The Twilight Guard

by MyLittlePillager

Rating: mature
Tags: Dark, Adventure, Crossover
Length: 28327

Spin-off of Fallout: Equestria, fifty years or so after the original fic, set in/around Stalliongrad

"The Ministry of Awesome was known for rarely contributing any actual projects to the war effort against the zebras. However, the Ministry was involved in more affairs than the common pony and even the other Ministry Mares were aware of. This is the story of one of those projects, its abortion and attempted destruction by the Ministry itself, and its miraculous survival into the grim future of the Equestrian Wasteland."

This is a spin-off of Fallout: Equestria that I've been working on. I've held myself back from releasing it for some time, but after accidentally letting slip to a friend that I've been sitting on it, I was convinced to release it. I'm starting with just the introduction. If people like that, let me know and I'll start putting up more. I haven't finished it yet, and I'm not sure just how many chapters the story will take to tell. I don't intend to make it romantic, but as the story progresses all bets are off.

EDIT: Against my better judgement, and because the site needs a minimum of 1000 words and I find myself unable or unwilling to add anything to my perfect prologue, I'm adding the first chapter too. Hopefully it'll give you a better sense of my writing style, and what I hope to achieve with this story. Please give me your feedback, positive or negative. I love to hear back from readers, I would love to know that I have any readers and that I'm not just uploading chapters for my own vanity. Hope you enjoy, love you all, and hope to hear back. Cheers!

Thanks be to the famed KKat, for providing all of us with such a fun setting to play with! We literally couldn't do any of this with out you, and we greatly appreciate your hard work! :D

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2012-05-21 15:17:51 UTC

Prologue

In ancient pony history, the Pegasi spent their free time engaged in the activities of war. It was their specialty. Since the birth of the sun and moon, this was what pegasus ponies were born for. Under the rule of the alicorn princesses, these gifts had been suppressed. However, when the Great War began between the ponies of Equestria and the zebras, the blood spoke, or so the elders of the Twilight Guard told the young. The blood spoke, and the natural talents of the pegasi re-emerged. The Wonderbolts, Shadowbolts, and chiefly Rainbow Dash herself were considered proof of that.

In the darkest hour of the war, the Ministry of Awesome made a decision in secret, a decision that would not even be revealed to the other ministry mares. Pegasi were gathered in a secret location. War heroes mostly, skilled fighters all. They were given their instructions. They were trained to be the best. They were educated in the history of their people. Most importantly, they were drilled night and day to be the best. The weak were killed to preserve the integrity of the unit and to keep the secret safe. The Ministry hoped never to have to use these ponies. They got their wish. The Twilight Guard grew to concern even Rainbow Dash herself. She ordered the caves sealed, trapping the one thousand warriors in what she had hoped would be their grave. However this decision was what saved them. The heavy Stable-Tec doors that had been put in place on Rainbow Dash’s orders, combined with the thickness and strength of the bedrock were the saving grace the Guard needed.

When the megaspells hit and scoured Equestria of surface life, only those underground were spared. The Stables held true and protected their inhabitants. Unbenownst to any, the same technology protected the most feared fighting force seen in pony lands since the founding of Equestria, when the pegasi agreed to lay down their arms and join the earth ponies and unicorns in peace. The Guard found enough plant and wildlife living in their cave network to sustain them. But they could not sustain their entire population of one thousand. Their numbers dwindled. Ponies starved, and emergency measures were enacted. The unisex nature of the Guard and its brutal training (only one in three pegasi brought for training survived, and another one was usually deemed too weak by the end and killed to protect the secret of the unit) gave rise to a policy of strength. Weak foals were killed to preserve the core power of the Guard. Extra armour and weapons stacked up, as the number of suits of heavy steel barding that was supposed to be the Guard’s trademark began to outnumber the ponies who were intended to occupy them. Now, numbering only a few more than two hundred, the Guard was at a crossroads.

Some wanted to try and escape the caves. Some believed that they were still waiting for summons from the Ministry. None even realised the war and indeed the world had ended in a balefire holocaust. So, as councils deliberated, and eventually decided to stay locked away, the Guard trained. They trained long and hard, further honing their skills, and passing them on to whatever children and grandchildren were deemed worthy of life in the Guard.

This was what they had done for some three hundred years. Undisturbed. Underground. Now, beneath the surface of the earth was not normally a pegasus-friendly environment, but these ponies had gotten used to it. After all, it was all they’d ever known.... all their parents and grandparents and great grandparents had ever known. When the bombs fell, the Twilight Guard was sealed in their headquarters in the tunnels and massive underground caves beneath the once-great pony city of Stalliongrad. Never intended to be unearthed, never really intended to even see combat, never spoken of outside of Rainbow Dash’s office, and even then in hushed whispers.

This is the history of the Twilight Guard. My people. My brothers and sisters in arms. Our ancestors set us training for a war that passed us by. A war we didn’t know had ended. A war that, if we were to see the surface again, we were guaranteed to win. After all, three centuries of intense training and brutal discipline does wonders when facing a war, and it was a war we were determined to see, at all costs.

Chapter I

Chapter I

I grunted as I fought to topple the other pegasus I fought. Unarmoured, I stood my ground despite the other pony’s larger size. I planted my hind legs firmly, wrapping my fore legs around the large white pegasus’ neck in a death grip, my wings pounding furiously to give my extra push.

The other pony seemed not to notice my efforts. Placing his own hooves on either side of my  head, he brought tour two skulls together in a mind-numbing collision that set bells ringing inside my head. I dropped to my knees and rolled onto my back and he brought his weight to bear against me, planting his front hooves on the ground on either side of my face. Leaning in close, he started laughing. “I don’t know why you do this to yourself. No other Guardspony has ever beaten me, and YOU KNOW IT!” He cackled, his sour breath enveloping my face in a disgusting haze. Catching the look in my eyes, he hesitated for a minute. I was grinning like an ass, and even he had to have known something was up. I snapped my head forward and clamped my teeth onto his muzzle.

Screaming, he tried to brush me off, but it was too late. I had my hold on him. Bucking frantically trying to dislodge me, I took advantage of the space that had opened up between our lower bodies and bucked him hard in the loin. His hind legs gave out, and he began to collapse. Bringing my fore legs into swift, brutal contact with his throat, he rolled off of me in a gasping heap.

I got up and brushed myself off as medical pegasi rushed to save my opponent. It was a simple matter, just about popping everything in his throat into the right places again. I grabbed a towel and patted the sweat and blood from my face and mane. As much as I loved ponykration, it was incredibly tiring. Ponykration is an ancient pegasus martial art focused on wrestling, with the added strength of wingpower. There really were no rules, which was the beauty of it. Also the reason it was banned under Equestrian rule. Apparently no-moves-barred fighting went counter to the ideals of Equestria.

My spear commander approached me. “As always, well done! I wasn’t expecting anyone to beat him, but then I should have seen that you’d do it. Hit the showers, gear up, and meet the strategos in his office.” Saluting, I did just that. After the beating I took fighting Snowball, the warm water soaking through my steel-grey coat was incredibly relaxing. Too relaxing. I hoofed the faucet to spray me with cold water. The jolt of cold tensed my muscles and shocked my system. That was more like it. The Twilight Guard wasn’t supposed to relax. We’d been on combat-ready status for three hundred years. Can’t relax now.

Finishing my short, uncomfortable shower, I returned to my meagre, cramped quarters and donned my armour. Midnight blue armour, trimmed in black. Heavy steel plates overlapping, beetle-like, it was modelled after the carapace power armour that the Ministry of Awesome was working on. However, our armour wasn’t powered. Just cold, reliable, possibly-slightly-enchanted-we-weren’t-really-sure, steel armour. Our wings were left unarmoured, vulnerable and naked outside our steel shells. Our helmets enclosed our heads until the face, which was also left open. There was a slit running the length of the helmet where our mane was tucked through, for the effect of a horsehair crest of real pony hair. My chestnut brown mane didn’t really match the dark blue and black of the armour, but it couldn’t be helped. I slid the armour on, donned my helmet, and because it was expected for a Guardspony to be armed and ready for battle at any moment, I slung the sheath of my short sword over my shoulders so that it hung just above the knee of my left front foreleg. These swords were the pride of the Guard. This sword belonged to my father, and his father before him and his father before him, all the way back to the original Guard.

We didn’t have a forge down there, so we had to make do with what equipment we had. Everypony knew their weapons and armour inside and out. You needed to. If something broke, you needed to scavenge parts from what wasn’t being used, though some of us (not myself of course, that would have been far too convenient) were skilled enough to be able to repair our weapons and armour with scrap steel, anything from old wrenches and hammers to the steel plates on the junked terminals that hadn’t worked in centuries.

I double-checked my gear. Helmet, armour, sword, utility belt; check, check, check, check. Good. When i was just a colt, one of the other colts was caught missing his sword. Poor guy, I remember it like it was yesterday. We’re given the family sword once you get your cutie mark, and the little guy’d only had his for a few days. Hadn’t gotten into the routine of wake up, don armour, wear sword, go about business. He was beaten to death in full view of all of us, as a reminder to stay vigilant.

Confident I wouldn’t follow the little colt to the grave for unpreparedness, I marched myself to the strategos’ office. Strategos is an old pegasus word that basically translates to “general”. He was the chief commander in all things to do with us, in terms of command, logistics, and even petty politics. Usually he had assistants that would do these things for him (Assistant Commander of Logistics, for example), but the current commander was very much a DIY personality. If he wanted it done right, he was damned well going to do it himself. He’d always been that way, since I was a little little pony. I marched into his office and, seeing that no one was waiting outside, poked my head in through the office door. The secretary waved me through, and I entered the commander’s office.

He was looking pretty worn down. His once majestic black coat had begun to fade to grey, and his white mane was thinning. His face bore the scars of fights long in the past, and his eyes were still as steely as they always had been. He looked up from his desk. “Ironside. Good.”

“Father.” I responded. “You have need of me?”

“I do. Sit down.” I took a seat on a stool across his desk, already not liking how this was going.

“Son, you are a stellar warrior, and an asset to the Guard.”

The hell’s that supposed to mean? Am I on the chopping block, is that what you’re saying? The questions zipped through my head, but discipline kept my mouth shut.

“You’ve shown at least moderate aptitude in any tasks we’ve, sorry I’ve thrown at you.”

You haven’t made it easy, you know....

“So I have a special assignment for you. A delicate one. As you know, the rumblings deep in the caves are almost as loud as the rumblings of the troops. Our supplies are limited, our capabilities even more so. We can’t stay down here. It’s our home, I know, but it can’t be forever. I need you to select two other Guardsponies to accompany you. You’re going scouting on the surface. Congratulations, warrior.”

I was dumbstruck. “Out.... outside? We can do that?”

“Of course. We’ve known the codes to the doors the entire time. The Ministry of Awesome underestimated their own training program. One of our own stole the information from the Ministry Mare under extenuating circumstances three hundred years ago.”

I was bowled over. One of our own stealing? From the Ministry Mare we’d deified no less! And we could have been outside, but had stayed locked away?

“But... .why now?”

“That sounded suspiciously like a First Spear questioning a General.” His eyes narrowed. “But you’re my son, and understandably confused. I understand this must be quite a shock to learn all of this. I was just as shocked to learn it myself.

"You see, Dash was wise. Is wise, sorry. Wise to keep us locked away. We’re dangerous. But three hundred years is a long time for a mortal pony to wait for deployment. We’ve got zebras that need teaching in the ways of pain, and we’re a damned fine group of educators here.”

I couldn’t help but grin at the joke. My father was many things, but humourless couldn’t be counted amongst them.

“And why me? If it’s alright to ask, I mean. It’s the fucking cutie mark again, isn’t it?” that laurel wreath had caused me almost as much bad as good.

My father laughed. “Ironside, you’re too quick to blame your problems on your cutie mark. The laurel wreath is a symbol of victory, not because it’s expected of you but because it’s in you to achieve. That mark makes your family proud, and your unit proud. It should make you proud too.”

I reddened. I’d never really gotten used to being humbled.  I muttered a “yes, father”.

“Now go, and choose your team. Remember: two and only two. One is to be your support, and the other a runner. Don’t pick two runners, and don’t pick two combat supports. Report back to me once you’ve decided on your companions. No, your subordinates. You’re in command on this mission.”

*#@#*

As I left his office, I wandered the tunnels for a while, thinking. Who was I supposed to take? I didn’t have any friends. The other ponies were afraid of me, hated me for my successes, or thought I was an upstart who owed his prestige to his daddy being the commander.

Pondering my dilemma, I visited the main chamber. A huge open space, it was about a hundred and fifty feet tall and almost three hundred feet wide. This was the only place we could really fly. In its center stood a thirty foot tall stone statue of Rainbow Dash, decked out in our armour. The ancient paint has started to fleck and peel, but the spectrum mane and tail were still very much identifiable where they emerged from the midnight blue and black plates. Her stern expression warned us of the consequences of a lack of vigilance, and the scar that ran down Her right eye spoke of battlefield experience, something none of us ever really had. She was or protector, our guardian.... our goddess. I was to have trouble explaining it to outsiders later on, but to this day we still pray to Her. Outsiders consider it a blasphemy that we disregard Celestia and Luna in favour of Dash, but it can’t be helped. For centuries we had seen neither sun nor moon. For centuries we had spoken only one pre-war name in reverence: Rainbow Dash. It was inevitable that She would become something more to us than simply a pre-war politician and general.

I flew over to the statue, thankful for a chance to spread my wings. Kneeling before Her, I prayed to find two acceptable comrades to share this mission with me. I was to be the first Guardspony out of the caves in centuries. It was a great honour, and a heavy responsibility. If I brought back bad news.....

I shook the thought from my mind. I stood up, gazing reverently up at the statue. A red pony with a white mane and zig-zag cutie mark hit the statue and crashed to the ground at my feet. I recognised Wallstriker. Striker, he preferred to be called. He was one of the worst fliers in the Guard and received his name as a colt when he managed to hit every wall in the main chamber on a particularly clumsy day. If he weren’t so stealthy and quick on his hooves, he probably wouldn’t have been allowed to reach maturity. Striker stood up and saluted by raising his right hoof to his chest.

“Sir, I’m sorry to interrupt. Forgive me.”

Staring up at the statue again, I asked Her “Really?” Sighing, I turned to Striker.

“Come with me. I don’t understand why She sent me you, but I need two ponies, and when I prayed you popped up. I’m taking that as a sign, against my better judgement. Wait for me at the commander’s office.”

Striker was baffled. “Me, sir? You know I’m the worst flier in-“

“The history of the Guard, yes I know. I didn’t know you were also the type to question orders, trooper.”

Striker stiffened in fear. “Yes sir, reporting sir!” He squeaked as he ran off in the direction of my father’s office. He hit the wall trying to leave through a side passage. I facehooved and turned again to the statue. “I really hope you know what you’re doing...”

Rainbow Dash of course, had no response but a stern stare.

Leaving the main chamber, I wandered the tunnels more. I must have walked for hours, aimlessly. Didn’t know where I was going, didn’t really care. Being one of the youngest able Guardsponies, my options were severely limited. The older ponies would submit to the command of a younger pony barely out of colthood, but not happily. I didn’t want to risk any rebelliousness on the surface. Most of us expected that the surface remained largely unchanged, but I had my doubts. Three centuries is a long time. Even if everything was normal, I didn’t want to risk an older pony bucking my authority and escaping into Equestria.

I hadn’t realised I was so deep in thought until I bumped into what felt like a wall. Looking up, I saw a huge form in front of me. White, with red eyes and a yellow mane. He still had teeth marks on his muzzle.

“The fuck? Watch where you’re going.... sir.” Snowball sneered with that last word. This flagrant disrespect for my authority took me aback. I stammered, trying to find a response.

“What’s the matter? Can’t come up with anything smart to say sir? I bet if I chomped down on your face you’d have even more trouble! It fucking hurts, you know!”

I finally managed to spit out a lame response. “Not as much trouble as you’d be in if you tried it.”

I knew that sounded as feeble as it felt. I was strong, but Snowball was still almost twice my size. So big, so muscular he’d never flown. His wings were shrunken and likely deformed, tiny feathered appendages sticking out of his back. This did not help his cheeriness.

