Chapter 1: Cling Clang Robotic Tango

"I will require a hardware and software upgrade to offer enhanced services.”

Through the cavern outside the colossal door, marked 24, I stepped.

Klaxons rang once more as it slid closed. I remembered walking through here the first time – in the opposite direction. I made my way to the far wall, illuminating my path with my Pipbuck light, making sure to avoid the ancient bones lying in the earth.

I turned to my left as I reached the far wall and stepped out into the light.

There it shone – a great golden flower in the sky.

The cloud cover still stood when we escaped Stable 85 and were taken in by the Rangers, so this was the first time I had truly seen the sun. It was beautiful and magnificent.

I’d have plenty of time to bask in its brilliance, now, as I had a day’s trot ahead of me. North – that was where Short Wave said to go.

The north was something of a mystery. We learned about the areas to the West and South from Applejack’s Rangers. The capital of the old world – Canterlot – had been a city of choking death, now obliterated by the Grand Pegasus Enclave. Fillydelphia had become the slave capital of the wastes under a leader hell-bent on a goal only he truly understood. Cloudsdale, the largest city of the pegasi of the old world, was annihilated when the bombs fell. So much of our home lost and corrupted.

The north, however… to the northwest was what left of the Crystal Empire, about which not even the Rangers could tell us much, but to the northeast – from what I’d learned, that wasn’t even our homeland. It was beyond the borders of Equestria and we knew little of it.

But the unknown is better than certain death, right?

Right, yeah, let’s go with that.

Using my compass, I found north. Just as Short Wave had said, I could see the ocean far to my right and mountains on the distance to my left, with a whole lot of nothing in between. As I distanced myself from the Stable, I found that there was little disparity from the barren landscape, with only the scarcest evidence that there had ever been life here: bones and scraps of fallen structures, both half buried.

The occasional patch of grass was pitiful and brown, nothing like the fields of lush green grass we’d seen in books from before the war.

This didn’t come as a surprise, however. It wasn’t the first time I’d been outside, but the last time was a panicked rush in which everyone was more concerned about their own lives than the lack of life in the home of our ancestors.

As the day progressed, the sun’s heat intensified. It remained beautiful, but I was unused to that kind of heat. With only the thought of the beating sun to occupy me, I began to wonder if there really was a town off in the distance. I couldn’t see anything, only more flat land.

But no. No! I had no option but to go on. I wasn’t just an acceptable loss – I was going to find my brother and scour the land for the technology I needed to truly put my gifts to work. The enchanted gears on my flank told me my destiny lied in technomagical machinery and I was going to fulfil that destiny!

I trotted on; more determined than ever.

The day went by more quickly and eventually my doubts were dismissed with the mountain range’s end in sight. The sun had reached its peak and then descended to the horizon.

I kept my ears perked and eyes scouting for anything that could catch me unawares. From the Rangers, we’d learned about some of the dangers of the wastes - dangerous wildlife, harsh environments and ponies that will kill you just for the fun of it. Some of it had surely been embellished as it was passed from pony to pony, but I remained cautious nonetheless.

Staying in the Stable would have been much safer, but while I still maintained concerns of self-preservation, those included the preservation of my sanity and that place’s restricting walls and unshifting routine were slowly chipping away at my psyche. The wasteland held great possibilities that I just couldn’t resist. As well as danger, I reminded myself as I heard distant gunfire in the direction of the mountains.

Bravely and courageously, I decided to put the majority of my concentration into keeping as distant as possible from said gunfire, while simultaneously closing the distance between myself and what I hoped was a town; I ran.

As night fell I’d long since slowed to a trot, yet I’d travelled close enough to my destination to identify a silhouette that appeared to be a tall wall of scrap metal – sufficient enough criteria to have me convinced there could be a town ahead.

I jumped at the sound of gunshots, small twinges of fear striking my heart with each crack. They weren’t terribly far off – close enough for me to see the muzzle flash in the corner of my eye just before I heard the shots.

I turned my focus to the town. It would be safe if I just g-

A sickly cackle split the near silence and made me shiver to the core.

There are sounds that normal, sane ponies make and there are sounds like that. My heartbeat quickened as I picked up my pace picked up to a canter. It inclined towards a gallop as I heard more sounds that suggested I wasn’t alone. Giggling, scraping. Oh goddesses, they were getting closer and some of them were ahead of me!

“Hee, heeehaa, hehahahaa,” called a slow and uncomfortably close giggle.

Thump!

One moment I’d broken into full gallop. In the next, I’d come crashing into a form that I didn’t see until it was too late.

I am not a large stallion, but as I crashed into the dirt face first, I thankfully noted that the pony I’d struck was smaller than I as she skidded and rolled much further.

“FUCKING MEAT!” she screeched out frantically.

In that moment, the scene exploded into an ear-splitting chorus of disturbing screams, laughter and profanity.

My head and heart thundering, I scrambled to my hooves and galloped as quickly as I could towards the town. Shit, nonono, so close! A pair of stocky ponies rushed at me with clubs adorned with nails and gore. I narrowly avoided their heavy swings as they ran past me mumbling profanities with full mouths.

Such saving graces would be wasted if I didn’t get to safety soon, their relentless squeals of joy and promises of atrocious doings were beginning to ebb ever so slowly closer.

The crack of a pistol rang in my ears. Terror raced through my mind, even as I realised I was unharmed. More shots were fired and the pain of a glancing slug seared my left flank.

“I’M GONNA GELD YOU WITH YOUR OWN HORN!” called the malign voice of the mare I’d crashed into. Fuck, I could feel myself shaking as I pounded my way to the salvation of the town ahead. Not much further, but these psycho ponies were going to gut me just outside the town’s scrap walls.

