it. I might be a killer, and there was nothing I could ever do to change that, but I wasn’t going to let myself become a murderer. Whatever else the griffon might have done, he hadn’t directly killed Jackboot. The stallion had died as much due to my own bumbling incompetence as anything else. If I was going to kill this griffon for it, I’d have to punish myself just as severely. That didn’t mean that I just had to turn around and forget about all of this though.

Dealing with White Hooves wasn’t much of a crime here in New Reino, but if I dragged Scratch’s feathered ass to Seaddle maybe the NLR would want to have a ‘word’ or two with the griffon to find out what he knew about the painted tribals.

If he resisted, and things got out of hoof though…

…maybe that would be enough to keep me from needing to drink myself to death over killing him.

Too bad Jackboot wasn’t here. He’d have been able to do what I apparently couldn’t.

I lifted my wing and withdrew the compact semiautomatic, “don’t make any sudden movements,” I informed the griffon calmly around the grip in my mouth.

The griffon jerked, startled to have heard anypony addressing him from behind. His clawed hands remained visible on the desk, not darting for any weapons of his own. Pity that. It would have been nice to have an excuse like self defense. He craned his head disturbingly far around and fixed me with a beady golden iris. The eye widened slightly when he finally beheld me.

“…Windfall, right?” he said slowly, his own tone sounding remarkably calm for having a gun in his face, “Jackboot’s little protégée,” a thin shadow of a smirk tugged at the side of his beak, “I take it this isn’t a social call?”

“I’m taking you to Seaddle,” I heard somepony saying in a numb voice that sounded remarkably like my own. I was supposed to be here to kill him, not ‘arrest’ him. I promised Jackboot’s fucking ghost that I was going to kill this fucker, damn it! Pull the trigger, Windfall! Kill this asshole!

I’d never wanted to be a killer, though. I’d wanted to help ponies, damn it, not smear their entrails over the whole fucking valley. Just because it was my destiny didn’t mean it was what I had to do every time…did it? Time to find out.

“You are, are you? Any particular reason?”

“You’re dealing with White Hooves,” I said coolly. I could feel the smaller feathers near my wing joints starting to tingle. Something was…off. He wasn’t acting the way that he should have been while sompony was pointing a gun at him. Even more than that: his blip was still yellow. That…that couldn’t possibly be right, could it? “the NLR will have you executed for that. They’ll probably torture you first too.”

“Oh, no doubt,” the griffon nodded, wearing an expression that suggested he agreed fully with my assessment, “Why, I bet they’d have my head off my shoulders within a week of us getting there.”

I swallowed. Was he…patronizing me? “cut the chatter. Get on the floor, and put your claws behind your back. Slowly.”

The griffon turned the chair he was sitting in around lazily until he was facing me directly. I kept the color of his blip firmly in mind as I watched him warily. The moment it changed, he was going down. Scratch steepled his talons and brought them up to touch the underside of his beak, staring at me. He didn’t say anything for several seconds, and then he finally responded with a single word: “no.”

I wasn’t able to keep the surprise off of my face. What did he mean, ‘no’? I was pointing a fucking gun at him and he was unarmed! He didn’t get to tell me ‘no’! “Get on the floor, now!” I snarled at the griffon, willing his blip to turn red, “or I swear to Celestia, I’ll kill you right here.”

“Then do it.”

I blinked, caught off guard. Was this griffon nuts?!

“I take it you must have been out there a while and heard all of what was said before?” he didn’t wait for me to nod my confirmation before he continued in that same even tone, “so you know I arranged for Jackboot to be captured by the White Hooves,” his beak turned up in a slight smile, “and now he’s dead, I reckon. He’d be here himself if he weren’t; and if he was still being held by the White Hooves, you’d still be trying to get him away from them and not bothering me.

“Right?”

He was, of course, but I wasn’t going to overtly confirm his suspicions. Turn red, you stupid blip! Let me shut this asshole up! I can live with being a killer, but don’t make me a murderer too…

“Jackboot suggested you were a capable sort when y’all were here last,” Scratch went on, seemingly oblivious to the peril he was in, “and I’ve never known Jackboot to associate with useless ponies. So I’m inclined to believe you’re good. You managed to escape whatever trap Cestus set, after all,” he gestured to indicate that my very presence was firm proof of that, “but,” he held up a claw by means of caveat, “but maybe Jackboot read you wrong?

“You have me dead to rights,” the griffon shrugged, “and if there’s a pony in this whole valley with more cause to want me dead, I ain’t met them as of yet.