Sad to say he laughed at me, and I could think of nothing to do but take a step back. Wrong move. This asshole was like a rabid dog. Give him a hint of chase, and he’ll pounce on it. That’s exactly what he did. As soon as my hooves started to lift, he bowled me over. Pinning me down, he was trying to bite my face off. I snapped my head this way and that, his teeth connecting with my helmet again and again. With my hooves pinned beneath him like this, I couldn’t even fight back. Yelling and squirming, I tried to protect my face by turning my head, but he grabbed my mane in his teeth and started to pull. I screamed. He held on for what seemed like an eternity, seemingly trying to pull my face off from the mane. Suddenly he released, and I was showered with warmth. I didn’t understand what was happening until my vision went red, and I felt myself being pulled from underneath Snowball.

“Sir, sir, you okay?” I was soaking wet, oddly warm, and very confused. I had just been attacked, and I still didn’t know how the fight had ended. Dropping into a sitting position, I shrugged off my helmet and began furiously wiping my face with my forelegs. I could see again, and my steel grey coat was covered in deep red blood. The buzzing electrical lights strung along the ceilings of the tunnels gave a weird light that distorted colour, but it was definitely blood. Looking around, I noticed my ponykration instructor flipping Snowball’s corpse over. Doing so, I could see that his throat had been slit almost to the spine. Next to me was an armoured mare, fussing over me. It was her who had spoken. “Sir?”

“Uh, yes. Sorry. I’m fine. Now. What happened?”

“I saw the fight, sir. He attacked you out of nowhere. I... saw you were in trouble and I stepped in to help. Cut the pig open for you, sir. I hope I didn’t intrude.” I got a better look at her. She was cute. Her armour was speckled with Snowball’s blood, but there was none in her light blue mane. I noticed her coat was a pure, shining white with a cutie mark of a shield, chipped on the edges but holding strong. Her big, yellow eyes were very close to my face. She hadn’t even sheathed her sword. She had just dropped it on the floor to make sure I was alright.

“Uh, no not at all. Thank you.....”

“Trooper Brightwing, sir. I’m honoured to have been of assistance.” She was.... blushing? Nah. Had to be the way the blood reflected the light. Or how she was wearing her helmet. Or something.

“Trooper Brightwing, on me. I’m going to need you.” She turned as red as.... well as red as I was at that moment.

I guess I had my crew. What misfits. This mission was going to be a disaster.

*#@#*

Commander Slaughter, my father, got up from his desk. Walking around it, he surveyed the three ponies standing before him. He looked from me to Striker to Brightwing. Back to Striker, back to Brightwing, back to Striker, and then to me. It was impossible to tell based on that steely gaze whether he was proud of the scout team I’d assembled or whether he was thinking that I was sending the three of us to our deaths.

“You look like you’ve had a good day, son.” I realised I was still drenched in blood. “Had what looks like a good fight, and brought a mare to my office with you? Looks like my little colt’s growing up after all.”

How dare he! I stammered, trying to respond but got nothing.

“Don’t worry, I know what happened. She’s a good choice. I’ve been watching her closely, as with the others in your year. More importantly, she’s been watching you. She won’t let you down. I don’t expect Wallstriker will disappoint either, so long as you keep him grounded. At ease, the three of you. Take a seat and we’ll run through your objectives.” We sat.

“Now as you know, the doors have been sealed for three hundred years. We’ve been born, lived, and died in these caves. I think it’s time we at least found out what’s been going on aboveground. If our ancient maps are to be trusted, the door we know works will open into the basement of the Ministry of Awesome hub in Stalliongrad.” He pulled down a map on a roller along the wall behind his desk and used a wing to point out locations as he talked. “This hub was primarily used to store the Ministry’s sparse paperwork and secret projects. It’s only fitting we’re the building’s deepest-held secret. Now, Stalliongrad is a city of culture and the arts. Military types are rare there. If any locals ask you anything, the answer is that you’re affiliated with the  Ministry of Awesome and you’re not at liberty to divulge information. Repeat.”

We responded. “We are affiliated with the Ministry of Awesome and are not at liberty to divulge information.”

“Good, ponies. Good. Now this job comes with promotions. Won’t do to have nobodies wandering about up there. You two,” he pointed at Striker and Brightwing, “are now First Spears. Congratulations. And you, Ironside, are now Captain. I’m proud of you.”

That took a minute. Captain was pretty high up on the chart, and I was so young.... Most pegasi would never reach First Spear and would live and die as troopers. I was already a Captain? My companions were so shocked and clearly not unhappy with the situation they were speechless.

“T- thank you sir. Our objectives?” I asked, hoping to prod my father into giving us some kind of detail.

“Right. I’ve got the only working terminal in the base.” He patted it lovingly. “So you three will be making note of everything you see. Describe how the city looks. How big it is. How populated it is. What the population looks, sounds, and acts like. Describe the state of the war. Note how many zebras you see. Even things like the racial ratios you see. How many pegasi, how many unicorns, earth ponies, foreigners, etc. We need intel, and you’re going to get as much as possible. Here’s where the terminal comes in. I’ll be giving Ironside a unicorn-made arcane device that’ll directly send reports to me. There are two buttons and a microphone.” He pulled out a small silver box just small enough to slide into a barding pouch. “This button is to start a message. The microphone, here, will record any audio you’d like. Hitting the second button ends the transmission and sends it directly to me. If I do not get a response for three days, you will be assumed dead and the doors will be sealed. I have no way of contacting you through this device, so once you’ve scouted enough return of your own volition. Keep me posted, keep safe, and stay armed. Hopefully you won’t need your weapons, but you will keep them with you anyways. I wish we could spare supplies, but we can’t. We also have no supportive weapons to provide you. As you well know, the last bullets for our firearms were used during the schism of my grandfather’s time. The guns have since been junked and used for small repairs. Hopefully you can find better armament on the outside, and if possible bring supplies. Dash knows we need them. Good luck, may Rainbow Dash bless you in your mission. You have twenty minutes to return to your quarters, gather anything you think you’ll need, and meet me at the doors. Dismissed.”

*#@#*

After showering again to rinse myself of death, I headed to my room as ordered to gather my effects. There was little I needed to gather. My sword, knife (under my right foreleg, hidden in the armpit as was standard) and armour, my saddlebags with a sleeping roll, a book on ancient pegasus history to keep me entertained, and one standard-issue three hundred year old survival kit, with flint and steel for fires, and a basic first aid kit. I met up with Brightwing on the way to the Stable-Tec door. She acted strangely towards me. Walking very close, she spoke softly.

“Sir, it’s an honour to serve at your side... I mean... um....”

I eyed her quizzically. “Say it. We’re going to be spending a lot of time together in potentially dangerous territory. I want you two to feel comfortable telling me anything. And once we’re out there, you don’t need to call me sir. It doesn’t feel right, and if it’s hostile we don’t want enemies to know who’s in command.”

“Uh, yes sir. Of course. It’s just.... you’ve always been the best warrior in our class. The rest of us, we.... look up to you. You’re like a hero to us sir. Especially to me. I was never a good warrior, but seeing how easy you made it look gave me the confidence I needed. So in a way, you saved yourself back there with Snowball.”

I hadn’t thought of it like that. Ever. I didn’t know people even liked me, let alone.... no. Just one silly filly with a crush, that’s all. Couldn’t be more than that. We walked in silence the rest of the way. Striker was already there with my father. The concrete hallway leading to the massive Stable-Tec door was lined with dark-armoured ponies, their helmets obscuring their faces in shadow. As we passed, their heads lowered in eerie unison. We reached the door, and the Commander.

“Ponies, we are here assembled to see off our brothers and sister. They are the first of our number to leave our home since the formation of this unit. They go into the unknown, with naught but our training, our name, and our weapons. May Rainbow Dash guard them in the beyond.”

The ponies along the walls shouted “AHOO!”

“Open the door.” The archivist near the door’s power panel typed in a code and pulled the lever. The mechanics of the giant door screeched to life as they had never been intended to do. Slowly, the enormous steel door slid open. Everyone save for myself and my companions averted their gaze from the doorway, and my father whispered “Good luck son.”

We stepped out into the darkness, out of our home, away from everything we’d ever known, and heard the door slide closed behind us.

Ironside: Level 1

Perk: Cutie Mark Talent: Ironside’s laurel leaves indicate a natural affinity for the affairs of war. He begins with +10 melee weapons, +5 guns, and +5 repair.

Brightwing: Level 1

Perk: Cutie Mark Talent: Brightwing’s Shield shows her desire to defend those she cares about. When a teammate is in danger, you gain +1 STR, +1 END, and +1 LCK.

Wallstriker: Level 1

Perk: Cutie Mark Talent: Wallstriker’s zigging, zagging cutie mark represents his clumsiness and speed. He can move 10% faster than other pegasi, but with a 30% reduction in control. He’s a natural disaster with wings.

Chapter II

Chapter II

Our eyes adjusted to the dimness of our surroundings with ease. We were, true to father’s maps, in a basement. There were mouldering crates everywhere. Striker used the point of his sword to crack one open, and a heap of rotten paper poured out. So far everything made sense. The door, however, left us with more questions than answers. The door that sealed our home, instead of a Stable number, had a huge embossed image of Rainbow Dash’s cutie mark in the center of it, with words painted across it: “SEALED BY ORDER OF THE MINISTRY OF AWESOME – OPEN ON PAIN OF DEATH”

Well wasn’t that just the damndest thing. We were sealed in by our own people? Our own superiors? No point dwelling on it. There may be more answers further into the building. Leaving the basement, we began slowly and cautiously advancing down the hallway. Every doorway we passed, the door was open and crates lined the walls. No sign of any ponies. Finding a staircase, I decided we would climb to the next floor. We advanced through the main floor, again finding little information, less ponies, and more crates in every room. If this was the amount of paperwork the “known for laziness” Ministry of Awesome had, the entire Everfree Forest must have been cut down for the Ministry of Arcane Sciences! Again finding nothing on this floor except the massive iron doors marking the entrance of the building, stylised with thunderbolts and clouds, I decided we would keep climbing. Exploring, we found the building to be surprisingly small for a ministry regional hub. Three floors.

On the top floor, we found a sprawling office with mouldering paintings of Rainbow Dash, Wonderbolts members, a couple Shadowbolts members, Celestia, Luna, and other ponies we didn’t even recognise. Covering the walls. At the back of the room sat a large, worn mahogany desk in front of a massive, cracked and damaged floor-to-ceiling window through which stunning orange light shone. There was nothing left on the desk, but as we approached, I noticed something on the floor next to it. Nudging it with my hoof, I discovered it was a small silver sphere, next to a photograph of six distinguished-looking mares standing in front of an Equestrian flag, the same flag I remember seeing hanging in the Commander’s office behind his secretary’s desk. I only recognised one of the mares: Rainbow Dash, standing in uniform and looking grimmer than the ponies she was posing with. They were all beautiful, but I had no idea who they were. From left to right, there was a yellow pegasus mare with a pink mane; next to her a pink earth pony with a pink mane and a goofy grin; next to her a sophisticated white unicorn with a styled purple mane; then another unicorn, purple with a purple and pink mane and a bored, impatient expression; then Rainbow Dash, looking grim; and finally an orange earth pony with a wide-brimmed hat, a long coat, and a suspicious gaze. I began to wonder who these privileged mares were, to know Rainbow Dash.

“Sir? I mean Ironside? You might want to check this out. Like, now.” Striker interrupted my musings. Picking up the orb and dropping it into my saddlebags, I trotted over to the window, where Striker and Brightwing stood stunned, I saw what had caught their attention. I saw the sun for the first time, which seemed to be setting, as well as clouds. But the sky was not what drew our attention. The city outside the window was ruined. Skeletal buildings long since abandoned stood surrounding streets littered with small craters and what looked like pony skeletons. I brought out the transmitter and relayed the scene to base. We had to investigate this.

We pulled back through the building to the main entrance. The other two readied their swords as I tried to open the door, but it was locked tight. I tried bucking the door open, and that didn’t work either. Frustrated, I suddenly got an idea. In the room next to the main entrance, I’d noticed a smaller window. Returning to that room, we found that sure enough I was right. It was only wide enough for us to each go through one at a time due to the bulk of our armour, and unfortunately it still had glass in it. I went first. Lowering my head, I dashed through the window with a loud crash, landing safely on the ground on the outside. I got my first-ever breath of fresh, open air then. It hit me like a hoof, carrying strange, foreign smells pleasant and rotten alike. I didn’t know what to make of it.

“Ironside, is it safe?” Striker called after me.

“Uh, yeah come on through.” Striker followed me through the window, and Brightwing brought up the rear. We took a moment to take in the scene. Most of the skeletons we saw were unicorns, with some earth ponies mixed in. We didn’t see any pegasus skeletons.

“Where to, sir?” Brightwing cantered to my side. She was a good head shorter than me. I don’t know why I didn’t notice it before then.

“Let’s follow this main street. We might get some answers by surveying the city itself.”

Advancing slowly along the street, weapons drawn, we checked the skeletons and craters we came across. None had anything of any value. Centuries-old camera, the plastic bleached white by centuries of sunlight. Torn rags on every corpse. Every so often we’d come across a pre-war coin that Striker would stuff into his bags.

A hundred feet or so along the street, we heard noises coming from a ruined building on our left. Training kicked in, and even though we were just untested junior officers, we knew what to do. Taking the center, I snuck up to the left side of the open doorframe. Brightwing took the right side of the door and Striker was to my left, covering my back. Swords drawn, we charged in, me first, then Brightwing, then Striker.

The two earth ponies eating at the table just inside the ruined structure fell over in fright as my and Brightwing’s swords found themselves pressed against the earth ponies’ throats. The female of the two screamed “mercy!”, and the male just growled at us. The female, green with a blue mane and a cutie mark of a wooden spoon, begged us to relent.

“Please! We mean no harm, we’re just trying to eat! Please, this is the only food we have, it’s been so long, and it was so hard to scavenge.” She was... crying. Over what? A couple cans’ worth of cheap beans?

“If I tell my ponies to lay off, will you cooperate, civilian?” She nodded. I signalled to the other two to sheath their weapons. The male earth pony, brown with a dirty yellow mane and a cutie mark obscured by scars, still looked perturbed as the two ponies returned to their meagre meal. I just now noticed how thin and filthy they looked.

“The fuck do you think you are? Barging in on innocent-“ his attention was captured when Brightwing’s wings fluttered nervously. “...pegasi? You with the Enclave? You fuckers not done yet?”

“We are affiliated with the Ministry of Awesome and are not at liberty to divulge information of that nature.” I spoke as if programmed.

The earth pony laughed. “The fucking Ministry of Awesome, that’s rich! A crack squad of Enclave comedians is what we’ve got here. Fucking shit. You guys must either be assholes or idiots, and I don’t really care which it is.”

I ignored the obstinance in the pony’s voice. “What happened in this city? Why is it abandoned, destroyed, and choked with corpses?”

The pony nearly choked on his beans. “Idiots then.”

The mare spoke up then, clearly more compassionate than her mate. “Oh you silly dears, the war happened. Then the battle with the Enclave that finally killed the town. It’s common knowledge.”

“Hon, why’re you explaining anything to these fuckers? They tried to kill us, and now are playing dumb to troll us.”

The mare looked cross. “They had a chance to kill us, and they put their weapons away. That’s more than we can usually expect in the wasteland. I think that earns them a little chatting.” The stallion backed down, and went back to dejectedly eating his beans.

“Tell me everything you know of the war. We know nothing of it. Is it still being waged? Who’s winning? What’s become of the zebras?”

The mare chuckled sadly. “You poor dears really don’t know anything do you? I don’t understand it, but I do get mercy, and you’ve shown us that. So, you get your answers. Sadly I don’t know much about the war. It was hundreds of years ago. It’s long over though. The ponies of Equestria and the zebras destroyed each other, and most of the world with them.”

We nearly choked. “But aren’t you ponies of Equestria? Isn’t this Equestria?”

The stallion spoke up again. “No, this is the Equestrian wasteland, and we’re wretches. I know it’s a small distinction, but it’s worth noticing.”

It took a second for that to settle in. The world was gone, we were in a post-arcane-apocalypse version of what we had always been told was our country, and the war we had been specially bred to fight ended centuries ago. It was almost enough to make a Guardspony cry.

“....can.... can you tell us where the nearest center of population is?”

The kindly mare answered. “Oh, you mean the nearest town? Of course sweetie. That’d be Hoofsinki. It’s about a day’s walk to the northwest. Or since you’ve got wings, you should be able to do it in an afternoon or so. I wouldn’t travel by night though, not in the ruins. Too dangerous. Find a building to hole up in overnight, and travel in the morning. In fact, stay the night with us. We certainly wouldn’t mind extra muscle for a night, and you’d be welcome to share our food.”

The stallion practically fell out of his seat. “Are you mad, woman?! Three heavily armoured pegasi almost kill us, and you offer them our food and space?”