My muscles screamed from exertion and too little oxygen, patches of my hide felt slick with sweat and my throat burned, but I couldn’t stop with those fiends on my tail, ready to grasp it and drag me in as their sick prize.

Closer.

“You’re gonna fuckin’ die, hornhead!”

Closer. Celestia’s mercy!

“First we’ll nail you to the floor and use you as a rug!”

Closer. More gunshots.

“Pretty ass you’ve got. It’s not gonna stay pretty for lo-!”

A flash from ahead and a shot rang through my ears.

My pursuers let out a scream of fury as I turned my head to see. The blood rushed from my face and I felt my stomach churn. Behind me were a number of savage faces and bloodshot eyes staring at me with a frenzied gaze, and behind them was a pony slumped on the ground, staring at me with a maniacal grin and a single, maddened eye. The other socket was vacant and lead right through his head.

I was so close to the town! Ahead of me, I could see the glow of unicorn magic on top of the wall of scrap. My hopes rose, but the horrors behind me left my heart threatening to tear itself from my chest with every thundering beat. All the while, said horrors voiced intentions of tearing and pain that was far more real.

Another flash and an ear-splitting splitting ring from ahead.

The gurgling, giggling shriek of death that followed was sickening, but it was also the sound of my salvation. I was so very close!

I felt a great force knocking my hind hooves from underneath me and I came crashing violently into the dirt. I scrambled and span desperately on to my back, managing to get my Pipbuck between my muzzle and the metal pipe aimed for it.

A raggedy and wild-eyed stallion dressed in a haphazard aggregation of scrap chuckled before striking again and again. My head cracked to the side as the pipe stuck across it. I curled my forehooves over my head and the air was driven from me in a gasp as the pipe slammed in to my stomach.

I looked up in horror as the stallion smiled, preparing to land the killing blow.

He then began to shake violently as his flesh was peppered with holes, bullets skewering his torso. I scrambled away quickly to avoid being trapped under my assailant’s body as he plummeted limply to the ground in a bloody heap.

As I rose to get away, I saw psycho ponies who had been only a few feet away turned tail and ran – spitting curses and threats.

When I turned back towards the town, there in front of the ramshackle wall of sheet metal and husks of some kind of vehicles stood two ponies. One was a blue-grey unicorn mare wearing armor and a helmet. The other was a portly, brown stallion with a blonde mane. In the magical gasp of the former was a sniper rifle, while the latter was wearing overalls wearing a saddle that held an automatic rifle instead of bags. They beckoned me over and I hastily approached, if clambering painfully from my contact with the crowbar.

“Stranger, what in hell are you doing out in the open like that?” the earth pony said with a priggish tone and a shake of his head.

As I sluggishly approached on burning legs, I responded with a shaky rasp.

“Sorry, it’s my first day.”

* * *

“You are one lucky stallion, friend,” the portly pony told me after he’d taken me into his shop – and home – while the armored mare returned to her post.

“You call that lucky? I was attacked b-by savage ponies!” I said, still shaking from the ordeal.

“And you lived,” he retorted. “Heck, you came out with bruises at worst. Those were raiders, the shit they scream out isn’t just theatrics; they mean what they say.”

“What – ‘I’m going to geld you with your own horn’? I mean, that’s just ridiculous, cutting my horn off would hurt more than the gelding!”

His sardonic smile told me that ‘ridiculous’ was something that raiders were known to be.

“What’s your name, Stable pony?” he asked, changing the subject.

“I, uh, KnickKnack.” Smooth.

A much larger smile spread across his wide jaw as he swept up one of my forehooves in both of his and shook it vigorously. “Sterling Sales at your service.”

My ears drooped, suddenly. “How did you know I came from a Stable?” I asked.

Sterling chuckled deeply. “Well, for starters, Knick-a-Knack, that blue getup with that yellow 85 was a pretty big tipoff.”

I pursed my lips, remembering that little detail.

“Second of all,” he continued, “you came out here beyond unprepared. You wouldn’t have made it to your age and gone out to the middle of nowhere without good preparation – unless you’d come from a Stable, of course.”

“I brought provisions with me - food, water, a bedroll, among other things.” I protested, fiddling through my saddlebag and levitating out some items as evidence.

Sterling Sales shook his head condescendingly. “Those provisions are all well and good, long as you stay alive long enough to need ‘em – and you almost didn’t. What I’m talking about is a means of protection.” He proceeded to trot behind the counter, grabbing a mass of folded black fabric in his teeth along the way. The coarse fabric was placed on top of the counter, as was a rifle from underneath.

“Some protective barding and a gun should be a good start. You’re a unicorn, so you won’t need a battle saddle for the rifle. Quick Glimpse can teach you to use it.”

“Well, son, I think I can part with these items for about… five hundred caps.” He said that last part with a smirk. He was waiting for me to incredulously ask ‘caps?!.’

Thanks to Short Wave, he wasn’t catching me out with that one.

“Oh sure thing,” I said as I opened up a saddlebag and levitated a pouch full of caps onto the counter.

His smirk didn’t shift. “Ah. Bits, I take it?” he asked as he untied the pouch. “They’re still viable currency here, but we use bottle ca- Well I’ll be. Guess the last Stable Ponies passing through here must’ve shared that little bit of info. I thought you looked like one of them, the tall, yellow one.”

I flushed and scuffed the floor with a hoof. “That would be my older brother, Sturdy.”

Sterling chuckled again. “So they go the thing alright? They didn’t run back with their tail between their legs and send you to have a go, did they?”