“Arresting me? Most would’ve shot me. I’d’ve shot me!” he chuckled, and I felt my jaw tighten on the grip of the pistol. Fucking blip…

“So, no,” he frowned and shook his head, “I won’t be going quietly to the NLR. You’ll just have to kill me, I’m afraid,” he shrugged and spread his clawed hands out to either side, in a clear invitation to begin shooting at his exposed chest.

“You really think I won’t do it?” I felt my own features cringe slightly at the faint waiver in my voice. Celestia, damn it, Windfall! Just shoot him! It wasn’t that fucking hard! For fuck’s sake, he set you and Jackboot up. He tried to kill you both, and Foxglove too. What did it matter what color his blip was, if you knew he was a fucking bastard?

The griffon flashed a smile at me, “I really don’t think you will.”

Was he right? Was I really going to let him live? I was a killer. I knew that. My cutie mark reminded me every day that this was what I did. This was my life. My destiny. Those little ‘rules’ about who I killed and why were my own construction, and had no real relationship to my talent. They didn’t matter. I was what I was, and nothing would ever change that.

The slide bucked in my mouth.

It was almost worth the look of surprise on the griffon’s face. Genuine shock, followed very quickly by excruciating pain as the little crimson stain appeared in his chest. That first gunshot was accompanied by the remaining six in the magazine. Each additional bullet inflicting upon the griffon another lightning strike of pain that contorted his body. When all of my rounds were finally spent, all that was left of the griffon who was so thoroughly responsible for destroying my life was a bloody lifeless corpse slumped in his high-backed chair. His eyes were still wide with astonishment, as though, even at the end, he couldn’t believe how wrongly he had misread the situation.

He hadn’t been so wrong though.

Innocent he hadn’t been, not by a long shot. This was probably exactly the sort of fate his life had earned him. At least, it might have been. I really didn’t know. He’d been a yellow blip, after all. I stared down at the feathered carcass of the griffon that I’d murdered.

And it had been a murder. He hadn’t been attacking me, or anypony else for that matter. He wasn’t an immediate threat. He was just an asshole that had tricked Jackboot into hooking up with a member of the tribe that wanted him dead. For all I knew, this griffon had never once taken a life with his own talons. He was certainly responsible, however indirectly, for ponies dying.

That really wasn’t enough though, was it? If I was going to gun down individuals just because they were manipulative assholes…the Wasteland would probably become a very lonely place.

…I really was a killer, wasn’t I?

…What color would my blip look like right now?

The door burst open, thrusting me out of my reverie. My eyes looked onto a pair of armed ponies charging into the room. I didn’t hesitate, flipping into the air and zipping around the corner before they realized what had happened. I heard the yelling fading into the distance as they called out in order to muster the others and sort out what had happened. It wasn’t anything that I cared about though. My work there was done.

I alit in front of the lobby of a little motel on the outskirts of town. The kindly old mare there was polite and curious while she sold me one of her rooms for the night. She didn’t even act like she noticed the bloody ear or the smell of alcohol from the numerous bottles that had been smashed over my body during the fight in the bar. I suppose, in a town like this, that a sight like me wasn’t really anything new for her.

She even pointed me the way to the communal bathroom and showers that were provided for guests. I chose to visit my room first and secure my things before I headed back down to clean myself off. At least it was late enough in the evening that there wasn’t anypony else there. It allowed me to shower in peace.

I stepped beneath the tin can that served as the spout for the water and tugged down on the handle with my mouth. My whole body jerked as ice cold water rained down over me, but I kept hold of the handle so that it would keep falling and thoroughly soak my coat. I stared down at the tiled floor, noting the fascinating swirls of red, brown, and black as the blood, booze, and grime were rinsed out of my coat, and let my mind wander over what I'd been through that evening.

It had always been a thin pretense, my little set of rules when it came to killing others. ‘Bad ponies’. Jackboot had scoffed at the notion when I’d brought it up. I suppose that it wasn’t until this exact moment that I realized what he’d been talking about. It never would have occurred to me to kill that griffon when I was a little filly. He might not have been a particularly good individual, but he also might not have ever done anything that warranted killing. I’d made that determination. I’d been the one who said he was ‘bad’.

Even the pipbuck had disagreed.

Jackboot had been a White Hoof. They were the quintessential ‘bad ponies’ in the valley; yet I’d defended him even after he’d come clean about everything he’d done. He’d fit ever criteria I’d ever set for myself when it came to killing, but I’d spared him—helped him even!