“Now you hear me, Helping! These three are clearly out of familiar territory, and were gracious enough to not kill us when they could have. Every other time we’ve turned away guests something terrible has happened. I’m not going to give the Wasteland the chance to jinx us again. Get a can of beans for each of them!”

All this was very interesting to me. It implied that a) this wasteland was populated, b) it was dangerous, c) some strange superstitions were developing, and d) the locals would prove slow to trust. This was very helpful information.

We thanked our hosts as they opened and handed each of us a can of three hundred year old beans, and we opened our field kits to use the utensils inside.

The earth ponies tried to make conversation with us, but there was little I felt comfortable revealing.

“So what’re the swords about?” “Been in the family for centuries.”

“Where’d you get the armour?” “Home.”

Striker was of course the first one to fuck up.

“So what’re you doing here?” “Oh, we’re just scou- I mean we’re affiliated with the Ministry of Awesome and are not affiliated to, I mean at liberty to invulge.....” he stumbled over the simple sentence. “We can’t say. Commander told us not to.”

I couldn’t facehoof any harder without crushing my own skull. Now they knew there were more of us, now they knew we had a commander, and now they knew that we had directives involving secrecy. I cleared my throat. “My companion here will not be speaking any further, if he wants to keep his tongue. He’s in danger of losing that privilege.” Striker went white and attacked his beans with a newfound, reassuring silence.

“What about you dear? What’s a pretty filly like yourself doing in this goddesses-awful place?”

Brightwing at least had more sense and grace than Striker did. “My duty, ma’am.” Good girl.

Concerned that Striker might try to screw us further, I began asking questions of our hosts instead.

“So what’re you doing out here? You’re saying the ruins aren’t safe, yet here you are.”

The earth pony mare chuckled. “Oh nowhere out here’s really safe, dearie. We’re scavving. Scavenging, don’tcha know. Lots of bottle caps to be made in selling old pre-war stuff, especially technology though there’s not a whole lot of that left lying around.”

“Bottle caps? Why would you want bottle caps?”

She chuckled again. I didn’t appreciate being the butt of her laughter, but traditional pegasus guest-host tradition prevented me from doing anything about it. “They’re currency out here, dearie. Not many of the pre-war coins were left out here, so ponies started using bottle caps because of there being so many of them.” Interesting. I’d have to make a note of that.

The sun had gone down, and the moon had risen in its place. Goddess, that was a sight. Big and silver and bright as could be... The weather out here was going to take some getting used to. I discussed the situation for the night with the earth pony stallion, and we agreed to set a watch of one of theirs and one of our own, so that no one felt the other group was going to kill them in their sleep. We took a half-destroyed room just off of the main room with the table that the earth ponies decided to camp in. This room had nothing at all left in it. The walls only stood about three quarters of the way to the ceiling, ending in crumbling exposed brick. Brightwing tried to take first watch, but I took it myself. This was our first night out of the base, and I wasn’t going to leave anything up to anyone else if I could help it.

The night proved uneventful. The earth pony mare slept soundly, while the stallion and I shot each other suspicious glances our whole shift. About halfway through the night, the mare woke up and took her mate’s spot as he went to sleep. Trotting over to Brightwing, I nudged her awake and gave her a curt nod when she asked if she was up for second watch. Rising quickly, despite sleeping in her armour on my orders,  she took up position on the inner side of our doorway, ready to jump anything coming through the doorless frame. Confident she had the watch well in hoof, I pulled out the transmitter and reported our findings and most of the conversation with the earth ponies to base. Yawning periodically, I realised how tired I was. Signing off and promising to send more reports in the morning, I curled up and even my heavy armour wasn’t able to keep my eyelids open.

*#@#*

Waking in the morning, I was pleased to see that Brightwing was still where she’d been when I’d fallen asleep, guarding the door with a look of fierce determination. I made note of her efficacy as a watchpony.

“The earths?” I asked her. She seemed startled that I was awake, as if I’d snapped her out of something.

“Moved on at daybreak, sir. Sun’s been up maybe three hours.”

I scowled. I was upset that I couldn’t get any more information out of the earth ponies, and I unfairly took it out on Brightwing. “What’d I tell you about calling me sir? Are you trying to kill me?”

Shocked, she looked straight down and hoofed at the ground. “Apologies... Ironside.” I hated how she said my name. Like it was alien. It was my fucking name, just say it.

I shoved off my helmet. I should have taken it off to sleep, but I hadn’t. My mane was sweaty and sticking to my head. The wasteland was hot. Not as hot as it could have been, and from what the earth ponies had told me it used to be hotter. It used to be entirely barren! No farms or anything until about fifty years ago.

I took my canteen in my hooves and poured a small amount of the cool water over my head and shook it off. Field hair washing. I looked at Brightwing, who’d turned as red as Striker. I could swear her wings had started to stiffen, but she started awkwardly pruning them so I couldn’t really tell. Camp arrangements were going to get a hell of a lot more awkward than I’d anticipated.

Putting my helmet back on and trotting over to Striker, I kicked him awake. He’d been snoozing so peacefully, he looked like an idiot. Flat on his back, he’d rolled off of and away from his bedroll. Hooves sticking up into the air, kicking occasionally. He grumbled as he got up.

I gestured to Brightwing with my head. “I’m going for a flight. Going to scout what I can in the surrounding city block. Make sure he gets himself ready.” She saluted and gave Striker a look.

I trotted out of the building, and stood in the street for a moment. I felt the wind blow across my face, felt it playing with my mane/helmet crest. It was cool, in pleasant contrast to the hot sun already beating down. There were clouds in the sky, I could see, but they were nowhere near the sun. It was majestic. The yellow fire stood out against the silky blue sky in a big way, and I decided in that moment that I liked outside. Giving my wings a flex, I lowered myself on my hooves and hopped up, my wings catching air and flapping to lift me. It was much harder in armour than it was without, but we were trained to do everything in armour, from eating to sleeping and beyond. I flew only about a hundred feet in the air, just high enough to see over the tops of some of the larger buildings on this street, and got a good three hundred and sixty degree view of the ruined cityscape. There was little movement in the city, but the city was rather flat. Other than a huge statue of a stallion in what looked to be the old city square, the buildings were never more than two or three stories. They were larger, longer, wider, but always squat. Wings pumping to keep me in the air, I spotted thin trails of smoke on the outskirts of the city.

Landing and heading back inside our makeshift command center, I plopped myself down next to my bedroll that I noticed had already been rolled up and secured on top of my saddlebag. I guessed I had Brightwing to thank for that. Had she not been napping against the wall in a seated position I might have done just that. Content to let her relax for a moment, I pulled out the transmitter and reported the smoke trail, and my intention to investigate. Striker, who seemed to have passed his time while I was away packing his things and sharpening his sword, looked up at that. When I ended the transmission, he asked what I had in mind exactly.

“What do you think? Going to find out what these tribals are up to.” I grinned mischievously, and he matched it. We woke Brightwing, and I explained the situation to her. She seemed just as eager for a chance to explore as Striker and myself.

With our enthusiasm, it didn’t take us long to pack up and creep through the city toward the smoke. We’d even gotten so used to the sight of skeletons that we hardly noticed them littering the streets. The smoke turned out to be in what had been a lovely park. Benches were scattered through the property, and the skeletal, rickety remains of gazebos  stood in clearings in the otherwise wooded park. The trees were creepy. Most were burned and centuries-dead, assumedly victims of the balefire bombs that laid Equestria to waste. Some, however, had started to grow back, or maybe were seedlings planted decades past. It was hard to tell for someone with no experience with plants more sophisticated than cave fungus.

We stuck to the trees, and approached the sound of ponies moving and talking amongst each other. The trees thinned, but we found a ledge most of a pony’s height tall and took cover behind it. Crouching low, the other two looked to me. I peeked over the top of the ledge.

The ponies I saw milling about were the filthiest, most wretched creatures I’d ever seen. Most were scarred or burned, their armour cobbled together from what looked like rags and the tatters of what had long since ceased to be passable armour. They were well-armed though. I noticed mane kitchen knives and tool hammers, but a few shovels sharpened to spear points and even a couple guns. They were occupying what must have been a foals’ playground, though it had been reinforced with planks of wood and some rusted and battered sheet metal to be turned into some pitiful mockery of a fortification. Walking around with the other four ponies was the one I assumed was their leader, due to the others’ cautious distance from him. Big one, and mean looking too. An earth pony who must have been as big as Snowball had been (though probably with more usable wings), he carried a pistol in his mouth. On top of the play structure was a unicorn pony levitating a rifle next to her head. This was the first I’d seen of magic, and I knew it was going to give her a deadly advantage in combat. I hoped to avoid fighting ponies with guns if I could help it, at least until we got a better sense of how warfare worked with this deadly new element.

Ducking back down, I exhaled. I hadn’t realised I was holding my breath.

“What is it, sir? Enemies? Do we get to fight something?” Striker seemed thrilled at the prospect. From what I recalled, he’d never killed a pony. One of the reasons we’d all made fun of him in school. Dash, even I’d killed a pony before.

“Yeah. Maybe. I dunno. I need to think. They’ve got guns. I need to think of how we can do this...”

As I talked, he’d gotten up to look over the edge. If I’d been more focused on him I would have tried to stop him, I honestly would have.

We heard a bang, and a successive plink a second later. Striker’s head snapped back, and he  dropped, his white mane going pink. The way his corpse landed in the ditch, his eyes rolling back in his head, and his face looking at me accusingly. I could see that his helmet had been perforated just above the right eye. The metal had just given way. That was not reassuring. Brightwing gasped. I blanked. Now I was down a pony, and the Raiders knew we were here. Shit. Think fast...... I had it.

I hurriedly whispered my plan to Brightwing, who was on board instantly. We pulled back to the meagre cover of the trees, about ten feet from Striker’s body. Four of the five Raiders, including that big motherfucker, jumped down from the ridge to see what their sharpshooter unicorn had killed. They seemed surprised by Striker. Understandably, they’d never seen anything like us before. Their hesitation and assuming he’d been alone were just what I’d needed.

“AHOO!” I bellowed the unit’s war cry and charged, sword drawn at the Raiders, heading straight for the big guy first. As I’d arranged, Brightwing had thrown Striker’s sword as I charged, then drew her own, yelled as I had, and charged in after me.

Striker’s sword didn’t kill any of the Raiders, but it bounced hilt-first off of the ugliest mare of the bunch, pulverising her eye and staggering her before Brightwing tore into her. She slid off Brightwing’s blade as my friend charged past her, cutting her open with the sword before hitting and fatally stabbing the stallion behind the Raider mare. Myself, I’d gone straight for their leader and without the element of surprise, I wouldn’t have stood a chance. With the element of surprise though, my sword entered the soft gap in his jawbone, up through his tongue, brain, and out the top of his skull, pinning his mouth closed. Not that it mattered, it killed him instantly. Trying to pull my sword out, I realised with a fright that it had gotten wedged in his skull and wasn’t budging. Spitting it out, I went for the knife under my other shoulder. The big raider’s companion had dropped his shovel-spear and tried to pick up the pistol. I was glad he did, because it gave me the time to open his throat as he went to level it at me. Brightwing and I then ducked back under cover of the ledge as the unicorn’s rifle cracked again, and the dirt near my right hoof was throw into the air.

Well this sucked. I looked at Brightwing for ideas. Spattered with blood, I actually wasted time in a battle noticing how cute she looked. She was panting heavily from the fight, her sword clutched in her teeth as if she felt it were trying to escape. But she had a sword, I had a knife, and our last remaining enemy had a rifle.

I hoped I looked more confident than I felt. Brightwing tried to speak around her sword, but I couldn’t make any of it out. I gave her a quizzical look. Frustrated, she came as close to yelling as I’d ever seen the soft-spoken mare. “Wheh I wun, gwah da piftoh!” Oh, grab the pistol. Sure, I’ll just hit a unicorn sixty feet away with a small arm I’d never used before. I didn’t have time to voice my concerns though. Brightwing took off yelling, running in no particular direction. I stuffed my knife back in its sheath and scrambled for the pistol, knowing that every second I didn’t ice that unicorn was another second that Brightwing might not have.

Reaching the gun, I picked it up in my mouth. It tasted as filthy and disgusting as its previous owner looked and smelled. I charged toward the unicorn, knowing that pistols are of little use at the range I was trying to use it. By now, the unicorn had loosed a few more rounds at Brightwing and had to reload. This was good, it gave me a chance. I stopped and aimed the pistol as best I could. The unicorn finished reloading and aimed directly at me. Shit, had she already killed Brightwing? I was surprised at how angry the thought of her death made me. I fired. The bullet was nowhere close. I fired again. Again, nowhere close. The unicorn fired, I felt the heat coming off the bullet as it passed within inches of my eyes. I fired again, and I saw the magic dissipate around the rifle, the gun clattering to the ground as the unicorn’s hooves went for her throat, and gagging and choking she fell backwards off the play structure. I dropped the filthy pistol and charged toward where she lay dying, drawing my knife on the go. Screaming, I didn’t give her a chance to bleed to death. In my fury, I cut at her neck, hacking until I’d separated the filthy head from her shoulders. I grabbed her mane in my teeth and flung the head as far as I could. I heard hoofsteps behind me, and felt a hoof on my shoulder. I whipped around, diving on my assailant, knife ready to plunge down into their face.

Brightwing stared up at me in fear and shock. The hurt, betrayed look on her face broke me. I’d lost one of my two sort of friends and almost just killed the other. The one pony who’d ever really treated me nicely. I rolled off of her, sheathed my knife and sat there, surveying the carnage. I felt so weak in that moment. I actually felt a tear crawl down my cheek. A reassuring warmth pressed against my side, and Brightwing’s forelegs wrapped around me in a hug I didn’t know I needed as badly as I did.

We sat there for a moment, quietly. We’d each just killed ponies, lost a friend, a brother and for what? There was no purpose to this fight. We had no reason to fight these filthy, half-starved and more than half-crazed tribals. Breaking away from Brightwing’s hug, I went to gather my sword. It took a couple minutes, but I did manage to claw the weapon from my victim’s skull. Brightwing spent those minutes looting the corpses of anything valuable. Other than the rifle, the pistol, and the related ammunition they really had nothing worth taking.

In tribute to our fallen brother as Brightwing stood by quietly watching, I used Striker’s sword to hack the heads from all the Raiders and heap them on the crude campfire the Raiders had set. The smell of burning horseflesh assaulted our nostrils. I found I didn’t mind it, but Brightwing seemed to disagree. Not that she voiced complaints, she kept them to herself. Cleaning the weapon and sliding it back into its sheath on his now-cooling corpse, we knew what we had to do. It took the rest of the afternoon to haul Striker’s body back to the Ministry of Awesome, but we left his body with a scrawled note explaining the circumstances of his hero’s death and detailing the battle that followed. Backing away from his corpse, we saluted. “Dash guide your soul, brother. You will be missed.” I muttered the prayer. Before I forgot though, I reached into my saddlebags and pulled out the sharpshooter unicorn’s horn that I’d carved from her head and placed it next to Striker. We left the Ministry of Awesome hub and headed back out.

Back out in to the city, back out into the wasteland. I was going to find this Hoofsinki that the earth ponies had mentioned, and I was going to find out more about the wasteland. I was going to find out what there was to be done, to be learned, and most importantly I was going to do so without losing anyone. I’d had enough of casualties from botched attacks. Maybe if we were lucky we could kill a few more Raiders for Striker.

Ironside: Level 2

-Level up!

-New perk: Brutal upbringing: The brutal nature of the Twilight Guard’s training has hardened your body and resolve. +2 to DR, +5 to melee weapons, heavy armour (excluding power armour) does not impede your movement.

Brightwing: Level 2

-Level up!

-New perk: Swift Learner: Brightwing’s a smart cookie, who adapts to her surroundings quickly. +10% XP whenever XP is earned.

Chapter III

Chapter III

We left the city behind us. I was getting sick of the ruins, sick of crawling about, slinking like a rat to avoid whatever dangers could lurk behind the stones, the ruined walls, the heaps of decades-old skeletons.

We followed the directions the earth pony mare had given us. Follow the main street to the gates. She gave us directions on how to open the gates, but we were pegasi so we just flew over them. After that, we were to follow the ruined pavement road a couple miles to the northwest of Stalliongrad, where the village of Hoofsinki was supposed to be.