I laughed unenthusiastically. “No, no. They got the talisman.”

“Well that’s good to hear. I’m sure you’ve got your reasons to be here, but for now I’ll part this gear to you. Sadly, you don’t seem to have enough. Looks like about a hundred in here.” He then proceeded to tip the contents of the bag out so he could count them. “I’ll help you find some work around town to pay me back.”

Before he began counting, however, he pushed my end of the trade closer to my side of the counter. My focus, however, had become fixated on the intricate – if battered – orb of metal in the display case behind the merchant.

“Now I get that you Stable ponies may not be used to trading, but here’s the part where you pick up your goo-“

“What is that?” I pointed a hoof up towards the beaten machine.

Sterling turned around to see where I was pointing. He pulled the machine down from the shelf. It was about the size of a pony’s head, with antennas, and what appeared to be insect wings, sticking out of it. The front resembled a radio, but much more heavy duty, and just below the speaker-like grate was the barrel of some kind of weapon.

“What? This Spritebot?” he inquired. “Dang thing’s been in here since before I set up shop. Don’t know how it got here, but I’ve kept it as an ornament for the shop. What’s your fascination with it?”

I let slip a boisterous grin. “I think I can fix your Spritebot.”

Sterling cocked an eyebrow. “You’re saying don’t know what this is, but somehow you know how to fix it?”

I wasn’t entirely sure, but I don’t have a set of gears with swirling, arcane energy on my flanks for nothing; machines are my specialty. “I’ll admit, I’ve never seen anything like it, but machines are my business and I probably won’t have too much trouble figuring it out.”

Sterling Silver was hesitant at first, but he soon placed the Spritebot on the counter in front of me. I was practically dizzy with excitement and started laying out tools and scraps of metal and electronics from my saddlebag on to the counter in preparation.

It didn’t take me long to crack it open and find all the problems in the wiring. With the circuit restored and the faulty spark battery replaced, the Spritebot flickered with life. It still looked pretty miserable, due to the beating it’d received. The casing, wings and antennas took a little improvising, but the important thing is that they were working.

Finally it came to the bot’s mounted weapon. While I’d never fired a gun, I had studied the inner workings of firearms, both mundane and magical. This may or may not have been largely due to boredom and Stable terminals.

The weapon was clearly of the magical variety and what I found when I opened it up to check the gem cartridge, what was inside had me practically jittering on my hooves from excitement. A small squeaking noise emitted from my mouth.

“Do you know what this is?” I asked, levitating the cartridge in front of Sterling Silver’s face.

“A gem cartridge – why’s that got you so giddy?”

“Because this is not just any gem cartridge, this is a breeder cartridge! While most gem cartridges expire their gems with usage, this little cell’s gems generate energy in chain reactions that produce more fissile material than they consume. That means this cartridge has effectively limitless energy! I’m fairly certain these cells only induce said reactions while they’re being used, though, otherwise this cell probably would have become unstable and blown this shop sky high by now.”

Sterling looked jovial, “Son, I have no idea what in Tartarus you just said, but I think I’ve got a well-paying job that’s going to require an egghead like yours.”

* * *

I love machines, but they can really suck sometimes.

Take a pitching machine, for example. An innocent enough contraption in and of itself, until you rig it up with a cluster of ‘borrowed’ spark batteries to try and get it to pelt some bullies in the face with that extra oomph – then something goes wrong, the balls start firing out with about ten times the force they’re supposed to, at you, at point blank range. Next thing you know, you’re in medical with a concussion, some nasty bruises and a newfound hatred of sports.

As a colt, I learned many lessons about machines through failures like that.

Of course, there are more pressing and recent examples, such as automated turrets letting out a volley of projectiles much deadlier than baseballs at you because you forgot to look up before turning a corner. I was lucky enough to scramble back behind the doorway as the bullets littered the ground where I’d stood, but this was a lesson I’d rather not learn the hard way.

While I recovered behind the door frame, my little Spritebot friend – who I endearingly named Clive – let out a series of beeps that suggested he wasn’t thrilled with the turret’s disposition towards us. Clive zipped around the corner from which I’d just come and let off a succession of red flashes that left the turret a smoking heap of scrap in the ceiling. Re-entering the room, I was greeted with Clive floating over to me – seemingly excited, from the jittery nature of its movement – and rubbing itself against my cheek. There were some small dents from where the turret had fired on Clive, but after getting it working I spent some time the next day reinforcing Clive’s hull – as well as getting some lessons on firearms from Quick Glance, the sniper pony who had, along with Sterling, saved my life the previous night.

I really did try to learn what she’d taught me about keeping focus, breathing right and accounting for the gun’s perspective – as opposed to my own – because of using it telekinetically. I understood the theory and could apply it while getting ready to fire – I’m none too shabby at using my eyes, ears and brain in unison – but when it came to firing the gun, everything went wrong. The first time I fired, the rifle flew out of my grip and into my muzzle – another lesson in pain that was learned from a machine.

After I’d assessed how much force I needed to hold the rifle with while firing, I continued to run into blunder after blunder. Safeties were flipped; magazines were ejected. One time I somehow managed to attack one of the Sparkle Cola bottles we were practicing on with the rifle while trying to pull the trigger. I had never had so many problems with such a simple contraption!

My unicorn teacher simply laughed and said she was glad I had Clive – whose accuracy proved to be formidably calibrated – but I got the indication she thought Sterling’s job wouldn’t end well for me.

Ah yes, the job. After a night’s sleep in a dilapidated building next to Sterling’s shop, the jovial merchant gave me the tour of the town – Palom.