So much for my fucking rules…

I just killed whoever I wanted, apparently. Which sucked, since I’d only ever wanted to help the ponies of the Wasteland, just like the Mare-Do-Well had all those years ago; like how…

…how the Lone Ranger had.

DJ Pon3’s recent broadcast rang in my mind, about how my idol had fallen from grace. He’d gone from being a hero out to help ponies to the sort who, well, the sort who would probably have gunned down an unarmed casino owner because he was a conniving bastard. Did that mean that it was only a matter of time before I started hitting caravans and merchants too? Was that the sort of pony that I was going to become, no matter what?

My eye caught sight of a mirror in the little bathroom that still possessed a fair portion of its reflective surface. In that reflection, I caught sight of the steel sword over the crimson heart and golden wings.

Death from above…

I wiped at the corner of my eye where it was starting to burn a little. That wasn’t the sort of pony that I’d wanted to be. I wanted to help ponies, not kill them! It wasn’t fair.

I released the lever and the water dribbled to a stop. I shook myself violently to cast off most of the water and help dislodge any other loose filth. I flared the feathers of my chest and wings and shook myself again before taking a deep breath and yanking down on the spigot’s handle once more. Again, ice cold water fell all over my body as I watched a much more subdued slurry of blood and dirt get rinsed down the drain. I released the lever one last time and shook away the water.

I idly preened my chest and wings on the way back to my room. Already, I found myself missing the facilities of that old stable that we’d found. The bodies had certainly sullied most of the exhilaration that had come with finding so fascinating a place, but I couldn’t deny that a nice long soak in a warm bath hadn’t been one of the happiest moments in my recent memory. Not that I had many of those.

As I finished tugging on one of my pinions, I found myself staring at it, idly. Life had had quite a few difficult moments, growing up as a Pegasus among ponies that hadn’t really seen one up close before. My mother had told me that her grandfather had been a Dashite, and that was how I had been born a Pegasus. Unfortunately, she’d never gotten a chance to know her grandfather, let alone ply him for information about what went into raising one.

The whole family had been horrified the first time I molted. I was too young to really remember, but my mother had talked about how they were all sure that I’d become deathly ill. When it became clear that I wasn’t sick at all, and that this was a natural process, they breathed a huge sigh of relief. It had actually proved to be a bit of a boon to the household, as every year I provided them with a small amount of feathers to use to make more comfortable bedding.

It hadn’t taken me many years to learn how to properly preen myself—or even that I needed to preen myself. My mother and I had spent a long time experimenting with several varying techniques before finding a method that worked reliably. I had altered that technique over the past couple of years when I caught Jackboot staring at me from time to time. With the right posture, I was able to make the exercise rather…intimate looking. Not sure how much my mother would have approved of that…

She definitely wouldn’t have approved of Jackboot. It wouldn’t have had anything to do with his being a White Hoof either. Killing…well, it wasn’t her thing. She didn’t even like it when Pa had to put down a sick Brahmin. If she’d ever seen me on one of our little forays into the Wasteland to take out a bunch of raiders…she would have been horrified by the sort of pony I’d become.

Maybe, in that sense, it was a good thing she’d hadn’t lived long enough to find that out.

I scowled and slammed my hoof into the door leading to my room. With a pained grunt, I shook out the aching limb and headed inside. In hindsight, I should have bought some more whiskey before that fight in the bar. It seemed like I was going to need a lot more of it tonight.

My gaze fell to my saddlebags, where their unceremonious impact on the ground had caused a swath of blue material to spill out. I reached out and slowly dragged the ancient barding into view, looking wanly at the pristine Wonderbolt uniform. It was hard to miss all of the posters and billboards in the Wasteland that touted the elite flying corps as valiant heroes and defenders of the ponies that had once lived in the Neighvada Valley and elsewhere in the Wasteland.

Why couldn’t that have been my destiny? Flying around the world, saving ponies. That was what I’d wanted to do, not…this. I couldn’t do this, not anymore. If I did…well, who was to say I wouldn’t keep slipping more than I already had? If I kept on killing ponies like I was, I’d end up becoming just like the Lone Ranger.

I didn’t want that.

Of course, it’s not like I could do anything about it. My talent was killing.

You can’t fight fate.

A glint of polished steel had tagged along with the Pegasus barding. Pulling it further into view revealed it to be the massive revolver, Full Stop, that had become of fixture of the stallion who’d raised me. I picked up the weapon, running a wingtip over the heavy frame and rugged mouthpiece. A thought crossed through my head that formed a cold knot in the pit of my stomach.

Maybe somepony could fight their fate…if they had the guts to do what needed to be done.