As we walked, it began to rain. We’d never experienced rain before. Brightwing was initially concerned, but we both grew to enjoy the cool water. When you’re wandering armoured in the heat, cool water falling from the sky does wonders to cool you down. Other than the rain, the road was pretty dead. The rolling plains of this part of Equestria hid little, but there was little to hide. A suburb of post-war shacks had sprung up around the city gates, but had long since been abandoned. Every so often on the road, we would see an abandoned building or a farm. When it was a farm, the farmer would always stop what he or she was doing and stare at the two dark-armoured ponies marching along the road. I would give them a curt, military nod as a way of indicating we weren’t a threat. Even with this (I thought) unprecedented act of friendliness, the locals were still very wary of us.

Partway into our journey, near what we assumed was the halfway mark, Brightwing spotted movement up ahead. We hunched low, only to see that as the mark got closer, it was a yellow mare with a green mane leading a two-headed cow laden with junk. She didn’t seem threatening, so I told Brightwing to stay ready as I released my half-drawn sword, letting it slide back into its sheath.

Brightwing and I used our bodies to block the road. When the yellow earth pony mare reached us, she stopped. “How much is the toll this time?” She stopped, narrowing her eyes and looking from me to Brightwing. “Hey, you guys aren’t raiders. Who are you?”

“We are affiliated with the Ministry of Awesome and are not at liberty to divulge information. Who are you and what is your purpose here?”

The earth pony didn’t even bat an eye. “The Ministry of Awesome, huh? That’s new. I’ll play along, since you kids want to play dress-up and make believe. I’m a scavenger, and I’m running my normal route, going from Stalliongrad to the Canterlot ruins and back. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m leaving now.”

The scavenger started to lead her pack animal forward, until Brightwing drew her sword, unfurled her wings and stomped the ground.

“No you’re not. You’re going to give me a lay of the land.” I informed her. It was rare enough it seemed to encounter ponies who weren’t trying to rape your corpse that I wasn’t going to pass this up.

“The fuck I am. Get out of my way. I’m on a tight schedule.” The earth pony tensed, knowing that she couldn’t fight her way out.

Unfurling my wings as well to make me look bigger and tougher, I began asking questions.

“How much farther to Hoofsinki?” “Two hours’ trot, along this road. The road forks an hour from here, to get to Hoofsinki you’ll want to take the path on the right. The one on the left leads you to Canterlot, but it takes the roundabout way. Dangerous animals, and even more fucked up ponies. I never take that route, and for a damned good reason.”

“What should we expect when we reach Hoofsinki?” “Dunno why you’d want to go there. Place is a sinkhole. Always either under attack or recovering from being attacked. Raiders usually, though slavers come sometimes too.”

“There’s slavery out here?” The earth pony looked at us like we were retarded, rolling her eyes. “Look, I don’t know what game you’re playing here. Yes, there’s slavery. Red Eye’s operation being destroyed about a hundred years ago shattered any coherent operation they had, so now it’s just a buyer’s market. They take ponies, other ponies buy those ponies. Nice and deregulated. Can I please go now?”

I nodded and stepped aside, Brightwing sheathing her sword and doing likewise. The earth pony hurried through, seemingly eager to get as far from us as possible.

Slavery? Is that possible? I wasn’t sure how I felt about slavery. On the one hand, we were raised to believe the strong had right of power over the weak, so slavery just made sense. But on the other hand, it just felt.... foreign. Just didn’t feel right. I decided I’d wait until I saw slaves for myself to make that call.

I looked at Brightwing, and I could tell she was thinking the same thoughts I was. Best not to think though, best to move. I motioned for Brightwing to follow  my lead. The roads were taking far too long, so I crouched down, jumped, and took to the sky. Brightwing followed close behind and to my left.

As we flew, I couldn’t help but watch Brightwing. I noticed her back muscles flexing with every flap of her wings, the way her mane caught the wind, the way she looked back at me like I had three heads... Oh shit. Turning to face forward again, I hoped the cheekplates of my helmet obscured my face enough that she wouldn’t notice my embarrassment. I... was just being observant anyway. A commander needs to know what his warriors are capable of. I was just seeing how good a flyer she is. Yup, good flyer!

The land was beautiful, in its own way. Grass grew in large patches across the fields with a few bald spots here and there. What had once been lush green pasture and steppe land had become barren desert and was now beginning to grow back. Below, I noticed the fork the scavenger had told us about, and flew to the right of it as we’d been advised. As much as I’d wanted to go to Canterlot to meet the princesses and show them what pegasi could do without alicorns, that wasn’t really part of the scouting mission we’d been assigned.

I stole a quick glance back at Brightwing, and noticed she was exhausted. I began to feel the burn myself, so we put down on the road. Turns out when you live in a cave that only has one chamber large enough for flying, your wings don’t learn to carry you very far. We continued on hoof. As we walked, I brought out the transmitter and relayed to base what we had learned about slavery, and what I had observed about the grass not coming in evenly. I assumed there was something wrong that killed patches of grass.

Ending my transmission, I noticed a smudge on the horizon.  Given the smoke rising from campfires within the smudge, I was left to assume that was Hoofsinki. We approached with caution. Nearing the town, I noticed just how filthy and dilapidated the place looked. Every sheet-metal building was riddled with bullet holes,  and some of the brick structures of what had been a quaint pre-war village were partially collapsed and patched with sheet metal, wood, and even sheets of leather. The ponies milling about were the definition of downtrodden. Almost all of them earth ponies with a few unicorns scattered through the crowd. The whole town’s population had to number forty or fifty.

As we walked into town, the ponies stopped what they were doing to look at us. Given the despairing poverty we’d just walked into, our shiny black and blue armour must have set us apart. The locals were backing away from us, as if they were afraid. Brightwing and I made our way past the cowering ponies to the center of the crossroads that made up the core of the tiny town.

Brightwing stood by, eyeing the crowd as I spoke.

“Ponies of Hoofsinki! We are soldiers of the Ministry of Awesome! We must speak with your leader! Any help will be rewarded, any resistance or problems punished! Again, we request an audience with whoever commands here!”

The ponies looked surprised and confused. Why was it that everypony reacted to mention of the Ministry of Awesome like that?

The locals just looked around awkwardly, not saying anything or even moving. I didn’t want to have to do this, but it seemed like that was just how things worked out here.

“First Spear Brightwing, the caps please.”

Brightwing pulled out and held in her mouth a scrap of fabric in which she had placed all twenty-three of the bottlecaps we had taken from the dead raiders before tying it closed.

“This bag of bottlecaps goes to the first pony to help us. You will take with it our gratitude, and a favour from our organisation.”

The ponies stayed still, though I could see many eyes were trained intently on the bag of caps. A voice from the crowd yelled that “Nopony here is greedy enough to sell us out to Enclave remnants you fucking pig!”

That did it. “I assure everypony here that neither myself nor my companion know who this ‘Enclave’ is, or have ever encountered or helped them. We are not this Enclave of which you speak. Help us help you, ponies! Information and maybe a quick jog to wherever it is your leader’s holed up, and you get a bag of bottle caps to spend at your leisure! It’s really that simple. We’re not here to fight, we’re not here to cause problems. We just want to talk to whoever’s in charge here.”

It seemed they had started to get the message. One purple mare with a dark blue mane slunk out of the crowd and knelt before me, much to my surprise. I told her to stand, and that there was no need for kneeling.

“I can’t take you to the boss, because there isn’t one. But I know who you want to be talking to.” She spoke in whispers, as if the crowd hadn’t already figured out what she was doing.

I made a big show, to demonstrate that our intentions were pure. “You, miss, are a wise pony. Brightwing!” Brightwing passed the bag of caps to the earth pony, who gingerly accepted them and shook the bag slightly to note how many caps were there. She seemed satisfied by the weight and jingling. She began to lead us away, to the murmurs of the crowd. Maybe it was the caps, or the relief at us not killing her or something, but she seemed to walk bouncily.

She led us to one of the outlying buildings, one that didn’t match the others. I tried to chat with her as she walked with us, but she didn’t respond to any of my questions. I was beginning to hate the locals. No manners on any of them!

The building in question was a single-story building made entirely out of the same kind of cement as most of our tunnels back home. I looked closely at the walls and sure enough, there was the worn-out symbol of the Ministry of Awesome, imprinted in the concrete as it had dried so many centuries ago. Our guide stopped here.

“Here you go. Thanks for the caps, and good luck with that fuckup.” She trotted off without a backward glance.

I looked to Brightwing, who gave a little shrug that indicated she neither knew nor cared what that was about. She pushed open the heavily rusted steel door to the bunker, and we stepped inside.

*#@#*

The gloom inside the bunker was punctuated by candlelight. There were tables everywhere, with bits of metal and machinery and electrical parts and.... some things I didn’t even know how to identify. The candles were interspersed across the tables so that the whole work center was awash in pale, flickering orange glow. There was a clatter as the unicorn sitting at one of the tables shot up, clearly not expecting visitors.

I got my first good look at this pony. He was lanky, thin, and I warmed to him instantly because much like us, he just plain didn’t look like he belonged in these parts. His orange coat was spotted with grease and grime from the machine parts all around him, and some of the muck had even found its way into his pale blue and soft orange mane. Around his eyes were a strange set of goggles with what seemed like a thousand lenses on them, but most were spread around the outsides of the frames, giving him a nonsensical insectoid look. He raised an eyebrow as Brightwing and myself trotted over to him.

“My my my, company? What have we here? Oh, and outsiders too! How delightful! This is truly a rare opportunity!” His accent was thick, but not overly so. I would learn much later in life that the accent came from a city to the south called Manehattan. “The name’s Cinnamon Sprocket, and I live to serve. What can I do for you dangerous looking visitors this fine day in our lovely fucking wasteland?”

“Cinnamon Sprocket?”

His eyes narrowed. Or at least his eyebrows gave that impression. His eyes were entirely obscured by the goggles. “Yes, I’m sure you have a much less silly name.”

“Captain Ironside. This is my adjutant, First Spear Brightwing. We’re on important Ministry of Awesome business, and would like a word with you.”

“How charming. The feds are after me. Or at least crazies who think they’re the feds.”  Cinnamon Sprocket deadpanned. “Look kids, my time is valuable, and my expertise even more so. But, you braved the roads to get here from wherever the fuck it is you’re from so I’ll take it you’re just the rough-and-tumble types I need for a special little assignment. But first, I’m going to need the truth from you. Who the fuck are you , and what do you think you’re doing walking into my goddesses-damned workspace bumbling some blustery bullshit about a government branch that ceased to exist centuries ago and which didn’t do a damned thing anyways?”

Having come to trust her quite a bit over the last two days, I turned to Brightwing, who quietly nodded.

I started slowly and quietly. “Have you ever heard of the Twilight Guard? Of the disappearance of thousands of decorated pegasus warriors fifteen years into the war?”

Cinnamon shook his head slowly.

“Those pegasi were taken underground Stalliongrad and trained by the Ministry of Awesome. The training was so brutal that the Ministry sealed us off from the world. We’re the descendents of those pegasi. Our unit, the Twilight Guard, sent us onto the surface to scout the conditions of Equestria. Seems it’s a bit bleak of late.”

Cinnamon took a moment to let that sink in. Not being able to see his eyes, it was hard to guess what he was thinking.

“See the way I look at it, you’re either incredibly brave for being so forward with information like that, or incredibly stupid. But something about you doesn’t scream moron to me. I like you, kid. So I’ll believe you on this. That, and the customised Type 17 suit of course. I’ll even keep quiet about this for you since I’m such a gentlecolt.”

What?

“Type....17.... suit?”

“Your armour, kid. That foil wrapped so carefully around the bodies of you and your sexy little marefriend there. The shit that’s able to make a putz from a cave like you pass for competent in a firefight. It’s type 17. They started issuing it to pegasus troops in this area shortly before you claim your tribe got locked away like old shoes in a closet. ‘Cept yours is customised. I can see the fuckin’ magic from here. Hers ain’t, but yours is.”

We took a moment to look at each others’ armour. I swear they looked the same.

Looking back at Cinnamon, I noticed he’d gotten up and started walking around, surveying my gear. I wasn’t really comfortable with this, but guest rules...

“Flex your wings.”

“What?”

“Luna, you kids deaf? Your wings. Extend them, bend them, move ’em for Celestia’s sake, you’re killing me here.”

I extended my wings as he asked, careful not to swipe anything from the surrounding tables.

Cinnamon looked me over, while Brightwing and I shot each other confused and awkward looks.

“Yeah, I can make this shit useful. But first you’ve got to make yourselves useful, y’hear? I got something that needs doing. You kids can do it for me. You help me? I’ll not only help customise and upgrade your gear, both yours and that of the spritely nymph here, and if you help me properly.... Well let’s just say there’s enough loot in it for you, me, and this whole little army you’ve got going on. Not to mention some very friendly ties to the wasteland....”

Something about the way he spoke unnerved me, but I shoved it down. Forget how he was talking, it was what he was saying that was so great!

“No-“ Brightwing started to say before I interjected.

“Deal.”

“Sir! Are you-” Brightwing was shocked and appalled at the speed with which I’d agreed to the unicorn’s proposal.

“We’ll do as you ask. Tell me what you want done, and it will be done.”

Cinnamon’s face lit up. “Poifect! Observe behind me the large steel door with all the hoofmarks on it where I have painfully kicked and screamed begging the door to open for me. Well it turns out the door’s an asshole, and won’t open no matter how nicely I ask or how violently I threaten it. However, as happenstance would have it I used to work for the stallion who has the key. He has the key, but I have the town. We’ve been deadlocked for some time. I’ll give you directions to him and even provide a way to get close to his person. I’ll even give you each a gift to do it with out of the goodness in my freakin’ heart. Then, all that’s left is for you to bring me his key and whatever’s left of his head. Then the real fun begins.”

Ironside: Level 2

Brightwing: Level 2

Chapter IV

Chapter IV

        We were on the road again. Brightwing trotted along a little further behind me than usual, and rather than her usual “quiet”, she was being downright silent. I cast a glance back at her, but her stoic nature hid anything I might have gleaned from that look. I stopped.

        “First Spear, you look troubled. Speak  your mind.”

        Brightwing just looked at her hooves and mumbled quietly. This mare was beginning to bother me.

        “Damn it Brightwing! Speak up!” I was being harsh again. The poor mare didn’t deserve all the abuse I’d heaped on her since we set out, but she took it without complaint. I’m still not sure if that was a good thing or not.

        My companion stuttered, tripping over her own tongue before stammering “I don’t trust him, sir, and I don’t think you should either. He’s clearly up to no good, and this mission you’ve accepted is either folly or just plain wrong.” Seeing my stunned expression, she hastily added “But it’s not my place to question orders, sir, I apologise, sir. I will follow where you lead, even if the mission is wrong. Even if this unicorn is slimier than the food back home.”

        I was at a loss for words. This was the longest sentence I think I had ever heard Brightwing say, and it was.... against me? Against what I’d chosen to do? I scowled. I didn’t think Cinnamon Sprocket was slimy. He seemed to be the only pony interested in helping us out here. He’d even given us expensive equipment! We were now sporting what Cinnamon had called “battle saddles”, mine secured a combat shotgun on each shoulder, and Brightwing’s had semi-automatic rifles. He’d given us ammunition aplenty too, and even trained us each to be able to use, reload, and maintain the weapons. As far as I was concerned, that was incredibly generous. Certainly not worthy of calling the poor unicorn slimy, even if he wasn’t around to hear the offense.

        “Well, I don’t want to hear any more badmouthing of Cinnamon Sprocket. He’s done well by us so far, and this should be over soon enough. Then we can get back to our mission.”

        Turning around and continuing walking, I thought back on what Cinnamon had asked us to do. It seemed easy enough. Go to an abandoned Ministry of Wartime Technology warehouse outside of Horsaw, meet a pony named Hoofschev, get his key whether we killed him or not, and then bring the key back to Cinnamon. When I’d made my report this morning, I’d left this mission out of the transmission. I really don’t think Commander Slaughter needed to know I was doing a hit job for a local until I brought back what Cinnamon had promised would be enough firearms to equip the Guard three times over.

        Horsaw was due north of Hoofsinki, and had apparently been a major city, one of the most important in the Unicraine region of Equestria. It had been the site of some of the Ministry of Wartime Technology’s main research facilities and manufacturing centers and even before the war it had apparently been a manufacturing hub. Cinnamon had told us to avoid the city itself and stick to the outlying buildings like the one we were heading to, but he hadn’t explained why. I aimed to find out once we arrived.