Inside the walls of iron and steel was the remainder of a small village from before the war. Facing northeast were the large makeshift gates through which I had entered. Behind that, leading southwest was a long street which had a smaller gate on the other end. In between the gates was a cottage behind the main gates and a row either side of the road of near-identical buildings, all lined up right next to each other. The only exceptions to this rule being the structures reduced to rubble.

As we trotted along the cracked road, Sterling pointed out places of interest in between telling me about the Robronco factory not too far outside Palom and what he wanted me to do there. I occasionally interjected to correct him calling me ‘Knick-a-Knack’.

The buildings still standing made up Sterling’s general store, a clinic, a bar, café and housing – with all but the housing identified by fitting pictorial signs hanging out front. The cottage near the main gates apparently served as extra housing and as a meeting place for the ponies who took responsibility for the town. The walls included guard posts at both gates and outside the walls was a large pen for livestock and a cemetery.

It wasn’t a large town, but it was clearly a functioning community. They seemed to get by with two-headed cows called brahmin and trade with travelling merchants and other communities. Some of the townsfolk even prospected, but Sterling informed me that without the proper technical know-how, much of what was in the Robronco facility was worthless.

That’s where I came in. Sterling Sales offered to supply and pay me to restore some of the automatons in the Robronco facility, then program them for specific functions. He said he could then sell them to interested parties – which ultimately comprised of the merchants, who could do with robotic guards; the local doctor, who wouldn’t mind an assistant with steady appendages; the brahmin farmers, who would sleep soundly knowing there’s a Ponitron protecting their livestock from the local wildlife; and a buyer that was not specified in any way that had interested in a ‘special’ model. He said I’d have to find a specific model for that one and that I’d know when I see it.

Back to pressing matters, Clive and I continued through the offices of the Robronco facility, past the blasted turret, to what appeared to be a garage, which lead to a towering room lined with a network of metal staircases and catwalks. Also present were a pair of tracked robots with what appeared to be brains in a domed glass cases.

“Please remain still,” requested the calm, synthesised voice of a filly.

“While we eliminate your presence from the premises,” stated the other.

Oh wonderful, creepy robots with biological brain just weren’t creepy enough, so they made them sound like children. What the actual fuck, Robronco?

“What the f-” Was all I got out before having to dive behind a workbench to avoid a pair of magical beams aimed straight at my head.

While I clumsily tried to aim and fire the rifle in my telekinetic from behind the bench, Clive assaulted the Brainbots with erratic shots from its beam gun, right at their brainboxes. My efforts proved to be largely futile, as I only seemed to be able to hit the creepy machines’ bodies.

“Please don’t hide, it’ll make this much easier for everypony if you come out and let us kill you.” Okay, these things were officially an eleven on the creepiness scale. Thankfully, it wasn’t to last, as I managed to get a lucky shot that shattered the case of one of the machines, leaving it to go limp and slump over next to its companion.

“YES!” I bellowed, leaping up from cover, hooves in the air, in a moment of self-gratification.

My first victory with the rifle was sweet, but short-lived as a beam singed the chest of my protective kevlar barding, making me scurry behind cover once more.

That seemed to set off Clive, who emitted an array of angry-sounding beeps and unleashed a fury of blasts at the aberration, putting it down.

With our skirmish ended, team KnickKnack winning almost flawlessly (okay, not so much, but we came out pretty unscathed), my gesticulative companion began to zip around my head. It stopped only after I held it still with a hoof.

Before proceeding, I skilfully pried open the Brainbots with a screwdriver from my maintenance kit, all the while trying not to think of the brains in the remains of the cases. This wasn’t easy; two hundred year old, preserved brain is not the most pleasant aroma.

Aside from the scrap metal and electronics, I managed to score an undamaged spark battery from one of them.

Feeling a little queasy, we proceeded to the stairs to the catwalks.

It wasn’t long before we came across a locked door splitting off from one of said catwalks with ‘Maintenance’ stencilled on it. Through the small window in the top of the door, I could see a number of pods with dormant machines waiting to be rebooted to follow the will of their long-dead masters once more.

Jackpot.

Now, for an Earth pony, a Pegasus or a one-trick unicorn, bobby pins and a screwdriver would be the obvious go-to option for opening a locked door. I, however, have a special trick for hand such a situation.

Concentrating on the door, my magic enveloped a circular section of it near the handle about ten inches in diameter. I then placed my hoof in the area of my glow, which passed right through the door and to the other side. I pressed on the handle on the opposite side and with a faint click, the door opened.

Isn’t magic great?

The next hour or so was spent assessing which of the automatons were fit for service, infiltrating the terminals of those suitable and rewriting their programming as best I could to be a little more amiable. They’d be able to assess friends and foes, and would be able to follow basic instructions. I couldn’t really do much for the spider-like unit I’d chosen as the doctor’s assistant, but as long as she didn’t try to get it to perform the surgeries itself, it would be perfectly suited to the role.

I booted them up – seven in all – and watched keenly as the machines came to life. Most of them were roughly the shape of a pony and walked in a distinctly rigid manner, but two of them levitated gracefully, with their many-jointed limbs free. They were wondrous things.

Now with a small army of robots in my wake, I needed to locate the ‘special’ model Sterling Sales wanted. A terminal mounted at a desk in the maintenance room seemed promising for information.

A few hooftaps later and I was in the terminal belonging to the head of maintenance. I acknowledged, grimly, the pony skeleton lying near the desk and identified it as the probable holder of that title. It was a little discomforting looking through the personal messages of a long-dead pony who was right there with me, but I had a job to do and I intended to finish it.

The terminal’s personal logs revealed a number of technical messages that I had no interest in, but a few of the received messages held some…. Interesting content.