I guess that nopony had ever told me that life was going to be fair. Indeed, I believe I correctly recalled that somepony close to me had stated exactly the opposite. Not everypony got a ‘happily ever after’, did they? Jackboot certainly hadn’t. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to have one either.

I know I promised that I’d kill a lot more ponies for you, Jackboot, but…

My eyes were burning again, and my cheeks were starting to feel a little damp. The truth was that I had never liked killing. I’d hated it, I’d always hated it. The whiskey used to help, but these days…it was like I had to be drunk all the time just to get through the day. I didn’t want to live like that, if that was what it took to be the kind of pony I was.

I didn’t want to be my kind of pony anyway.

There were still more than a few ponies on that list that I’d been putting together. A lot of White Hooves, and those weird unicorns. I’d sworn that I would get rid of them as part of that vow I’d made in Jackboot’s memory. The thought of all of those bodies, all of that killing…

I’m so sorry, Jackboot. I wish I could have been that pony for you. I just…I never liked killing. I hated it. I’m sorry.

I depressed the cylinder release on the revolver and the heavy piece of bored steel swung out. Six unfired rounds. Gently, I ran a hoof over them, feeling that knot grow a little tighter and my throat go dry. The alternative though…ending up like the Lone Ranger…

A flick slammed the cylinder into place with a metallic click. I found myself focusing past the weapon in my hooves, looking once again at the crumpled Wonderbolt barding. I never had tried it on; see how it felt to actually be a pony that helped others. With a brief look at the firearm, I set it on the bed. This was going to be the last chance that I’d have, I guess.

It…it was actually a pretty good fit, I thought as I looked myself over in the mirror. Much better than the stable barding had been. I hadn’t realized how much of this barding had been meant to stretch and conform to the body of the wearer. Even though it had once been the uniform of a stallion, it fit my little mare body quite well. There was also something to be said for barding that had been specifically designed to be worn by ponies with wings. I couldn’t recall having that sort of freedom of motion before.

Jackboot was right about how flashy it was though. Bright blue with golden accents that were very nearly reflective. Even on a dark night I’d just about be visible wearing this thing! I guess the Wonderbolts hadn’t been very big on the concept of ‘sneak attacks’. It sort of made sense, thinking about it. They were the heroes, right? Heroes were supposed to be visible to everypony so that good ponies knew that help was nearby. Good Ponies didn’t need to hide like some sort of assassin.

They probably wouldn’t have wanted somepony like me anyway.

With that last sour thought, I returned to the bed and the revolver laying upon it. That knot redoubled in my gut and I forced myself to take a deep breath to steel myself. This was what had to be done. I wasn’t going to let myself become the very thing I’d wanted to fight against. I didn’t want to be a bad pony.

I picked up the revolver in my hooves, using my wings to lift me up and deposit myself on the mattress. I lay back, making myself at least a little comfortable on the old bed. Full Stop was clutched to my chest as I stared up at the ceiling, fighting back the tightness in my throat. My eyes were getting a little wetter.

It hadn’t been as much of a problem when Jackboot was still alive. Whenever I’d felt the slightest bit of doubt, the older stallion had been there to set me straight and let me know what I was supposed to do. He’d pointed out the targets, and I’d taken care of them. It had been easy and simple, and while the killing had always made me uncomfortable, I’d been able to take solace in the whiskey and the knowledge that Jackboot knew what he was doing.

But I can’t rely on you anymore. You’ve been gone a day, and I’ve already started slipping.

At this rate, I’d be Whiplash in a week, I scoffed at myself. So, yeah, I fought though the burning in my eyes, the wetness on my cheeks, and the fear in my gut. If I didn’t do something about this, I was going to become even more of a monster. I. Was. A. Killer.

But I knew how to deal with killers.

With another deep breath, I closed my eyes and brought the barrel of the revolver up against the base of my jaw. One pull of the trigger, and the Wasteland would become a much safer place. That was all it was going to take. Just a tiny little twitch of my hoof on the mouthpiece’s trigger.

Come on, Windfall, stop being such a fucking coward and do the fucking Wasteland a Celestia-damned favor by getting rid of one more bad pony! It’s your fucking destiny!

I could feel the pressure on the trigger mounting as my hoof slowly found the strength to do what needed to be done.

Just…a little…more…

Jackboot…I’m sorry…

My eyes shot open as a distant scream drifted in through the open window.