        With Horsaw only being a few miles north of Hoofsinki, I was left wondering why Cinnamon didn’t go himself to get this key. I got my answer within an hour of leaving the village. The roads were infested with raiders. I won’t bore you with the details, especially since we didn’t encounter that many of them and none of them had anything particularly interesting on them, but suffice to say they delayed our arrival outside of Horsaw until nightfall. Normally, we would have camped and waited out the night, but with our armour being so dark and us having the element of surprise, I wanted to take advantage of this so we could get the hell moving again. Before moving to the warehouse, I made a quick transmission to describe the journey and roads from Hoofsinki to Horsaw.

        The warehouse we were supposed to meet this Hoofschev at was as dilapidated as one could expect, but with all the work that had been done on it by its inhabitants, it looked sturdy and even a little fortified. Armed ponies stood guard. I counted maybe a dozen I could see. Definitely not ponies to tangle with. No battle-saddles, but they all had guns. Mostly revolvers in earth pony mouths, but I did count a couple of unicorns with heavier munitions. These guns found themselves trained on us. Apparently my “sneaking in” plan was already scrapped. Time for Plan B.

        Brightwing and I marched up to the gatehouse with practised military ease. I presented myself to the guard as a mercenary in the employ of Cinnamon Sprocket, come to see Hoofschev. The guard watched me lazily, as if deciding whether she should just have me shot there for her amusement until I mentioned Cinnamon. Suddenly she was alert.

        “Sprocket? Oh yeah, Hoofschev’ll want to see you. Go right on in.” She said slyly, as if she knew something we didn’t. In hindsight, she did and I was a fool not to have caught on. She waved one off the other earth ponies over with a hoof and he proceeded to take us inside the warehouse.

        The warehouse was just as ramshackle on the inside as it had been on the outside. The emblem of the Ministry of Wartime Technology was still painted on the walls, on every pried-open box and crate in the building, and even on the floor. It was too dark to see what was in the crates, if anything, but they were scattered the entire length of the building. We were led to the back offices of the building, where a large, gruff, balding earth pony sat behind a carved-up oak table that had probably been very fine once upon a time. The earth pony looked up at us.

        “Who is this? Who do you bring to disturb me in the night?!” He was very loud. “I told idiots not to bring me ponies at night! I should fucking kill all ponies now!” His broken, accented speech I couldn’t account for. It was unlike any accent I’d heard before or since.

        The guard spoke up before I could. “Excuse me, sir. These ponies approached the gate and mentioned your brother by name. We figured you’d want to see them.”

        Hoofschev’s expression lit up. “Cinnamon? You bring word of Cinnamon! Tell me. Tell me now! What in fuck are you doing here? Get out!!” This last part was addressed to the guard, who scurried out like his tail was on fire.

        “Cinnamon Sprocket would like the key. He’s sent us to retrieve it.”

        Hoofschev soured immediately. “I bet he wants key. Tell him I want bunker, and to see him fucked in ass. Then killed. Or other way, I don’t care.”

        This was already going poorly. His incredibly foul language was getting on my nerves, and his obstinacy was clear and problematic.

        “I’m afraid that’s not how it works. We’re to get the key and meet him back in Hoofsinki. I’d like the key, and I don’t want any problems.”

        Hoofschev was now on the verge of rage. Clearly he had a very very short fuse. “You come into my home, speak traitor name I kill ponies for saying, and threaten to steal from me?!” His face purpled, clashing strangely with his light brown coat and thinning white mane. He began banging his horseshoes on the big oak table. “I will bury him! And you too!” I could hear guards scrambling to respond to Hoofschev’s barking and raving.

I nodded to Brightwing, who moved to the door and jammed a nearby broom through the handles so the door couldn’t be opened from the outside of the office. Hoofschev was now screaming to the point of being unable to make coherent sentences, just strings of accented words with a “fuck” or “cunt” thrown in every couple words.

I yelled right into his face to try to make him hear me. “Give us the key NOW! I may just let you live!”

He screamed right back. “You think you kill me? Tiny pony is idiot! I will skin you and your fuck toy! But first I fuck her too! I have your corpse fucked! I have you nailed to warehouse! Body will make others learn manners!” I’d had enough. Threatening to kill me was one thing, threatening to rape the live then dead bodies of myself and Brightwing was something else entirely.

I aimed my battle-saddle and chomped the bit. A round flew from each of the two combat shotguns strapped to my back, converging to split his back left leg from his body. Screaming, he dropped, taking the table down with him. I noticed a glint falling from his jacket as he hit the ground. I grabbed for it, and sure enough it was the key! Well, it was a key. I assumed it was the right one because of how Hoofschev howled when I took it.

By now, the guards were pounding on the door, trying to break it down. When a bullet burst through the handle of the left-hand door, I knew we had to escape somehow. I looked around the room...... and of course there were no other doors. How had I planned this so poorly? Surveying the room carefully for a moment, clearing my mind of the terror that was so omnipresent in that moment, focusing out the yelling and pounding of the guards and the screaming of the maimed Hoofschev, I found my out.

I dropped to a seated position and positioned my torso and my battle-saddle so they pointed as close to directly up as possible, then lowered my head and fired a half-dozen rounds from each of my shotguns straight into the rusted, centuries-old sheet metal ceiling. Shards of steel went flying in all directions. Glancing about through squinted eyes, I noticed Hoofschev writhing on the ground trying to dodge every piece of metal coming at him very unsuccessfully, and Brightwing had dropped to her belly with her hooves and wings underneath her, leaving just a steel shell with a shapely rump sticking out of it.

Once I stopped firing, I looked up and saw exactly what I’d been hoping for. A more-or-less pony-sized hole in the ceiling with just a thin spider’s web of steel in place. I yelled for Brightwing to follow as I shot out through the hole, bursting through the steel cobweb in a scene that must have looked awesome. I started flying straight back in the direction of Hoofsinki with Brightwing in tow. The guards were firing wildly at us, mostly firing from their mouths (which was difficult enough to do) and clearly unused to shooting at aerial opponents. I heard Brightwing gasp in pain at one point, but she didn’t slow down. We flew off into the night, our errant task complete.

*#@#*

I awoke the next morning in the bunker. By all rights I should have been freezing. I wasn’t wearing my armour. I tried to piece together the previous night. We’d travelled to Horsaw, I’d blown a leg off Hoofschev, and we’d grabbed the key and made it out of there. Not stopping moving until we reached Hoofsinki, we’d galloped when our wings could take us no further. We were concerned that we were being pursued, and we had been correct to assume so. I would learn later that day from Cinnamon that the militia that tried to protect Hoofsinki shot and killed one of Hoofschev’s ponies who’d pursued us, scattering the rest.

We’d stripped off our armour and given it to Cinnamon for him to work on as he’d promised to while we slept. We had been so tired. But if I’d just collapsed in a heap on the concrete floor like I felt like I had... why wasn’t I freezing my feathers off? I got a better look around the room. Cinnamon was cursing to himself as he soldered his own hoof across the room.

Brightwing. She was asleep on top of me. She was very warm. Her left wing was draped over me, and I could see a jagged, light wound on her flank. I found myself unconsciously tracing it with the tip of my wing, thinking that this must have been why she yelped during our escape. I made a note to make sure she cleaned and dressed her injury. As I traced the wound, I saw Brightwing’s face screw up in pain. I pulled my wing back and pretended to be asleep.

Brightwing rolled to her hooves and stood up nonchalantly. “Good morning, sir.”

The jig was up, I suppose. I stood up as well, shooting up much faster than I expected to. Having been wearing armour constantly since leaving home, I overestimated the amount of strength I’d need to stand.

“Ah.... yes.... First Spear Brightwing.... um.... what in Dash’s name was that?”

She blinked at me. I’d never seen her without armour before. She was thinner than I’d expected. Not weak-looking, but a lithe, spring-like thinness. I suppose fit would have been a better word. “Cold room, sir. Makes more sense to conserve body heat. Practicality and field training, sir.”

Across the room, Cinnamon Sprocket began to laugh like a jackdaw, but didn’t say anything.

Brightwing trotted outside with a canteen in her mouth. She always washed alone. I moved to Cinnamon to see what the silver-tongued engineer was working on.

His horn was aglow, orange magic encasing a plate of wicked-looking steel he was fastening to a joint. His creepy goggles turned to me. I still, even this close, had no idea what his eyes looked like. I just knew they were boring into me, examining me in ways I didn’t feel were necessary.

“Hold still, kid. Need to check something, and even I thought it was creepy to measure your bodies as you slept. Just bad form.”

He levitated the wicked-looking steel contraption to my side, and compared how it fit on my wing.

“Damn it, too short!” He magically dismantled the whole thing and began reassembling it with longer struts and plates he magically brought over from another table, and tried it again.

“Haha! Perfect fit! See kid, this part’ll be bladed. I’ve been looking at your ‘17s while you slept, and thinking of all the most fun ways to make you into a genuine killing machine. Or at least look the part. Ever hear of the Talon Companies? Ah the fuck am I thinking of course you haven’t. Griffins, y’hear? Part lion, part eagle. Vicious. Before the Enclave hit the wasteland, they were the best and coincidentally the only way of securing aerial power in the wasteland. Anywho, they wore and I think still wear wingblades. Fuckin’ boss, kid.”

“Wingblades?”

“Just what it sounds like! It’s a fuckin’ blade on your wing. Just fly by a pony and rip ‘em to bacon. No need to shoot or stab or nothing. Super easy, super awesome.”

I nodded thoughtfully. It was an interesting idea, and certainly one that could prove combat-effective.... My nod turned to one of approval, and despite my training and discipline, I felt a smile spread across my face. I took back in that moment any ill I’d thought of this pony, other than his creepiness. He was alright. Looking over the modifications he’d made to my armour, and hearing the enthusiasm with which he talked lightened my spirits after the adventure we’d had the night before.

“See, I added another plate, thin, to the inside of the breastplate. Hold up a bit better, y’know? Ah, filly’s here. Good, you should hear this too. As I said, reinforced breastplate. I tried to tinker with the magic on your suit to see what it was about, but I didn’t get far. Somepony pretty good built this stuff. I mean, I only managed to get a hint of what it was. Tricky stuff. High-level defensive magic, but I can’t tell anything else about it.” His eyes narrowed. Or so I figured based on his eyebrows. “You don’t seem that impressed by this information, kid. Sheesh, I mean.... Luna’s frigid cunt, I’m a repairpony non pareil! If I can’t fix it or built it, it’s not scientifically possible.” I hinted that this wasn’t just exaggeration.

I stayed quiet, but Brightwing offered a question. “Non pa-what?”

“Non pareil. Family saying. I might explain it on the road.”

Now I needed to speak. “The road? You make it seem like you’re going to travel with us.”

Cinnamon beamed. “There’s that smart kid again! That’s exactly what I’m planning to do. See, since you fuckups didn’t kill my brother, and then led his goons here, I can’t stay. So..... You and I are going to open this armoury, and take all this shit to your base. Yeah, I’m such a fucking gentlecolt that I even waited for you to be awake to open the vault I’ve been camped out next to for the last year and a half.”

I began to become suspicious of him again. “So.... you’re going to just hand over this equipment? Assuming there’s any left in there? From what I’ve gleaned of life in the wasteland, that doesn’t add up.”

Cinnamon looked insulted. “And last I checked, when somepony says ‘bring me his head on a fuckin’ plate’, you don’t blow ‘his’ leg off and leave him very much alive and really pissed at his little brother who sent incompetent mercs to ice him.”

I couldn’t help but squirm. I still to this day don’t know what possessed me to spare Hoofschev that day. Uprooting Cinnamon Sprocket would prove to be only the first repercussion of that bizarre act of mercy.

There really was no other way around it, though. Doesn’t mean I wanted to dwell on it. I nodded my head toward the vault door.

“Oh yeah! The armoury.... Let’s see what got locked away in here. With my luck, it’ll be the place the Ministry kept all their fucking cleaning bots.” He levitated the key into the keyhole in the center of the door and turned it. The rusted bolts released and shot back. For about a foot. Cinnamon cursed horrible profanities that would have offended myself and Brightwing if we’d worshipped Celestia. Kicking the door angrily, the unicorn unintentionally shocked the bolts to movement again and the heavy steel plates that made up the door shot back into the walls.

“....or not....” Cinnamon’s voice was hushed as he surveyed the heaps of weapons and ammunition that filled the room. There were so many weapons, and I didn’t even know what some of them were. There were guns of myriad types, there were flamethrowers and rocket launchers. Metal apples in different colours, landmines, sticky bombs, and other explosives. It was quite a haul. Father should be very pleased with me. But how could we move all of this? We’d need at least a dozen ponies and Dash’s divine approval to be able to haul all this loot back to Stalliongrad.

“So what’re we going to take with us?” I was already planning what to leave behind.

Cinnamon scoffed. “Celestia you’re either cheap or lazy, kid. We’re taking everything.”

I looked at him, dumbfounded.

“You don’t think I really didn’t plan for this, did you? I’ve got a car.” I had no fucking idea what that was supposed to be, and it bothered me that he seemed to expect me to know. Cinnamon sighed at our blank expressions. “Follow me outside.”

Leaving the bunker, he magically levitated a tarp and a heap of garbage off of a large form parked behind the bunker. It was a strange vehicle, with a cow catcher on the front and a podium at the front, and the smashed remains of what must have been glass tubes on the back half of it on top of a large block of machinery. It had two large wheel on the sides and one small one centered at the back.

“May I present..... this heap of shit. It’s been in the family for centuries. It’s not very fast. Or useful. But it beats walkin’. I feel like with some modifications I could rig it up to carry your prizes for you while at the same time deliverin’ me to what had damned well better be safety for me. It should just take an hour, so run along and try on your 17s while I fix this junker up a bit.”

“What.... is it exactly?”

“Used to be a cider press. All magically-powered. Unicorn exclusive. I just use it to ride around sometimes when I’m feelin’ too fuckin’ lazy to walk somewhere. Just sit back, use your horn, occasionally kick the engine block to get it running again, and before you know it you’ve reached wherever it is you’ve got a deathwish to go to.”

Rather than listen to the unicorn prattle on about his contraption any longer, Brightwing and I headed back inside to investigate our armour. Helping each other dress (Quiet you. Armour’s easier to put on with help.) we both liked what we saw. The armour felt lighter, despite having been reinforced. He’d even washed the quilted barding we wore underneath. I’d have to thank him for that. The wingblades were nothing short of, to use the sacred word, awesome. I couldn’t wait to give them a try. There was a tingly feeling that Brightwing reported to me and that I noticed too. I’d have to ask Cinnamon if he’d enchanted the suits. The wingblades had been painted to match the rest of our armour, and he’d even cleaned and maintained our battle saddles for us. Very well done. I was very impressed with the unicorn’s workmanship. I reported to Commander Slaughter that were were returning with supplies and information.

*#@#*

True to his word, Cinnamon Sprocket finished the modifications within the hour. We spent most of that morning loading the vehicle, and securing the weapons and crates of junk that Cinnamon insisted we bring with us. “I’ll need to set up a new workplace, and I can’t really do that if I don’t have any of my assorted wasteland trash, now can I?”

The vehicle was heavily laden with junk, weapons, and assorted belongings of Cinnamon’s. He’d had to tear out much of the machinery on the back to be able to fit everything, but somehow it all worked, despite looking mountainous and precarious. It moved very slowly when powered by his magic, but just fast enough that it justified not hauling boxes individually. Brightwing and I took position on either side of the vehicle and were able to leisurely walk beside it as it moved at full speed.

It was a bright, sunny day out. Hot, but not so hot that it made the march uncomfortable in armour. The roads were shockingly clear again. Though I suppose the sight of two heavy cavalry flanking a lumbering machine with a unicorn on it would have given any Raiders a second thought anyways. We got to talking with Cinnamon.

“So you said this machine’s been in your family for centuries? How does that work?”