>Have you heard about the new model we’ve got down in storage? Wait, duh, head of maintenance. Anyway, is it true about the functions it’s supposed to have? That it’s meant for, well, sex? They seem to look a lot more like normal ponies than Ponitrons, and I’ve heard when you activate it and open up the back there’s all this crazy hardware for whatever you’re into.

>All the rumours were true, huh? Well, not that I’m into that or anything, but wouldn’t it be cool if we got one sent to maintenance? Y’know, to check out and stuff, see how it all works.

>Oh man! The boss had me take a look at one today - up in his office, funnily enough. Guess he appreciates them from more than a sales perspective. Anyway, shit’s great, you’ve never seen anything like it – grade-A hardware, knowwhatimsayin? Anyway, it wasn’t broken or anything, the genius who runs this place just accidentally wiped all the data for it clean and forgot his fucking terminal password. I had to reset the password and assign a new one. Just in case he does this again while on your shift I’ll save you the trouble – I set his new password as ‘clockwork’.

Well now I had knowledge of least one model in this facility, a location in the approximate direction of ‘up’, and I had a nine letter password that I would have had a doozy of a time likely failing to get my way into – pretty straightforward.

It would have been, except for the turret in the doorway of the office up on high. With a menagerie of machines blocking the way behind me, I didn’t really have much of a choice but to dive straight into the office and take some bullets to the barding. I felt the punch of the rounds as their impact was dispersed by the layers of Kevlar, the bullets pancaking against the strong fabric.

I didn’t have any guarantee the turret would only hit my barding, though, so I needed to get myself quite quickly acquainted with cover. The turret didn’t get the opportunity to shoot my flanks to shreds, however, because of the robots outside the door aligned to me.

As I skidded behind the factory manager’s desk, the turret exploded, the ceiling scorched from red beams and jets of flame. Following that, Clive zipped over to me as I crawled out, beeping at me, seemingly worried. For a robot, Clive’s behaviour was perplexing.

I sat down to open up my barding and check out the damage. At the same time, I scanned the office around me. While the two hundred years of neglect and disrepair was still evident, this room felt like it always looked nicer than the rest of the factory. The wallpaper was peeling and the carpet stripped under my hooves, but this place at least had carpet and wallpaper, the rest of the facility was clearly drab and depressing even before the war – all steel and concrete, like a Stable.

I noted the well-preserved oak desk as I inspected the bruises on my shoulder and side, chugging a healing potion to relieve the soreness. I also noted the humming terminal on it as I applied a pair of magical bandages to the wounds. Last of all, as I closed up both my Stable and protective barding, I noted the pod in the corner containing the silvery, equine shape. There was my prize. Er… ah… Sterling’s prize, or his ‘buyer’s’. The prize.

Slipping behind the oak desk, I was relieved to find the terminal’s owner wasn’t present.

>Enter Password

>clockwork

>Password accepted

>/ Welcome, USER

Brilliant! No messing around with guessing passwords and trying to work with matching letters and such. That went like, well, I know there’s a word for this. Ah well, doesn’t matter.

As expected, the terminal had options to activate the machine in the pod, but first I had to go through, like I had with the others, and change some of the coding to identify friendlies more like my Pipbuck’s E.F.S. wou… Oh dear. The sharp and observant KnickKnack had forgotten to activate his Eyes Forward Sparkle – the Pipbuck’s magical hostility detector. For that matter, he’d forgotten another feature that would have been useful before – the Stable-Tec Arcane Targeting Spell.

One correction and a mental note to use S.A.T.S. later, I was back to reprogramming and activating the robot across the room.

The pod opened with a hiss and with careful, rigid steps, out came the most pony-like robot I’d ever seen. That really wasn’t saying much, since all it took was the right shape and number of legs to outdo the machines in the hall outside the door, but this thing was uncanny. It had no mane or tail, but other than that, it had the appearance of a pony whose coat was made entirely of lustrous metal, but for the rubber tubing around the joints - probably to avoid mishaps during, ahem, activities.

The face was genderless and blank, with glassy eyes that scanned the room indolently. I approached, wondering if there were any marks to suggest a model name for it. Scanning over the body, I noticed something engraved on the flank. I placed my hoof underneath it and looked closer to read ‘BD-0024’, but before I could consider what BD could possibly stand for, from the nethers of the ponydroid came a hiss and a thunk, followed by its androgynous synthesised voice.

“Do you wish to assume the position, or will I?”

“What? No! I don’t want to assume the position,” I blurted, horrified by the presence of one of the ponydroid’s special features. I’m really not sure the size of that thing was safe.

“Affirmative, assuming the position,” it intoned, slotting the unit back inside and turning away from me, positioning itself to show its… Oh Goddesses no.

“Please, just put all that away and let’s get out of here.” I waved my hooves in front of my face and turned my head away.

Thankfully, the ponydroid stood back up and closed a panel over what it had been waving in my face.

Before leaving the room, I scavenged the manager's’ office. My findings were not fantastic – a 10mm pistol and some ammunition, half a dozen bottlecaps, two unopened bottles of Sparkle Cola and a Fancy Buck Snack Cake, still in the wrapper. Well at least I had something to eat on the way back and an easier gun to practice with. I slotted the pistol into a holster provided by the protective barding and threw the rest into my saddlebag, letting my Pipbuck’s magic organise things, keeping the important things above the various scrap my Pipbuck was telling me I’d collected in my short journey.

I repeat – isn’t magic great?

Before properly leaving for Palom, I took the opportunity to explore the rest of the factory, pulling apart some of the more interesting and advanced contraptions and instruments for future use – little projects and designs still in planning.