It was a very high-pitched scream, the sort that might be uttered by a filly or a young colt. My head whipped towards the open window in my room. Nothing showed up as being hostile on my EFS, but that could have just meant that it was out of range. All I knew at the moment was that it had come from beyond the boundaries of the settlement. I tossed he revolver aside and rolled off the bed towards the small motel room's window, cocking my head to see if I heard anything more, in case it had just been my imagination playing tricks on me.

Then I heard it again, and this time it was clear enough for me to make out distinct words, “Mommy!”

I was out the window and in the air before I even knew that I was moving. My wings beat furiously as I propelled myself like a missile in the direction of the screams. I didn’t know what I was likely to encounter, just that there was somepony out there that was in trouble. It wasn’t until I spied the trio of red blips on my EFS that I realized that, in my haste to leave, I had managed to leave behind all of my weapons.

It was a bit late to do anything about that now though. I could also make out the pair of yellow markers that indicated the ponies that were currently in peril. If I turned back to get my guns, there was no guarantee that they’d still be alive by the time I returned. Hopefully, I’d be able to deal with whatever I found when I got there.

I wasn’t all that far outside of the boundaries of New Reino when I arrived on the scene. What was going on was immediately obvious as well. Three ponies wearing the matching barding of one of the mercenary outfits that helped to ‘protect’ the bustling Wasteland city were tussling with a pair of ponies. I felt my jaw set firmly as I realized what was happening.

Ideally, the ponies guarding New Reino from raiders and monsters kept their minds focused just on those tasks, and the generous number of caps that the casino bosses were paying them to do that simple job. Of course, where you were a soldier for hire, you always kept an eye out for the opportunity to squeeze out a few more caps where you could; despite the absurdly high wages they were already getting to make sure that they couldn’t be bought by ill-intending marauders.

For the most part, this just meant little things like ‘tolls’ and ‘customs fees’ that most ponies didn’t really bristle too much at. As long as the amounts weren’t too outrageous and the ‘wrong’ pony wasn’t shaken down like this, the casino bosses didn’t really do anything about it either. Nor, on the rare occasion when it happened, did they raise any objections to those ‘guards’ abducting the odd pony here and there to be sold to them as a slave. It happened very rarely, since most ponies who traveled across the Wasteland were armed to some degree, and none of the guards was actually willing to risk their lives for the price they’d get for one or two slaves.

Unfortunately, if you were stupid enough to be trudging through the Wasteland without any barding or weapons at night and one of those patrols found you, then you were fair game as far as the mercs were concerned. That seemed to be the case here. The orange unicorn mare and her cyan earth pony filly weren’t wearing any protective garments, and I couldn’t see any sign that they were armed. I couldn’t fathom why they’d have been traveling like that, but that wasn’t my concern at the moment.

The armored stallion wrestling with the young filly was.

“Head’s up!” I announced as swooped down, coming within inches of the ground before pulling up. The earth pony stallion subduing the younger filly did in fact glance upward. This worked out rather well, since by this time I was actually coming in from his side. At the last moment, I flipped onto my back and brought both of my hind hooves up into a powerful buck aimed at the underside of the armored pony’s chin. The force of the blow lifted the stallion up off the ground and sent him sailing through the air, landing in a heap nearby. Meanwhile, I scooped up the terrified filly and darted back off into the night sky.

“What the f—Sandbag!” one of the other mercenaries called out. Then he snarled at his remaining companion, “Bowie, get the collar on this bitch, we’ve got company.”

I landed us about a hundred yards away from the other ponies, setting the trembling earth pony on the ground gently. I leaned in close and put a hoof to my lips, “shh. Stay here and keep quiet. I’ll be right back,” then I gave the young pony a delicate pat on the head and a wink, “I think those other two still want to play,” and with that, I darted back off.

Once I was airborne again, I locked my eyes onto the mercenary that was closest to the remaining yellow blip. My aim was get the orange mare out of harm’s way as well before I started dealing with armed ponies that were on edge. If shooting started, I couldn’t be sure that the bystander wouldn’t end up getting hit.

I angled myself so that I came at them by way of the first mercenary that I’d dropped. I snatched up the unconscious stallion as I flew over and heaved the dead weight at my next target, “trade ya!” I yelled out. There was a surprised gasp followed by a grunt and a pair of armored bodies colliding, “thank you!” I flipped up on one wing and landed on the unicorn mare’s back. Before she knew what was happening, I slipped my forelegs around her shoulders and lifted off, “hold on,” I whispered in her ear as we disappeared into the night sky.

“Bowie?” the remaining pony ventured nervously.