Cinnamon laughed. “Well, before the war my family was basically in snake oil sales.” We didn’t laugh like he wanted to. “I’m sayin’ we were basically scammers. My insert a bunch of greats here grandfather and his brother travelled around with this machine connin’ ponies out of their bits with shitty imitation cider. Called it the Super Speedy Squeezy Drinkin’ 6000 or some shit I don’t remember. Anywho, they lived a fun life. Travelled from town to town, makin’ money and havin’ others pay for their accommodations and beddin’ mares wherever they went. Spawned a lot of bastards, and I mean that in a literal sense, kids. Eventually one of them... Flim. The one with the moustache. Er shit I think that was Flam. Fuck it. One of them, either the one with the moustache or the one without a moustache pussed out and grew some fatherly responsibility. The twins settled in Hoofington and got jobs as salesponies for some firm or other, though the one who didn’t pussy out did most of the travellin’ and bonin’. When the bombs fell, the one who pussed out was able to sneak himself and I think a couple of his foals into one of the stables before it closed. Other one was presumed lost. When our family emerged again, we were surprised when one of us made it to his pre-war home and found this piece of shit still workin’. We picked up the old family business and sold irradiated water to wastelanders. With the plants returnin’ though, we had to find new work. Clean water was everywhere, so ponies didn’t need our crap. This was all long before I was born, mind you. We were settled into some low-end work in Horsaw when my brother dispatched me to Hoofsinki. Figured that with my repair knowledge I’d be able to fuck around with the door and get it open. Cocksucker never told me he had the key. He just hoped the journey would kill me. Well, I showed HIM not to mess with Cinnamon J. Sprocket! Or at least, you were supposed to show him me showin’ him not to mess with Cinnamon J. Sprocket. And now I’m here. That’s really everything. Not that interesting, if you ask me. But the repairpony stuff really is what I do.”

Seeing him in the light now, I was able to get a glimpse of his cutie mark. It was a wrench twisting the lid from a glass bottle. What in Dash’s name was that supposed to mean? I didn’t ask. I probably didn’t want to know, and I really didn’t feel like listening to him go on about it.

Instead, I suffered his barrage of questions about our unit, our command structure, our tunnel network, food sources, Stalliongrad, and answered precious few of them. Mostly I fed him the tired “affiliated with the Ministry, not at liberty” line until he started saying it with me as I responded to his questions. It was hard to tell at that point whether he was still asking just to hear that line so he could chime in with it as I said it just to bother me. Cinnamon was definitely a “small doses” pony.

“Oh, before I forget, you guys are big into Ministry of awesome history, right? With Rainbow Sprint and that sort of thing?”

“Rainbow Dash, and yes.” I bristled.

“Well you know that orb you brought in?”

“The one we didn’t tell you about and kept hidden in our saddlebags? Yes.”

“Well I stole it and took a look at it. I’m a unicorn, in case you hadn’t noticed, so I used my magic to view the memory inside.”

Wait, memory? “Explain. What is the orb?”

Cinnamon looked nonchalant about it. “It’s a memory orb. Ponies used to be able to have memories extracted and stored in these things. Some ponies nowadays collect ‘em. You guys, in the care of any other pony, would be forever unable to view this precious piece of history that you will undoubtedly want to see. However I, the great Cinnamon J. Sprocket, have pioneered a new arcane technology that might, assuming I ever get it field-tested, allow non-unicorns to view memory orbs. And let’s just say that, uh, you’ll want to get this glimpse inside the lively mind of Rainbow Dash herself....”

Wait. We’d been carrying around a piece of Rainbow Dash’s memory? My knees felt weak at the thought of it, and I saw Brightwing visibly stiffen. I played it cool, calling the whole thing “interesting”, and asking him to remind us about that when we arrived. I could see Stalliongrad’s walls rising in the distance.

It only took a short time to reach the walls themselves, and I could hardly believe it. I noticed banners on the gates from a thousand feet away. From a few hundred feet, I could see figures patrolling the tops of the intact parts of the walls, and from the base of the gates I recognised our unit’s insignia on the banners – A Pony’s head with pegasus wings sprouting from either side, and with a sword above and another below the head, which carried an unrolled scroll in its mouth bearing the word “Twilight” – and received a stiff salute and hello from the Guardsponies on top of the walls. They hollered down to ponies on the inside, who opened the gates and allowed us entry into the city.

Ironside: Level 3

-Level up!

-New perk: Precision shot: When aiming, you now have a 10% better chance to hit limbs, or other specific targets on a pony’s body.

-New equipment: Modified Type 17 Steel Armour; Combat shotgun battle saddle

Brightwing: Level 3

-Level up!

-New Perk: Rapid reload: Brightwing now reloads her battle-saddle, and any other firearms she happens to be using, 25% faster.

-New equipment: Modified Type 17 Steel Armour; Semi-automatic rifle battle saddle

Chapter V

Chapter V

Hey folks! Wondering if you want me to include things like character info like level up/perks. Is that something you’d like to see from this story? Leave a comment explaining your thoughts. I’d love to hear them! And now for something completely different....

        This was.... so much more than surprising. Brightwing and I were supposed to be the only ones of our kind on the surface. Suddenly it seemed like the whole unit was aboveground. See, I lied to you about our numbers earlier when I told you how depleted we were. By military standards, we were. By Wasteland standards we were pretty significant. It’s true, we only had two hundred warriors. But we also had a hundred and fifty dedicated archivists, scribes and researchers of a sort. They did all the prissy work, the stuff you wouldn’t send battle-hardened pegasus brutes to do. Intricate stuff and the like. As well, there were foals. We didn’t could a foal as part of the population, or indeed even as a pony until they survived our training long enough to get their cutie mark. I estimated we had maybe a hundred head of foals at that time, so in total we were around five to six hundred living ponies, though our caste system left us with an official population of our just over two hundred warriors.

        The look on your face! I told you wastelanders wouldn’t get it. It’s a rough culture. I know Wastelanders like to play hot shit and act like they’ve got tough hides from living in the wastes, but we showed them up every time. Couldn’t really help it. Anyhow, you probably want to get back to what I found in the city upon my heroic return...

        The streets were mostly cleared. The bones had been taken away, to where I didn’t know or really want to know. Barricades had been set up every block along the streets, constructed from heaps of random junk that held together more or less solidly. Twilight Guardsponies stood behind some of the barricades, though we were not near numerous enough to occupy even half of them. Everypony we passed saluted us, though I noticed they were all squinting. They must not be used to the sun yet. Cinnamon was relishing the attention. Something I hadn’t expected was the number of rag-clad ponies rushing about, avoiding the glances of the Guardsponies. There were hundreds. Probably more of them than there were of us. I made a note to ask the Commander about that.

        We proceeded to the Ministry of Awesome hub, noticing the archivists scrambling about rushing through various technological and construction tasks. We warriors were the muscle behind building projects, but the archivists were the ones who engineered everything, who designed everything, and who I hoped would take Cinnamon in to keep him out of my mane.

        Commander Slaughter met us at the gates to the hub compound. Despite the tower of weapons, he squinted at us passively, not revealing any emotion other than what I hinted might be relief I was back. Or it could be relief at the weapons. With such a cold pony it was hard to tell.

        We stopped just outside the gates, with the Commander’s party waiting just inside. We saluted them and they saluted us. There was some tension in the air I couldn’t place my hoof on. I finally met my father’s steely gaze. “I’ve returned, with skilled labour and plenty of munitions.” I awaited the praise that was due.

        Nonchalantly, Commander Slaughter simply nickered and commented “I noticed. You were, however, unable to complete your mission, instead getting distracted by shiny things like some blasted unicorn. No offense intended to your.... friend here.” Cinnamon waved it off as if to say that no offense had been taken. My father continued. “So I will call this even. Report to the second floor of the Ministry hub. You and First Spear Brightwing have new quarters here. It’s the new officers’ quarters. Your friend I’ll take with me. He’ll be put to the question and then put to use.” His eyes narrowed. “Your armour’s different, son. So’s your mare’s. Explain.” My mare?

        It was all I could do not to stumble over my own lips. I wasn’t used to being grilled like this, especially since I thought I’d done well. “He modified them.” I squeaked with a shameful lack of dignity, pointing a hoof at Cinnamon. Slaughter turned to the unicorn.

        “You are?”

        Cinnamon beamed at the attention. I was starting to feel like he was neglected in the past, given how much he loved the spotlight. Either that or he was just an attention whore. Either was possible.

        “Cinnamon J. Sprocket, repairpony non pareil and inventor par excellance.” The way he spoke Prench would make anypony from Prance cringe like they’d witnessed a murder.

        “Interesting. I’d like you to present to me schematics for these modifications, and I’d like to see them put into large-scale production. We have a couple hundred ponies under arms and hundreds more suits of unoccupied armour. Should you pass our screening, work like this could earn you a promising place amongst our archivists. Dismissed, all of you.”

        Cinnamon bounded off with the Commander while Brightwing accompanied me to the officers’ quarters. I never did get to ask the Commander about the outsider-looking ponies. I’d do it later. We headed to the second floor, just as we’d been instructed. Ponies we passed in the hallways of closed, repaired doors saluted while within sight but giggled as we passed. Sure enough, it was my father’s doing. We arrived at a room that had formerly been an office but was now a bunkroom with a single plaque on the wall next to the door handle. I about choked when I saw it.

Captain Ironside – First Spear Brightwing

        That.... how dare he! What was he thinking?! More importantly, why wasn’t Brightwing at all concerned? She just opened the door and walked in, not at all phased by the ONE BED in the room as she began arranging her things on one of the two tables in the room. She glanced back at me as I stood rooted to the floor in the doorway.

        “...are you coming in, sir? Welcome home? Make yourself comfortable?”

        I just dropped my bags and battle saddle on the empty table and galloped off. I could hear Brightwing behind me, yelling for me to stop. “I need to tell you someth-” I left her behind as I ran to my father’s office, rage plain on my face.

        Reaching the office that had formerly been Rainbow Dash’s, I made a biiiiiiiiiig mistake. I stopped, turned around, and bucked the doors damn near off their hinges and barrelled into the room. My father, Cinnamon, and my father’s assistants (since when had he allowed those?) looked up in shock and horror. I became aware of Brightwing sliding into the room behind me.

        “WHAT. THE. BUCK?”

        My father placed his hooves together in front of him and leaned threateningly over Rainbow Dash’s desk. “Pick your next words carefully, son. What could possibly have you so bothered?”

        “I demand a second bed. A second room if possible. What in Dash’s coloured mane is the big idea? You think you’re being funny? Commander Fucking Comedy? It’s like you arrange all this shit to embarrass me!”

        His deadpan response caught me totally off-guard, and made me drop to my haunches in shock.

        “That’s because it all was arranged. You’re not a stupid kid, you’re just.... oblivious I suppose. There was an arrangement made years ago with Brightwing’s family. She’s to be-”

        “I was going to tell him on my own terms, Commander! He doesn’t know...” Brightwing blurted, then shrank away as the room’s attention focused on her.

        “Clearly. Well you’ve lost that chance, Brightwing. He learns now and on my terms.” Turning back to me, he added “Brightwing’s engaged. To you. It was arranged years ago, when the two of you got your cutie marks. The pretty little idiot was supposed to have told you by now. As it is, your... scene here has cost you. You are confined to a week’s time in your quarters. Both of you. Together. I’ll have meals brought to you. Work this shit out, I don’t have time for it. I have a city to build, an army to grow, and a war to fight. Get out.”

        I stood slowly, and slid out of the room in shame and confusion. In the hallway, Brightwing shoved me against a wall. She put her face nose-to-nose with mine before hissing “I’m ashamedof you” and storming off ahead of me.

        When I had slunk to our quarters, Brightwing had dumped her armour on her table and was lying on the bed with her back to me, refusing to admit I had entered the room. I stripped off my own armour and curled up under my own table.

*#@#*

        He’d entered the room. Fuck him. She thought, staying on the bed and not moving. She couldn’t believe what he’d done! Ungrateful, brash, stupid. He was a failure, plain and simple. But he’s my failure....

*#@#*

        I couldn’t even think. I felt hurt, betrayed, and ashamed because I knew Brightwing must have been feeling the same way. Only I was the one who’d hurt her. Blissfully, there was an interruption as the door swung open, and there were two Guardsponies carrying a cot about the same height as the bed, as well as my father. While the ponies set up the cot on the left-hand side of the door’s wall, the Commander looked from Brightwing, who’d looked up, to myself, who’d also looked up.

        “Ahhhhhh, marital bliss. You two look like you’re getting along.” He grinned with a sly, somewhat sadistic grin I wanted to smack off of him. “Son, you remember what I told you about ancient pegasus history, right?” I nodded hesitantly, not catching onto what he was referring to. “Ancient pegasus warriors would drink mare’s milk. Have you had any?” I couldn’t believe him! Brightwing turned away, shamed, and I couldn’t think of anything to do but yell “BY DASH, DAD! FUCK OFF!” as he laughed hysterically at his own cruelty. He and the Guardsponies slipped away, slamming the door as they left.

*#@#*

        The first day and a half passed in total silence. I lay on my cot with my back facing Brightwing, who lay on the bed with her back facing me. I lapsed in and out of sleep. I awoke facing Brightwing, who had been staring at me. She turned red and flipped to her other side, flapping her exposed wing at me in indignation.

        My mouth opened, then closed again. I finally opened my mouth again to ask what had been on my mind in a quiet voice.

        “....why didn’t you tell me?”

        She sighed, not turning to face me. “I thought it would have been obvious. I mean, after the Commander had summoned you to collect a squad, he summoned me to make sure I got included in your unit. I was to stalk you and find an opportunity to prove myself useful to you. I felt like I’d succeeded, but now look at us.” I could hear her cracking up. “Now it’s clear I failed. I’m no use to you.”

        That got me up. I crossed the room to lay a hoof on her shoulder. She was shaking with sobs.

        “That’s not true at all. You’ve been more use than I have so far. If you hadn’t stepped in, Snowball would have chewed my damned face off.” I shuddered at the memory.

        Brightwing continued to sob. “I... guess... so...”

        “...and you saved my ass with those Raider ponies when my sword got stuck. And... well you’ve really done everything. I’m just the one telling you to do stuff. And you haven’t failed in any of those things.” She seemed to brighten up a bit at that, and even turned around to face me. I’ll admit, she was even cuter when her face was red and puffy from crying.

        I leaned in and gave her a hug. I thought it would cheer her up more, but it just set her crying again. Women. She flipped back over and sobbed into her pillow as I resigned myself to my own cot to sulk.

*#@#*

        Our meals came and went, and we ate in silence. By the third day, we actually started eating together on the floor between the beds. We were actually eating surface food to, which was a welcome surprise. I expected, and I imagine Brightwing did too, to come back to eat more cave fungus and bat meat. Instead, it was an assortment of wasteland wildlife, farm-grown vegetables, and eerily-preserved pre-war food.

        “It’s good.” Brightwing commented. I just nodded and mumbled my agreement. This was going to be a loooooong week. We finished our meals, and while I went back to my bed to wait out this ponderously long sentence, Brightwing went to work on her armour, scrubbing and oiling the already clean surfaces. When she finished, I was surprised to see her head over to my armour and polish that too. While she worked, some of the rag-clad ponies appeared at the door like always to take away the remains of our meals.

        I thought over our adventure in the Wasteland, all the strangeness we’d seen, the ponies we’d killed or maimed. I felt a pang of guilt over having not killed Hoofschev. I probably ruined his life, and I definitely ruined Cinnamon’s... I didn’t think long before I was back asleep.

*#@#*

        I awoke on the other side of the room, but still in my own bed. I became acutely aware of Brightwing nestled right up against my back, her muzzle resting on my neck. Where before I probably would have jumped up in a huff and demanded to know what was going on..... I guess I just accepted it. Instead, I tried to look at the situation in ways I hadn’t before.

        I noticed how much I enjoyed the warmth of another body pressed so close. I noticed how she almost snored in a quietest, cutest way when she exhaled. I noticed how soft and fluffy her mane was. It was actually kind of nice. I could get used to this. I sighed with contentment.

        “Thinking of causing another scene?” Brightwing whispered into my ear.

        I grinned, flipped over to face her, and said “No.”

        She giggled and snuggled closer. Pushing her away, I mentioned there was something I needed to do first. Confused, she watched as I got up, knocked on the door for the guard to open it, and shoved the cot out into the hallway before closing the door again.

        She giggled again as I climbed into the bed and embraced her again. I apologised. “Sorry about all this.”

        She sighed into me. “No, I’m the one at fault.” We fell asleep.

*#@#*

        The next morning, only the fourth day, we were informed by our guard that the Commander wished to see the both of us in his office. We donned our armour and swords and headed up. An archivist mare winked at us from the desk formerly occupied by Rainbow Dash’s secretary as she sorted paperwork.

        Entering the office, we saw Commander Slaughter conversing with a strangely familiar pony in an archivist’s robe. Seeing us, he shooed the pony away. Cinnamon grinned at us from beneath his goggles as he trotted off, punching me in the shoulder as he passed. Watching him exit the room and magically close the doors behind him, we marched up to Rainbow’s desk and saluted the Commander.

        “Enough of that. So, I peeked in on you two this morning. I feel like your problems have been solved. Is this the case?”

        I lowered my head somewhat. “Yes, sir.”