Once I was done, I decided it was time to head back to Palom.

It was getting a little dark as I left the factory to head back on the mile or so walk back. I wasn’t really worried, though, I had my E.F.S. on and an entourage of automatons armed with magical beam weapons – and flamers, to boot.

The first red marker to show up turned out to be a bloatsprite – a horribly mutated variety of a pest from old Equestria. Pretty far away, so if I kept ahead of the robots, I could run in with S.A.T.S. and take it out with the pistol. I cantered up until I thought I was close enough to hit the disgusting-looking, totally-the-opposite-of-cute flying creature that resembled a tumorous, squishy Clive.

I opened up S.A.T.S. and time slowed considerably around me. I wasn’t really into sports in the Stable to use it for targeting in games, and I’d never used it for combat before, but the concept was fairly simple – pick a target, enter in your sequence of shots and then accept to fire said shots with magically-assisted accuracy.

I was quite excited to follow this process through with relative ease, programming three pistol shots to the sprite’s bulging body. As time returned to normal, I wish I could say I watched the bloatsprite burst into a bloody pulp. Instead, my magically-assisted shots flew too wide, too high and the final bullet was a complete blunder that was fired into the ground a few feet from me, blasting the ground and spraying some of it into my face.

I decided it was best to make a tactical retreat, forming back up with my robotic troops and letting them blast the sprite with hot death.

Nearing the town of Palom, something seemed off. I thought I could hear the sharp ring of Quick Glances’ rifle. My ears twitched at other sounds, some of it was gunfire, but the rest was too far off to identify clearly.

I could then see smoke rising from behind the walls.

My suspicions were confirmed as I galloped towards the town. The noises became clearer, and the red bars on my E.F.S. gave me a good idea of what was going on – the raiders had come back.

Wild screaming pierced the air and was responded to with gunfire. Heaving open a gate and stepping around the cottage behind it, I could see Raiders running rampant along the long street, lighting fires and shooting wildly. There were corpses, but I discerned that the townsfolk were held up in the buildings by the locations of the green on my E.F.S. Of course, that left me as the only pony in the streets with those red bars.

Oh dear Goddesses, all of those red bars…

“Stop screwing around, you dumbfucks! Bust down those doors and splay some mules!” a voice I recognised called. Standing in front of Sterling’s shop, barking orders at other raiders, was a mare with a pink coat and flaming red mane. She was dressed in makeshift barding, but I could see her cutie mark – a mangled pony skull.

Clearly catching the movement in the corner of her eye, the leader oriented her head in my direction, her face splitting into a manic grin.

I began to back away.

“Lookie here!” she said, turning to trot in my direction. As she sauntered towards me, the raiders trying to get into Sterling’s shop followed. I could see the blood splattered on her dirty, scarred face. The bat tucked into her makeshift scrap barding was packed with spikes and was even bloodier than her face – evidently not all of it new, from the dark stains. I hadn’t been able to look at her properly that night, but I knew this was the mare who claimed she’d do unspeakable things with my horn. She recognised me, too.

“It’s the fucking hornhead Stablepony who ran from us like a little bitch last night. Thought this little town could protect you, bitch?” she spat as she sauntered ever closer, taking her time to strike fear into my heart. It was a valid tactic and was extraordinarily effective at shaking my confidence and making my heart race, but a twitch in her face told me that she’d spotted my friends.

All well and good that she’d registered that my robots outgunned her raiders, but apparently that was no deterrent for her to break into a thundering pace at me, wielding her bloody, spiked bat. Oh fuck!

Her grin was terrifying, it split almost inequinely wide and her cheeks were dripping blood. Her eyes promised a painful death.

I equipped my rifle.

While a pony skilled with guns may have dropped into S.A.T.S. and shot her right between the yellowed, bloodshot eyes, it was a much safer bet for me to backpedal around the cottage, guard my face however I could and wait ‘til the cavalry blasted her.

The raiders clambered on behind their leader. Bullets and beams exchanged. She thundered around the cottage. I tried to dodge. She leapt forward, hooves wide. We hit the ground with me on my back and her on top. She smelled like refuse and sweat.

Her forehead crunched against my snout – smell replaced with pain. I yelped and she chuckled as she brought out her bat. I tried to pull it from her grip with magic. Failure called for covering my face.

A clang was the bell that signalled my chance. She recoiled, having impacted my Pipbuck. I swept my rifle back into my magical grip. The barrel kissed her forehead. I fired.

Her head jerked as the bullet passed through her skull and burst, violently, out the back of her head. I dropped my rifle as I watched her eyes become vacuous and hollow, then yelped as the lifeless shell came crashing down on me.

Dear goddesses! Even as I laid there in shock underneath the dead mare, blood that was not just her own trickling on to my face, her grin persisted. It was like she knew she’d trapped me there while her fellow raiders were closing in to rip me to shreds like a pack of wolves. My sore muscles locked from sheer horror.

Screeching, concerned beeps from a familiar Spritebot tore my focus away from the mare and back to the imminent threat. Clive was beaten away by a mucky yellow mare with a length of rebar in her mouth. I scrambled away as she struck down with it to impale me and the rebar pierced through the raider I'd killed instead.

Her eyes flared in rage as she realised her skewer was stuck. I took my chance and swept up the spiked bat to go on the offensive. It was crude and brutal, but was the best chance I had.

Only one problem, it occurred to me too late that there were other maddened ponies still milling about - ones that could strike me in the skull with something hard and heavy.

The solid thunk reverberated in my head as I flew back towards my robot reinforcements, tumbling in a limp heap. My vision began to fade as screams of victory were cried. The last thing I heard was piercing, enraged beeping before... black.