Fortunately, it looked like the mare recognized a rescue when she saw one and kept quiet as we silently glided back over the mercenaries. We reached the spot where I’d deposited the filly earlier and I set the unicorn down.

“Mommy!” “Dewdrop!” the pair rushed in and gathered each other up in a hug. It was a heartwarming moment, to be sure, but I still had some business to attend to.

“Wait here a minute,” I cautioned them, “I need to have a…talk with those ponies,” those mercenaries were very lucky that I didn’t have any of my guns with me. It meant that I might actually do some talking after I was done throttling them. I jumped into the air and zipped back off towards those three red blips.

Two of the mercenaries were on their hooves when I returned, and they were fervently scanning the Wasteland around them. One of them had his horn lit up in order to illuminate the surrounding Wasteland. They weren’t looking upward though. Still, with that light, once I tagged one of them the other was likely to spot me. What I needed was—hello, what are you?

My eyes spied a pulsing red light on the ground near the still unconscious pony that I’d taken out upon my arrival. The light was attached to a metallic collar that I recognized easily. I felt myself briefly tense as I seethed with rage at the reminder of what these three had been about to do. I noticed an identical pulsing light coming from a little square device on the unicorn stallion’s barding.

Then I smiled as I was hit with an idea.

I tucked my wings in to my side and fell towards the ground above the collar. At the last moment, I flipped my wings out and leveled out, snatching up the explosive accessory. My trajectory took me directly into the backside of one of the two remaining mercenaries. I rolled up onto his back, ending with myself laying draped over him like a living cape as my hooves clasped the collar closed around his neck. The pulsing stopped immediately and simply glowed with a steady red aura.

“Personally, I think this looks better on you,” I purred in the stallion’s ear. The unicorn jumped in surprise, whipping his head back to look at me before then glancing at the collar around his neck, “it really brings out your eyes,” I reached out with my hoof and snatched up the detonator control that was no longer pulsing either, “for me?! You shouldn’t have!”

I fluttered up into the air, gliding gently away from the pair of them as I held the detonator in clear view of the both of them, “just what I always wanted,” I gushed as I clutched the little device to my chest and grinned at the pair of ponies, “how did you know?”

“You’re dead, you fucking bitch!” the earth pony snarled at me. He sat back slightly in order to angle up the pair of rifles on his battlesaddle and took hold of the trigger-bit that was positioned in front of his mouth. Before he could fire though, his partner threw himself between us, waving his hooves frantically as he reared on his hind legs.

“No, you idiot! She’s got the detonator!” he jabbed a hoof at the armed collar around his neck. Fortunately for him, there did seem to be a modicum of comradery-like honor among this group, and the earth pony didn’t fire. Instead, he and the unicorn settled for glaring at me intensely.

“Alright,” the unicorn growled, “so what do you want?”

I grinned at the pair of ponies as I floated back down to the ground, “ooh, you’re a smart pony. I like smart ponies,” my eyes went to the earth pony stallion who was still keeping his guns trained on me, “but your friend is still being very stupid,” I tossed the detonator into the air and caught it on one of my wings. The unicorn’s eyes went wide, terrified that I might accidentally set off his collar with my antics, “I see that you don’t like ‘stupid’ either,” I noted as I began to idly bounce the detonator from one wing to the other, “I stop being stupid, when he stops being stupid. Fair?”

The unicorn cast his panicked gaze back at his partner, “drop you weapons, Bowie!” the earth pony didn’t do anything at first, so the unicorn reiterated, “drop them!”

The other pony scowled, but I saw him reach around with his head and pull on the releases that would drop his battlesaddle. Once it was on the ground, I made a motion with my hoof and the unicorn obediently floated it over. I took the harness and tossed it off into the darkness. I ceased toying with the remote in my wings, and saw the unicorn visibly relax, though both of them were still quite aware that this was not over with yet.

“Alright, we’re unarmed. So now what?”

Be Pleasant!

My grin broadened ever so slightly. I strode slowly up to the unicorn and reached out to run an appreciative hoof along the front of his barding and around his shoulder, “my, you’re a healthy looking stallion, aren’t you?” In honest fairness, he was attractive. Of course, mercenary slavers weren’t my type. Too bad, “is this barding form-fitting?” I tapped my hoof gently on the barding’s chest plate, “let’s find out, hm?”

The unicorn growled, but his brown eyes had clearly caught my meaning. He grunted back over at his partner, “take it off,” he sighed. I was pleased to see that both ponies complied without too much resistance and I was soon facing two bare stallions with a pile of barding sitting next to me. The unicorn was even cooperative enough to disrobe his unconscious friend too.