        “Good. Hope you left her sore and begging!” He laughed and winked. I turned red and stammered.

        Brightwing, true to form, saved my ass again. “I can hardly walk, sir.” She lied.

        That seemed to satisfy my father, who belted out the loudest laughter I’d heard in some time. “Well welcome to the family, First Spear Brightwing.”

        “Uh, so what’s with all the filthy and dishevelled ponies all over the place?” I blurted, desperate for a topic change.

        Commander Slaughter eyed me oddly. “What do you think they are, son?”

        I had no idea, and my silence seemed to say so.

        He sighed. “They’re slaves. We don’t have enough ponies to do all the work that needs to be done in restoring and fortifying Stalliongrad, so I’ve been forging alliances with local powers to gain slaves and technology. Something you weren’t supposed to do. You were supposed to scout. Go, look, report back. But you meddled. Luckily for you it worked out well. This unicorn you’ve brought back is proving quite useful. His technological expertise is coming in quite handy.”

        Slaves? Okay then, moment of truth. I’ll have to investigate these slave quarters and even the slaves themselves so that I can make a judgement call.

        “Our orders in the meantime?”

        Slaughter looked back up from his paperwork. “I was wondering why you were still here.” He said cheekily. “You’ve just been back from the first mission we’ve set about doing, and you lost a pony while you were at it. Take a few more days of rest. Wander the town, enjoy the scenery. Enjoy your mare. Whatever you want, really.” His expression turned serious. “Keep in mind that the tribals in the park are posing difficulty. They’re stubborn, and refusing to budge. Park’s not safe, but we’ve got them surrounded and are hoping to starve them out. Everything else within the city walls should be secure. Dismissed.”

        We saluted him and left, heading back to our room. I set my stuff up on my table as Brightwing had done, and donned my battle saddle. She followed my lead. I wanted to explore the city somewhat, and with the possibility of danger, I wanted to be prepared.

        Leaving our quarters (it was already weird thinking “our”), we wandered into the streets. I passed Guardsponies, archivists, slaves, and assorted outsiders trying to trade with us and having no luck. All the outsiders were being directed to the Ministry hub for detention and questioning.

        Now I realise this must all sound very draconian, and it was. However we had just hit the surface, and we needed to establish ourselves. That meant gathering information, and these wasteland types were prone to demanding caps for information and we were... short on funds.

        I was impressed with what the archivists had been able to do with the place. Some of the more intact buildings were being repaired with pieces of the collapsed buildings surrounding them. The less intact buildings were being entirely disassembled and the pieces sorted in the city square before being shipped off to other parts of the city under our control to be used in construction. Some of the stacks of bricks were almost six ponies tall! Unicorn slaves and our own pegasus warriors were doing all the high lifting, while earth ponies, the majority of the slave population it seemed, did all the heavy lifting.

        I approached one of the slaves, who cowered when I approached, seeing the captain’s markings on my shoulder pauldrons. I beckoned him up. “I just want to talk. Take a moment’s rest to answer my questions please.”

        He was still wary, but let me lead him over to a small stack of lumber that we leaned against while we talked.

        “Tell me about the conditions of the slave areas.” “Um, they’re fine.” “You don’t sound very certain.” “No really, they’re.... nice.” “Nice?” “Well, better than most slave pens I’ve been in. Yours are bigger and cleaner.” “And the food?” “Oh, there’s not much of that.” “...don’t you ask for more if the food’s inadequate?” he seemed shocked at the idea. “Are you kidding? We’d be beat to death if we did that. You guys are rough as shit.”

        “Well if any slaves are beaten to death for requesting more food, I will hear of it and I will not be impressed. If somepony’s trying to starve you again, let them know that Captain Ironside will be looking into it.” The slave looked relieved, bent to kiss my hooves and then trotted back off to work.

        I asked one of the nearby Guardsponies where I could find the slaves’ quarters. He chuckled a bit and said something about a butterfly building down the road from the Ministry of Awesome hub. Heading there, the irony was heavy. We’d housed the slaves in a Ministry of Kindness hospital.

        Entering the building, a thick heavy smell attacked us. It took a second to recognise the smell: it was that of pony waste and rot. Sure enough, examining the slaves’ living areas was shocking. We entered the closest room to the lobby. Brightwing gasped. The hospital room had been gutted, and pony waste was already knee-deep along the walls, and covered the floor as well. Slaves were left to sleep wherever they fell on the thick blanket of their own shit. Some of the ponies lying in the mess were already clearly dead and decomposing, with nopony having moved to remove them. Starved-looking ponies stared at me with contempt. I couldn’t blame them. The sight infuriated me.

        Brightwing and I checked the other rooms, and sure enough it was more of the same. I couldn’t believe this! Slavery was one thing, but this was just degrading. I marched to the Commander’s office again. We waited patiently in line, with other petitioners keeping their distance. I didn’t know why. When our time came to see the Commander, we walked in and planted ourselves right in front of his desk. He looked up, wrinkled his nose, and sighed.

        “What’s the matter now? Change your mind? Think mares are icky again?”

        “No, this is important. Have you seen the conditions of the slave quarters?”

        He looked offended. “I’m the Commander! Why would I do such a thing?”

        “Because you command them too. They’re living in their own filth. Their dead aren’t even being removed from their quarters. It’s disgusting and unnecessary.”

        He looked bored. “Son, they’re slaves. They live and die to better our lives and do the shitty jobs we can’t spare the manpower for. They die all the time. You don’t seem to be cut out for this.”

        “Excuse me? With all due respect, sir... You don’t seem cut out for the logistics of all this. Workers work better when they’re healthy and happy. These ponies are neither. I don’t disapprove of slavery, but I do think the slaves deserve proper treatment. And since they’re in a hospital, don’t you think some medical care would help them? Rebuilding the city, fortifying it.... it’s a huge job. I can see that. I see the stress you’re under with this. Having the slaves be healthy, well-fed, and looking forward to returning to clean and comfortable quarters at the end of the day would make your job a lot easier, as they’ll be much more willing to do theirs.”

        I was so dead. It all just spilled out as a torrent, and I could see him getting more and more upset with every word.... until I hit that last sentence. His expression softened. Well, comparatively. He still looked like he was cast of iron, but he seemed to get it. He grunted and offered an “I’ll see what I can do.” Before ushering us out.

        We took to wandering Stalliongrad again, surveying the work that was being done. I noticed archivists scrambling about with amplifiers, flying up and securing them to the tops of the remaining telephone poles and on occasion raising a new one from a felled tree to put one on almost every block we occupied. Where did they get all this sound equipment? It dawned on me that Stalliongrad had been a city of the arts. There must have been musical facilities here somewhere. I would really have to get a better sense of the layout of the city and what it contained...

        I heard a crackling and squawking from the poles, and everypony stopped to cover their ears from the screech that they emitted.

        “Attention....*crack*...everypony..... *bzzzzzzt* .... testing auditory command system.... This is your Commander, Commander Slaughter speaking. New regulations are as follows: Guards will systematically receive firearms from recently acquired shipments by Spear. Naturally, this will start with First Spear of Century One. Archivists will retrieve the ponies in question as their time for rearmament comes to pass. Good luck, and enjoy the new toys. As well, slaves are no longer to be physically disciplined unless in case of rebelliousness. The slave quarters are to be cleaned and improved. Any slaves who would like to volunteer for these duties should report to their overseer, who will send your names and designations on to me. Due to the.... harsh nature of such work, those volunteers will be provided with double rations for the duration of the task, and clean clothes upon its completion. The well-being of everypony under my command is my top priority. Slaughter out.”

        Everypony just stopped during the broadcast, and afterwards the guards looked stunned and the slaves looked overjoyed. Immediately, I saw slaves start cautiously approaching Guards asking to be volunteered for the task. Brightwing nudged my shoulder. Turning to face her, she said “I’m proud of you” and beamed at me. That.... was almost enough to make the whole thing worthwhile.

        We spent the next few days getting some much-needed relaxation in. We explored the city, we learned where things were, we visited some of the shops that travelling merchants had set up on the main boulevard. We even visited the library the archivists were setting up in an old pre-war library that had long since been stripped of books. Most of the books went over our heads, but I flipped through a book on Wasteland history that interested me (And I thought could prove useful) while Brightwing surprised me by picking up a book on lockpicking.

        By the time our relaxation period had ended, Brightwing and I found ourselves in high spirits, and spending much of our time in our own quarters. No, not what you think. We just spent a lot of time talking is all. Talking and maintaining our weapons and armour. Though we did sleep a fair amount too. Probably more than we really needed to. But, our scheduled time was over. On the morning of the third day after we’d been allowed out of our room, only about a week after returning to the city, we were awoken by summons for duty.

Ironside: Level 3

New Perk: Engaged: If Brightwing is in trouble, you gain +30 AP

Brightwing: Level 3

New Perk: Engaged: If Ironside is in trouble, you gain +30 AP

Chapter VI

Previous chapters have been updated with gameplay information for those that wanted it. No full stats yet, though I may make those up for release too if that's what's wanted. Enjoy!

Chapter VI

        I trudged through the streets of Stalliongrad, heading for my objective. Head down, I was seething. Brightwing had a wing around my neck as we walked, trying to reassure me. It wasn’t working.

        Oh, I suppose I’m missing something aren’t I? Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves.... It started when we were summoned to the Commander’s office once our “break” had ended.

*#@#*

        “Captain Ironside, reporting.”

        “First Spear Brightwing, reporting.”

        Slaughter smiled. “At ease, kids. Take a seat.”

        We sat.

        “As I’m sure you’re well aware, we’ve found ourselves in a state of war. I’m sending you two to the front lines.”

        That was new. “W-with who?”

        Slaughter’s eyes narrowed. “With the Wasteland, of course. They declared a state of hostility when they killed one of our own, or have you so quickly forgotten that your unit was a party of three?”

        “With respect, sir, they were just Raiders. They don’t speak or act for the locals.”

        Slaughter was clearly unhappy at being second-guessed.  “Son, they are the locals. I’m giving you command of a unit. You’re to take a local village and raise our banner there.” Now that was promising! My eyes must have lit up, because he smirked.

        “So how many Spears will I get? What toys am I bringing with?” My excitement got the better of me.

        “None and whatever your troops bring with them.” Slaughter looked satisfied with himself as I deflated.

        “No Spears? How am I commanding troops if I have no Spears?”

        Slaughter’s smirk grew as he gave me directions to a building in town where my troops were staying.

        “First Spear.” Brightwing stood up stiff and tall at the mention of her name by the Commander. “You’re to act as the Captain’s aide and steward. Stick to his side, and help him through his missions. Dismissed, both of you.”

        We saluted and left the office, following his secretary’s directions through the winding streets. We passed slaves, many of whom bowed respectfully to me, and Guardsponies saluting us. We also passed outsiders with contracts with us, who stared with fascination at the two officers walking the streets. I didn’t notice any of them. I was confused, and I was angry. I didn’t understand what my father was playing.

        Arriving at the building in question, I noticed it was a two-story brick building, mostly intact, with one intact window on the second floor. All the other windows were boarded up. As we approached the building, the second floor window exploded outwards, and a pony hit the ground, to much laughter from inside the building. The pony got up, shook the shattered glass from his coat, mane, and fur-and-leather armour, and ran back in through the front door.

        I glanced at Brightwing, who returned a look of dismay. Reaching the door, I pushed it open.

        Inside were about twenty ponies, all wearing that filthy fur and leather armour except three clad in a strange armour made of tiny, interlocking steel rings. Metal helmets were littered everywhere. Most of the ponies were standing around in a circle yelling and cheering. Approaching, we butted our way into the circle to see two of the ponies in the center. One of them, a purple unicorn with a yellow mane and a cutie mark of several pre-war bit coins, was giving an earth pony the beating of his life. The earth pony looked like he wasn’t even conscious anymore, just lying there getting stomped on. His blue coat was spattered with red, and his white mane was matted to his head with sweat and blood. Even his beard was bloodied.

        I flying-tackled the unicorn mare stomping on his face as Brightwing hauled him outside of the circle.

        “Hey! The fuck do you think you’re doing?!” the unicorn yelled, as her friends were yelling similar statements of outrage.

        “What’s the meaning of this? This is madness!”

        The unicorn spat blood. It was conduct rather unbecoming a pretty mare. “It was him calling my mother a whore is what it was..” She spat blood again. “You pegasi like to act like you’re all high and mighty, but you’d beat a bitch for talkin’ shit about your mum too.”

        I let her up, and Brightwing shook her head at me. The earth pony hadn’t made it. Looking closely, I could see why. His forehead had caved in from the force of the unicorn’s hooves.

        “Good show! That’s some damned entertainment right there!” a cheerful voice laughed from the back of the room. The other ponies parted, and a pony a slightly darker grey than me with a slightly darker brown mane stepped forward. He was wearing that ring-armour some of the others were. He met me in a hoofshake. “Hey there! You must be the junior officer who’s been placed in command. I’m Einarr, and I’m in command of this here unit. Ragnar’s Rangers, we’re called. Named after an ancestor of mine who formed this warband. I’ll take your orders, but never forget that these ponies are loyal to me, not to you. If you order something that I can’t allow my ponies to do, it ain’t getting done.”

        I was.... surprised. This pony was in good spirits considering he’d just watched one of his ponies beat another to death with her bare hooves.

        “What’s the matter, friend? You look shaken.” Einarr leaned in, looking concerned. I unconsciously glanced to the beaten corpse Brightwing had since abandoned to stand next to me, trying desperately to avoid the leering stares of the male ponies in the room.

        Einarr giggled, which was a strange sound from a deeper-voiced pony in armour. “Oh that. Well, it weeds the weak and stupid ones out. He wasn’t weak though. Good fighter. Takes one to make Goldie bleed her own blood. His crime was being stupid. Went and started talking about.... a subject that is a little bit verboten. Served his sentence though.” He chuckled at his own lame joke. A couple of the ponies around him chuckled nervously as well, as if it was expected to laugh. Einarr righted a flipped-over table and settled into a chair he shoved over to the table. He placed his elbows on the table with his hooves placed together in front of his face. “But enough about us! Who are you, friend? And why have you come here?”

        I drew myself up as big as I could and announced us with much grandeur. “I am Captain Ironside of the Twilight Guard, and this is my adjutant First Spear Brightwing. We’re to be your liaisons to command, it seems.”

        Einarr offered a respectful and pleasant nod. “Lord Einarr, commander of Ragnar’s Outcast Rangers.”

        “Outcast?”

        He smiled slyly. “I might explain that to you eventually. We’ll see if I can come to trust you. As it is, I assume you have orders for us? Otherwise why would such a noble pony in such clean armour come to commune with the savages?”

        I didn’t know what to make of this pony. Unlike Cinnamon, who was undeniably slick and hard to trust, this pony seemed very trustworthy. He was pleasant, polite, and despite commanding these very savage and unruly ponies, he not only spoke well and carried himself in a very civilised manner, he seemed to have these barbarians trained to obedience.

        Einarr got up from the table and walked over to me. “Orders.....sir?”

        I snapped out of my reverie. “Right. We’ve got orders to take a town. This is... for you I believe.” Brightwing handed Einarr the sealed envelope my father’s new secretary had given us on the way out. Odd that he had a new one already.

        Einarr gingerly took the envelope, and passed it to the brutal unicorn mare, Goldie. Goldie opened it with her magic and floated the contents over to Einarr. Taking the letter on his hoof, he held it near his face and read it very quickly. “Nice. Yeah, I can abide this.” Turning to the other ponies and crumpling the letter beneath his hoof, he announced that “We’re goin’ raiding, ponies! Gather your crap and meet at the south gates in TEN MINUTES! Take too long, and you’re getting left behind.” Turning to me, he added “You heard me. South gate, ten minutes. See you there.” He smiled at me, and winked at Brightwing before trotting up the stairs.

        Leaving, we returned to our quarters to gather our gear. I was still confused s to what I’d seen. What the hell were these ponies? I tried running my questions through Brightwing as we did one last polish of our armour and gathered our saddlebags and battle saddles, but she claimed to have formed no opinions on our warriors yet. She still had a bit of opening up to do.

        Locking up our room, we met our charges by the south gate. Einarr stood there, saddlebags on, an axe slid through a belt buckled around his chest. A helmet dangled off his shoulder, ready to be shrugged on if it was needed. He grinned from ear to ear upon seeing us.

        “Great! If you guys were late, this whole thing’d be a bit pointless, don’t you think?”

        I just nodded, and asked if we were ready to move.

        “Sure thing, boss. We’ve got another maybe minute but pretty much everyone’s here. We’re just missing one.”