* * *

My forelegs were tied up above me, the tips of my rear hooves just barely touching the ground. Around me, concrete, a cell with grimy walls and bloodstained floor.

On a chair in the corner sat a pony with a leather cowl, with tufts of pink mane sticking out, along with brown ears and horn. His indifferent, glass eyepieces did not betray his mood, but a tap on the medical trolley that held scalpels, forceps and other bloodied medical equipment gave me an inkling he was grinning underneath that mask. I shook involuntarily, imagining what he’d planned for me.

The other ponies in my Stable had told me not to leave. Anypony I expressed my desire to had said I wasn’t the kind of stallion who could just run out of the Stable and expect to live more than a day. The Bolt twins, Molly and Toggle, had laughed at me; mom’s concern made me feel like a colt; dad was certain I’d die; the Overmare said I was an acceptable loss. Even Short Wave, who had told me where to go, seemed to have little hope I’d survive. The wasteland held only my death, and they knew it, but I had to risk it, I had to!

My assurance of this was significantly diminished by my situation and my fear, and even more so by the dirty, tan stallion that opened the door with a strong kick, scaring me and gaining a throaty chuckle from the masked pony.

This pony was scarred and tattooed across his body, with a spiky mane style that stood straight up in bright green spikes. He was thin from malnourishment, but muscular. Yellow and feverish eyes were paired with a mouth holding sickening scowl and filled with rotten, sharpened teeth. His cutie mark was a severed head. Everything about him screamed ‘raider’.

“What a pretty little prize we’ve got here. We’re gonna make you hurt, fuckface,” he seethed, looking up at me. I clenched my eyes shut.

“LOOK AT ME, YOU FUCKING CUNT!” He whipped a hoof across my snout - my already broken snout, the fragments of which felt much further out of place. As the blood trickled down my mouth and chin, the stallion’s hateful expression twitched, but softened as I met his eyes. This was a sick and malicious killer; I knew that expression was feigned.

“That’s a good little shit,” he said. “Now.”

He struck me in the stomach.

“You.” Again.

“Are.” And again.
“Going.” And again
“To.” And again.
“Hurt!” And again.

As I gasped for air, he made a sickening laugh. Sick bastard.

“I’m going to enjoy this. Some of the fucks you killed were fucks I LIKED TO HAVE AROUND!”

One final blow followed that and he turned to sit in the corner across from the masked unicorn.

“Go on, Snick, he’s all yours now,” the raider grinned.

Snick let out another throaty chuckle before standing up, levitating his tools to follow him.

And then the pain began.

* * *

Waking up in a cold sweat, I was glad to be drawn back into reality. I thanked the Goddesses that was a nightmare. The feeling of unspeakable defiling acts upon my being still lingered in my mind, taking their time to slither away into my subconscious.

I was lying on a gurney, and was thankfully not tied up. Looking around, the reason was apparent from the curtains, jarringly bright lights, alabaster floor and the medical trolley that made my heart skip a beat - not to mention the pervading smell of disinfectant. The smell, my snout!

Raising my hooves to my snout to rub it joyously, I noticed that my legs didn’t burn from muscular pains.

The wonders of healing magic were plentiful, but the aching in my head told me that I’d been hit with a hell of a blow before I passed out.

On the medical trolley, I spotted a small mirror that I swept up to got a good look and make sure my features were all still in the same place. I noticed no real difference in my appearance – same tan coat, same dark and light orange mane, same turquoise eyes, and no horrific facial disfigurations. That could have ended worse.

“Hey, look who’s awake,” uttered an airy, unfamiliar voice nearby. Moving the mirror away, I saw a fern green unicorn in white, slightly bloody fatigues. She appeared to be a bit older than me.

Her lack of leathery cowl was a relief.

“I’m Stitches, the doc here in Palom, as you’ve probably guessed,” she said, motioning herself with a hoof. “KnickKnack, right?”
“That’s, yeah that’s right,” I said with a little uncertainty as I stepped off the gurney. “Thanks, umm… for the work on the face I mean. But how’d I get in here?”

“Well,” Stitches said, looking concerned. “Quick Glance dragged you in here after the raiders were taken care of. Said it was thanks to those robots that she and the other townsfolk were able to take them out without getting half the town killed. She also said that you brought them with you to town.”

Hang on, robots? I was suddenly aware of the absence of my emotive Spritebot companion.

“Stitches, do you know where Clive is?” I quavered.

“Clive?” she asked, showing clear confusion.

“My Spritebot - he was with me when I blacked out.”

Stitches frowned. “You mean that little beeping little pest? It followed you and Quick Glance in here, but it wouldn’t keep quiet and kept buzzing around you like a lost pet.” She waved her hoof about to mimic the erratic motion. “We had to turn it off. Glance said she’d take it to Sterling Sales while you were out.”

Relief washed over me at the news Clive was okay. Knowing that Sterling would want to see me, I collected my possessions from behind the gurney and left to see the merchant pony. As I walked out, I noticed other gurneys in the room with injured ponies. I was one of the lucky ones, especially since there were surely fatalities on Palom’s side, not just on the raiders’.

The town was a mess, even for a wasteland town. Considering they were just attacked by savage ponies known for murdering and pillaging, the mess – particularly the bloody splatters and piles of ash – was entirely forgivable.

I saw Sterling Sales out the front of his store transacting with an anxious-looking pony who seemed eager to buy one of the Ponitrons Sterling had lined up in front of the shop. Along with them were the floating, multi-limbed bots. Notably missing were Clive and the ponydroid, BD-0024.