I sat back and studied the pair for a moment, relishing how uncomfortable they were. Then I raised up the detonator in my hoof, watching the unicorn’s nostrils flare in fear. I waggled my eyebrows at him and then used the remote to disarm and release the explosive collar clasped around his neck. The device clicked and fell harmlessly to the ground, the red light once more pulsing slowly, “alright. You can go now.”

“What about our weapons and armor?” the irritated earth pony asked.

“You mean my weapons and armor,” I corrected sternly, not letting my smile waver as I continued to look directly at the unicorn stallion, “it’s a new ‘idiot tax’ I’m enforcing. Spread the word: the next one of you bastards I catch putting a slave collar around a pony’s neck gets to wear it for the rest of their life. However short that might turn out to be.

“Toodles!” I raised my hoof and waved pleasantly at the pair.

“You’re making a big mistake, you fucking cunt,” the earth pony snarled.

The unicorn held up a hoof to quiet his companion, but he seemed to at least share the sentiment, “you haven’t heard the last of us,” he said in a cool tone. His horn glowed and lifted their unconscious third member off the ground and laid him across the back of the earth pony, “this is going to get bad for you. Lancers never forget.”

“Well, then I guess we’ll meet again someday, handsome,” I blew him a kiss, “wear something lacy under your barding for me next time. I like soft things.”

I watched the trio leave until their blips dropped off my EFS. Once the coast was clear, I gathered up all of the gear that they had left behind and flew to where I had stowed the ponies that I’d rescued. I was actually surprised that they’d stayed put, but they were clearly relieved to see me as I was gliding in.

“You two alright?”

“Thanks to you,” the unicorn mare sighed with relief, “thank you so much! I don’t know what would have happened to us if you hadn’t come by…” she leaned down and gathered her little filly in close to her side, “how can we ever thank you?”

“You just did,” I smiled wanly at the pair. Seeing them safe and together…I wish there’d been somepony nearby when my family had been attacked. I cleared my throat and fought back the lingering sadness those memories still triggered. In an effort to change the topic, I continued, “what are the two of you doing out here, anyway? Especially unarmed like this?”

The mare’s expression faltered, “our caravan was attacked,” she replied dourly. The filly sniffled and buried her face in her mother’s side, “we only barely managed to get away.”

“I’m sorry to hear about that,” I cringed at the news. That was all too common of a story in the Wasteland.

“We’re usually pretty safe at night,” the mare went on, “they came from everywhere at once…a dozen of them, maybe more. They were the biggest unicorns that I’ve ever seen…” her words trailed off as the recollection of the recent tragedy overwhelmed her and she embraced her daughter, who was sobbing quietly as she too relived the trauma.

My mind caught a headwind though as what the mare said finally penetrated, “big unicorns?” I murmured. More audibly, I asked, “how many horns did they have?!”

The orange unicorn mare balked and blinked at me, “what?”

“Did you see their horns? How many did they have?”

“I…I didn’t count,” she admitted, still sounding very confused by what I was asking, “I assume they had just the one? I didn’t get a very good look at them, because they were so far away. But they were using magic, so they had to be unicorns…”

“Were they using energy weapons?”

“…yes?”

I jabbed out my left hoof and tabbed over to the screen of my pipbuck that showed the map of the valley, “do you know where this happened?”

The mare glanced at the map for a few seconds, and then poked at it with her hoof, “right there. That’s where we stop whenever we make the Seaddle-Reino run.”

I pulled the screen in close and placed a marker where the mare had indicated the attack happened. If it had been those unicorns…Foxglove and I needed to go there first thing in the morning and see if we could find any more clues.

Of course, I still needed to wrap things up here first. I looked back at the mare, “thank you. Here, I figure you can use this stuff,” I waved at the pile of gear that I’d brought with me, “I know it’s not much, but it should get you a little something to get back on your hooves. I suggest taking the barding to a pony named Repo. He doesn’t ask questions when it comes to the barding the mercs around here wear. He doesn’t care for them much,” I looked over the pile of equipment and collected the collar and detonator. If I ran into any more misbehaving ‘guards’, it might come in handy to have.

“That’s…” the mare said breathlessly, “…I don’t know what to say.”

“You already said, ‘thanks’, I don’t think there’s really anything else,” I shrugged and smiled at the mare, “I sure don’t need this stuff, but if it helps somepony else…”

“Are you really a Wonderbolt?”

Both the orange mare and I looked down at the young cyan filly who had been silent up to this point. Her eyes were red with recently shed tears, but they seemed to be clearing up now. She peered up at me expectantly with her large silver eyes.