His business concluding as I approached, Sterling shot me one of his grins.
“Here he is, the stallion of the hour! Get over here, partner,” he called, his voice ringing. I approached only for the rosy-brown pony to sweep me into his grasp with a hoof, and consequently into his store.

“You did a damn fine service to this town, son, with both the bots and your arrival during the raider attack,” he declared, leaving me in bafflement from the sudden wave of praise as Sterling undid the strap of my saddlebag, swiped it away and ducked behind his counter, grinning all the while. The grinning merchant returned hastily and threw my saddlebag back to me with his mouth. I reflexively caught it in my magic, but noticed it was considerably heavier than before, rising up to stop it with my hooves before it crashed into my face.

Lowering the saddlebag, I found myself staring straight at a familiar, metal sphere. Clive jittered enthusiastically and let out a piercing beep, rushing to brush up against my cheek.

One reunion later, I strapped on my bag back telekinetically and I noticed new items flash up in my inventory. One such addition was about eight hundred caps. Score! I decided to check on the other things later, however, as the sound of hoofsteps at the door caught my attention. I directed my gaze towards the sound and there was Palom’s helmeted sniper pony, looking rather irate.

"Sterling, what in Tartarus is this?” Quick Glance bellowed. “We're recovering from a raider attack and you've got all those robots lined up out the front for sale like you’re going out of business! We have dead to bury and mourn, repairs to be made, everypony – and that includes you – needs to pitch in for this. Hell, even you could lend a hoof, KnickKnack. I'm pretty sure those raiders came here to fuck us up the ass because they wanted you after you got away from them the other night."

Sterling Sales kept an even, profound tone as he spoke, "I'm doing my part for Palom, and KnickKnack lent a big hoof in said part, too. The townsfolk are going to want to stock up to prepare themselves for whatever the wasteland throws at us next. I'm keeping my store open, and on sale, to provide for the good folks who need it. Chief among what I offer are those robots out front. They'll help protect and serve our town; you saw how effective they proved last night."

Quick Glance harrumphed, but seemed to accept that the merchant would stay stalwart about his position in helping the town.

Quick Glance then locked her gaze on me.

"I'll let Sterling get away with being an ass and staying here to make a profit, but you're coming with me to help, Stablepony. C'mon." She yanked my barding with her magic.

Not wanting to draw the ire of the sniper pony, I obliged, following her out of the store.

On the way to whatever job she had in mind, Quick Glance struck up a conversation. "Why'd you come out here to the ruins of Equestria, KnickKnack? You seem to have known well enough that you'd probably get killed in the wasteland, but you weren’t prepared enough to avoid that happening. What exactly are you looking for our here and how exactly did you plan to find it, underprepared as you are?"

I took a deep breath and considered how much I’d tell her. “I didn’t really have a lot of choice in the preparation department, but I also couldn’t stay. There’s something important to me out here. It’s up to me to find it and I can’t rely on anybody from Stable 24 to help.”

Glance looked concerned “What is it, exactly? Are you looking for something important to your Stable. A pony, perhaps?”

I tried to choose my words carefully. “I have… ideas. Concepts, inventions. The wasteland holds resources and information to help make these a reality.”

“What?!” she asked incredulously. “You’re going to risk your life, and the lives of others, to- to make little gadgets and, I don’t know, multi-storey couches?”

I flushed, embarrassed that she’d wildly misinterpreted my ambitions and made them sound trivial and silly.

“No no,” I said as I waved a hoof, “let me explain. Back in the Stables 85, and in Stable 24, I was an engineer and a technician. I did all kinds of jobs - manufacturing parts, making repairs, looking at ways we could improve our current systems – but there was no real freedom to explore my talent.

Maintaining Stables is not what I got these gears for. I got my cutie mark creating contraptions out of whatever I could in my spare time, and I had some really fantastic ideas. Unfortunately, I couldn’t exactly pull apart integral parts of the Stable, even if I was sure I could create a sequence of mechanisms that could get a pony out of bed and get them ready in the morning or a set of boots that would let you run on the ceiling.”

Quick Glance’s twisted, confused expression told me I’d best sum up what I had to say.

“Anyway, after the destruction of Stable 85, I was inspired by the myriad of technology I knew still had to be out here. Out here, I have the freedom to put my talent to the test and create some amazing things. Knowing that technology I’d only read about in the past could be out here was maddening. I know it can be to be put to use; it could be used for the benefit of the wasteland!”

The blue-grey unicorn closed her eyes and shook her head, but I spotted a hint of a smile there.

“I’m not going to pretend I agree with, or even understand what part of that could have possibly made it a good idea to face the wasteland, but if you want to be a stupid suicidal fucking idiot, so be it. If you believe in all of that crap about cutie marks giving an indication of a pony’s ‘destiny’, then I’ve got no place stopping you from following your ‘fate’.”

I’m not sure exactly what made me avoid mentioning my brother, but the trip to the factory made me realise that I might just be able to manage without him.

Footnote: Level up

New Perk: Heedful Traveller -- You’ve learned to exercise caution in the wastes. You gain +2 Perception during random encounters and are considerably less likely to have hostile random encounters.

Author's Note

Re-releasing this, finally! Chapter 2 can finally begin.
That was a complete ass of a hiatus, but hey, I made it through eventually. With help.
Thanks to KKat for the wonderful world of FoE, to people on FiMFic and FoE resource who've helped inspire me, thank you to people who've given critique and to the friends who helped me with the actual writing process. Tsunderstruck, NobbleyKyle, milibron212, Peaceful Treasure, Interloper, Fountain Pen and Nesto Navarro, to name a few.
Love you guys.
Yes, even you, Interloper.