“What?”

“A Wonderbolt,” the filly said again, gesturing at my barding. I looked down at myself and only then realized that I was still wearing the Old World barding that I had tried on in my motel room, “you look just like the ponies on those billboards. Are you here to save the Wasteland?” she sniffled again, “I don’t want those bad ponies to get my mommy.”

I blinked at the little blue pony. Then I smiled and crouched down until I was level with the young filly, “don’t worry, I won’t let anypony hurt your ma. I’m going to find the ponies that attacked your caravan, and I’m going to stop them.”

“You promise?”

My smile grew broader, “I don’t need to promise. I’m a Wonderbolt, remember? Stopping bad ponies is kind of our thing,” I winked at the filly, who seemed to surprise herself with a smile of her own.

I sat back up and looked back at her mother, “I’ll walk you back into town.”

The filly, Dewdrop, received a very special treat, to her mind, in the form of a leisurely night flight to the boundaries of New Reino. She was a sweet kid. It broke my heart to know that she’d just lost everything, save for her mother. I could certainly relate. In a way, I suppose she had actually gotten off better than I did. If a little filly like me could make it, then I was confident that Dewdrop and her mother would be fine. The orange unicorn, Summer Glade, assured me that would be the case as well. She apparently had a few contacts in New Reino that she’d made of the years her family had traded with them.

Once I knew they’d be okay inside the city, I flew back to my room. It turned out that I needed to go in through the window, as my door was still locked, and I’d left the key inside when I left. I touched down in front of the mirror and looked myself over once more.

“Wonderbolt, huh?”

Initially, I’d just been humoring the filly in order to help lift her spirits. The more I thought about it though…I mean, it wasn’t like the Wonderbolts even really still existed. There wasn’t anypony out there who was going to jump down my throat for impersonating a member of the group of ancient aeronautic aces. If I wanted to call myself a ‘Wonderbolt’, then who was going to stop me? Especially since I did have the uniform…

Besides, what I’d just done tonight…it had felt amazing! The last time I’d felt that good about rushing into a dangerous situation like that was when the three of us had rescued Homily and her team from those raiders. I didn’t even feel that same urge to drink that I usually did when I wiped out some bad ponies. Though, I suppose that was probably because I didn’t actually ‘wipe out’ anypony. They’d been lucky I didn’t have my weapons with me; and I’d been luck that it worked out.

Both Jackboot and Foxglove might have a point when it came to rushing in to things. If there had been more of them, or if it had been daylight hours, that might not have been as much of a rescue as it turned out to be. Still, it had been fun toying with those stallions like that.

There were probably going to be consequences, that unicorn stallion had been right about that much. I’d embarrassed their organization, and no group of mercenaries could let things like that go unanswered for very long before it started to make them look weak in the eyes of their competition. I was going to need to keep on my toes for a little bit while operating around New Reino.

Of course, I did have some new developments to look into that were likely to take me out of the city for a while. I glanced at the pipbuck on my leg, noting the map marker. It wasn’t all that far away from New Reino. Actually…

I fiddled with the map’s settings and started looking around the valley at a tighter angle. I traced the route that Foxglove and I had taken when we’d followed the bounty hunters that had captured Jackboot. Then I moved it further along until I found Wind Rider’s Wagons and Freight. There had been another caravan that we’d found in that area which had been struck. At the time we hadn’t realized it was those strange unicorns, but there had been too much in common with Stable 137 for that not to be the case. Once I found the approximate location of the site of that caravan, I marked it and then went looking for the stable.

Once I had all three locations plotted on the map, I reset it to display a much larger area. I scrutinized the three markers that showed sites I knew those unicorns had struck. I noticed that they weren’t in a direct line, but were sitting along more of a curve…

On a hunch, I traced an imaginary line from each point so that they all met somewhere out in the Wasteland, with each of those lines being the same length. I studied the area of the map this pointed to, noting that I was familiar with that region. It lay directly off of the old road that I’d discovered when following their tracks from Stable 137. I hadn’t known which way to go at the time, or how far I might need to travel, but now I had a much better idea of where these strange ponies were coming from. In fact, I was confident that I’d be able to find their source.

I grinned at the map on my wrist, “oh, you bastards are so mine,” I said quietly to myself.

Footnote:

Author's Note

Thank you so much for reading! As always, a thumbs up and comment are always greatly appreciated

I've set up a Cover Art Fund if you're interested and have any bits lying around! You can see what I'M capable of, heh; professional assistance is clearly needed here!