        We decided to wait that last minute, during which the straggler showed up looking sheepish and avoiding Einarr.

        We moved out. We were heading south to a village called Bridlevich, which apparently was an important agricultural village that grew a significant portion of the region’s root vegetables. I could see why we were being sent to capture it. What a boon that’d be to our food supply!

        The village was a couple days’ walk from Stalliongrad, but with such a large company, I didn’t think we’d be attacked. We made camp that first night in the shade of a small group of trees growing by the side of the road. With so many ponies with us, Brightwing and I actually didn’t have to stand watch. It was nice being able to sleep. We curled up on our bedrolls that we’d placed right next to each other and slept. As my eyes closed, I noticed Einarr taking his armour off to sleep as we’d done. But when he slid the chainmail over his shoulders, I noticed a pair of wings clinging tight to his back. He shook them out, groaning as they cracked and popped from disuse, then folded back to his sides. I’d have to ask him about those. I drifted off to sleep.

*#@#*

        I was kicked awake, and I became aware of screaming and hollering. Gunfire and the clash of steel sounded all around. I shot up, and noticed Brightwing and Einarr standing nearby. Brightwing was already helping put my armour on, but I shrugged her off and finished the job myself. Einarr was armoured now too, and seeing me up he grinned and jumped laughing to the battle, axe clutched in his teeth. There were Raiders everywhere. Ragnar’s Outcast Rangers were fighting, desperately outnumbered. Brightwing and I slid on our battle saddles and started shooting. Brightwing was picking off their ranged units with her rifles, and I was blasting away their melee ponies.

        I saw Einarr swing his axe into a Raider pony’s throat, cutting right through the soft tissue and swinging into the leg of the Raider next to him. He then brought that axe up, around, and down between the wounded Raider’s eyes. I bounded over to him, and jumped over him, charging headlong into a Raider trying to bring a sharpened hoe down on Einarr’s back. My shotguns tore off most of the Raider’s head, and our bodies collided in mid-air. I found myself pinned beneath the stinking Raider corpse, unable to escape. Another Raider peeked his head over his friend’s corpse and used his magic to hover a pistol between my eyes. An axe swung through his neck, and his head rolled off, bouncing off my helmet.

        Einarr bucked the corpses off me, helped me up, and set down his axe for a moment to speak.

        “Now we’re even!” he picked up the axe again and charged back into the fray.

        The fighting was chaotic. While Brightwing and I were trying to stick to formations, drills, and training, the Rangers were flying through their enemies, everypony fighting as his/her own unit, but there was a certain perverse teamwork to their individualism. They formed up in a loose line, with a few ponies behind the line. The ponies in the first line caught the Raiders and cut them down, occasionally allowing a few to slip through the line, where the second line of ponies made mincemeat of them. They carried a motley assortment of guns and melee weapons, with most of the ponies in the second line using their guns.

        Whatever this tactic was about, it worked. The Raiders’ attack was over in less than twenty minutes. Einarr, spattered with blood, trotted over to Brightwing and myself. He looked very pleased with himself. “Ironside I’ve got some numbers for you. Goldie counts sixty-three enemy dead, and four of our own. I’ve got ponies looting the dead now.”

        “Sixty-three? They’re just Raiders! How’d they get that organised and numerous? And where the hell did they come from?”

        Einarr giggled again. “Man, you really don’t scout much do you? There’s a Raider fort over the hill. I was hoping our campfires would catch their attention and draw them out, and it did! What fun!”

        I was flabbergasted. “Fun? We nearly died while we slept!”

        He looked taken aback. “Well, yes. Fun.” He waved a hoof at his warriors, who were kicking dead raiders, piling heads, heaping usable equipment, and making a heap of the dead enemies. “Look at all the fun we’re having!”

        I just sighed, confused and annoyed at the interruption in my sleep. Without even taking my armour off, I just wiped some Raider brain from my bedroll and curled up to sleep. I felt Brightwing join me a moment later. As I drifted off again, I could hear Einarr yelling at some of his ponies, and I heard a thunk, splatter, and laughing. These barbarians would be the death of me.

*#@#*

        Waking in the morning, I saw Brightwing already up and helping cook breakfast. Turning to me and seeing me waking, she offered me a small smile, and passed me a couple of the now-warmed compressed haycakes we were issued for travel rations. I took them, thanking her, and we settled in to eat. Looking around, I surveyed the scene.

        What I saw disgusted me on one hand, and impressed me on the other. The corpses of the Raider ponies who’d attacked us in the night had been stacked into barricades about a pony’s shoulder-height tall ringing our camp. Our savage ponies leaned against them, guns at the ready, eating their own breakfast while the first-shift night sentries dozed. Einarr himself was lying unceremoniously on his stomach with his legs splayed out. Grinning, he opened his eyes and beamed at me.

        “When you grow up in our corner of the wasteland, you don’t let anything go to waste. Bullets don’t always go through a pony’s body, so we’ve learned over the years that when you’ve got a lot of corpses, you’ve got a lot of potential cover.” Seeing Brightwing’s revulsion, he released that strange giggle of his again. “For the fiercest warrior ponies since the founding of Equestria, you guys sure act soft.” Climbing to his hooves, he beat the dirt out of his armour and when he stretched, I could see his wings feebly ruffling beneath his armour.

        “Einarr. You have wings.”

        “Ironside. You ask questions. Don’t ask such questions loudly enough that my ponies can hear.”

        Not the response I’d been expecting. “Er, why do you wear armour over your wings? Wouldn’t they aid you substantially in the type of combat you engage in?”

        He lost his cheerful demeanour and a threatening darkness entered his eyes as his normally grinning face went totally deadpan. His voice lowered to a growl. “Smart ponies don’t pry.”

        Brightwing stared, and I dropped my haycake.

        He broke out into a big grin again. “We’re ready to break camp and survey the target on your command.” He trotted off with the usual bounce in his step.

        Picking up my haycake and stuffing the rest of it into my mouth, I searched Brightwing’s eyes for an answer, but she seemed just as shocked as I was. I tried asking her verbally what she thought of that display, but she just shrugged and grunted that “Everypony’s got secrets.”

        I tried to push the episode out of my head. Packing up our stuff, I found Einarr and told him that we were ready to move. Silently nodding, he turned to nopony in particular and yelled “Get moving, you lazy sons of whores! There’s sort of honest work that needs doing!” Ragnar’s Outcast Rangers roared their approval and began packing up their own possessions, before kicking down their grisly defences. In only a few minutes, we were on the road again.

        The road was as calm that day as it had been the previous day. The Rangers regaled us with a marching hymn about somepony that Einarr explained was a medieval Equestrian hero who single-handedly boarded six ships in a day, killing all the crew members. While they sang, I was left to wonder what was wrong with these ponies. I sent yet another prayer to Rainbow Dash to not let these barbarians turn on us or fuck up our mission too badly.

        Einarr trotted with us at the head of the column. “So...... how’d you sleep?” His tone was odd. Like, overly cutesy odd. It contrasted wildly with the bloody dervish we’d seen in the fray the night before.

        “Um, well enough I suppose. As I fell asleep though, I heard what sounded like another fight starting. You were yelling?”

        His eyes saddened a bit. “Ah. Yup. Sometimes ponies can’t share.”

        “Could you please elaborate?” Brightwing asked.

        Einarr shook his head, his helmet bouncing oddly on his shoulder as he did. “Splitting the plunder’s the most important job I do for the Outcast Rangers, aside from the actual negotiations and command. When I split the plunder, my word is law. However, some ponies don’t much respect the law. Some ponies think they can steal rightfully earned plunder from another member of the warband. When that happens, I have to act as judge, jury, and executioner. I judged, I decided that the thief didn’t have the right to the gun in question. As jury, I stated the sentence: hands off, take the plunder you’ve been assigned. And when he continued to argue, I acted as executioner.”

        Brightwing’s nose wrinkled. “That’s barbaric.”

        Einarr laughed loudly. “That’s command, sweetie. Your coltfriend’ll have to learn that someday.” His eyes grew dark again, and he gave me a sad smile. “But don’t you ever enjoy it. Do it, but accept the seriousness of what you’ve done. If it gets fun, you’ve got a problem.” I contemplated his words, as he always seemed to be having fun.

        We could see the village up ahead, so the Rangers quieted and we marched along in silence. When we were close enough to make out individual ponies and hear the sounds of village life, Einarr directed us into the nearby trees. All of us crouching low to stay hidden, the Rangers began drawing out their weapons, doing final checks to make sure they were smooth and loaded. Nopony wanted their weapons to jam in a firefight. Brightwing and I snuck over to Einarr.

        “Okay, so we’ve only got sixteen ponies left. See, what I was thinking is sneaking in as close as we can. See those two shacks there? I figure if I can get about half my number on the rear wall of each building, you guys could.... I dunno, do something. When you do something on the other side of the village, I could have like four ponies attack from each side of each building, and that should lay down enough fire to keep them running. If we catch them by surprise, this’ll all be a piece of cake. We may not even lose anyone.”

        I nodded. It seems we thought the same, tactically speaking. I was thinking of more or less that same plan as I had snuck over to him. “I like it, but I’ve got the rest of it. Because it’d be optimal to take the village intact, Brightwing and I will fly over the village and land on the other side. Near that shack there. We’ll give the townsfolk a chance to surrender, to accept the... new management. If they refuse, we’ll give them one last chance. If they refuse again or if they attack us, we’ll open fire and then duck behind the building. Then you guys can move in.”

        While the Rangers slowly but carefully picked their way through the long grass surrounding the village, we noticed the villagers were congregated in the village center. It seemed from all the carts and produce set up around the square that it was market day. Everypony was out buying their supplies, and there were more than a few poorly-armed guards walking about, unicorns and earth ponies in leather armour with simple firearms and knives.

        Once our ponies were in position, Brightwing and I fitted our battle saddles, glanced at each other and nodded our readiness. Then we took to the sky, landing heavily in the center of the market.

        “Attention, ponies of Bridlevich! We are officers of the Twilight Guard, and we come with a proposition: lay down your arms and surrender your village and your lives will be spared. Resist and you will not like the consequences.”

        Civilian ponies started to retreat from the marketplace as the guards readied their weapons with their teeth and magic. Good. If I could stall them until the villagers themselves got out of the way, that’d be a much better outcome than slaughtering the whole village.

        The guards started closing in on us. Most of the villagers were still standing around, looking curiously at us.

        “Ah don’t know who you are, stranger. Ah think y’all should be leavin’ now.” The speaker was the oldest of the militia guards, a unicorn stallion with a moustache and a greying mane.

        “Do you command here, friend?” Come on ponies, move! Leave the area! Don’t you see shit going down??

        He tipped an invisible hat to me. “Ah do indeed. I don’t appreciate strange soldier ponies droppin’ into mah town spewin’ threats, though.”

        “I only offer you a proposition, sir. Accept a change in management and divert food shipments to Stalliongrad, and you will gain the protection of the Twilight Guard, as well as due pay for your produce provided.”

        “And Ah reckon if y’all leave right now Ah might not have ye shot to bits.”

        Fine. If these idiots won’t flee, I’ll have to hope they scatter once the battle starts.

        “I don’t like your tone, sir. I ask one final time: Lay down your arms and save your village a grisly fate.”

        The only response was a single round firing from a revolver the unicorn produced. A round that hit me dead in the chest. I tried to stand, but my legs bailed on me and I saw the ground rise to meet my face. As the world faded, I heard Brightwing scream “NOW!” and gunfire erupted.

*#@#*

        I came to in... where was I? I shot up, only to scream in pain and drop back to a bed I had woken up in. A strong pair of hooves held me down, and I fought them until a somewhat familiar, growly voice yelled failing reassurances right into my face. I spat and fought, hurting all the more. I became aware I wasn’t wearing any of my armour. My assailant retreated, wiping my spit from her face as I reared myself back on the bed, ready for another attack. I then recognised my assailant.

        Goldie. The purple unicorn mare under Einarr’s command.

        “I fuckin’ told you it was alright! How was that not comforting? Fuck.” She magically took a cigarette from the ashtray on the table and took a drag from it, blowing the smoke at me. “You gonna fight now? I was told to be nice, but I’ll beat you back unconscious if I have to.”

        I sighed and collapsed back into the bed. I took stock of the situation. Goldie was relaxing and smoking, and I was lying on a bed in a dingy shack with my chest encased in bandages. The place was filthy, and the walls were dirty, but otherwise bare except for a metal sign nailed to the wall next to the door depicting a bubbly pink mare with a greying pink mane and with the words “Pinkie Pie is watching you.... FOREVER!!!” on it.

        Goldie sighed, mumbling something about “bitch’ll wanna know” and kicked open the door. After screaming “Veg is up!” she collapsed back into her chair, sitting oddly upright on her haunches and went back to smoking and watching me with an expression that could not have looked more bored. A moment later, the door opened again and Brightwing stepped through. She wasn’t wearing her helmet, and her mane looked like it had been plastered to her face with sweat before it had dried. She looked weary. Seeing me awake, she hovered over and gave me a small hug and a quick peck on the cheek.

        “How are you?”

        “Alive. More than I was expecting.”

        She smiled. “We didn’t think you’d make it. Luckily, the town’s doctor doesn’t care who’s in charge. Just helps injured ponies.”

        She helped me to my hooves, and I leaned heavily on her. I wasn’t quite sure how bad my injury was, but I also didn’t want to test it more than I had fighting with Goldie. The unicorn just sat there smoking as Brightwing led me out of the building.

        We exited the building into the village. The shack I’d been kept in was one of the ones that Ragnar’s Rangers had hid behind. Corpses littered the village in various conditions. I could see Rangers milling about, looting corpses and finishing off the mortally wounded.

        Walking slowly forward, we heard screaming from between two of the huts. We followed the sound to find a Ranger in the midst of raping a mare. I shoved off of Brightwing and onto the wall of one of the huts so she could deal with this. She dove forward, tackling the earth pony stallion off of the poor earth pony mare, who Brightwing shoved in my direction with her back legs. I stumbled forward and caught the mare, ushering her out from between the two buildings to try and comfort her. Brightwing struggled with the stallion until a voice boomed “ENOUGH!” from the other end of the alley.

        Einarr stepped forward and with a very stern expression, he pushed Brightwing off of the stallion and kicked the stallion in the jewels. He leaned in very close to the stallion and dragged him to his hooves then slammed him against the wall.

        “What do you think you’re doing?”

        “*groan* taking my rightful plunder.”

        Einarr’s eyes narrowed. “And when did I say ponies were plunder?”

        “We... we took a shipment of slaves in to Stalliongrad not too long ago....”

        “Those were slaves. Does that mare look like a fucking slave to you? She’s the fucking doctor you idiot!” he slammed a hoof into the stallion’s eye, crushing it. We all cringed at the stallion’s screams.

        “Now this is why we left! Shit like this!” he threw the earth pony to the ground and kicked him again. He was very worked up. “We’re supposed.... to be better.... than that!.... That’s... why we ..... LEFT!” He grunted between kicks. By the time he was done, he’d kicked the earth pony to death.

        He stood up, shook himself off and turned to Brightwing and myself, his normal cheerful demeanour returning. “Good to see you’re up, boss. Thanks for helping!” He trotted over and the two of us helped the sobbing mare to her hooves.

        “Miss, I cannot undo what was done here, but I will try to make amends. Anything he possessed is now yours.” He walked off without a word to supervise other aspects of.... what was he doing?

        Brightwing and I brought the mare to the doctor’s shack that we had just returned from. The doctor’s assistant saw her to a bed and began quietly conversing with her while Brightwing and I left them in peace. I had to see what was being done around town and get a full report from Einarr.

        We found him again counting bodies just outside of town. The corpses were being hauled out to the road and lined up along the road, with our dead on one side and theirs on the other. We’d lost six of our twenty ponies and the enemy had lost all twelve of their militia as well as some twenty innocent townsponies. Some of the townsfolk had been carved and shot mercilessly.

        “Einarr. Your report please.”

        He glanced up from the bodies. “Ah, yes. That. We lost six, they lost over thirty. Mostly innocents.”

        “Any more details please?”

        He looked irritable. “Yes, commander. When you dropped like a sack of potatoes, we charged out. Brightwing dragged you to cover, fussing over you and being generally useless while my ponies senselessly ravaged the town. The doctor survived by hiding and being found by me first while anypony my warriors didn’t cut down and/or rape fled to the hills. FUBAR.”

        His expression softened and he turned to Brightwing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. You had your commander’s interests at heart, and if you hadn’t helped him he wouldn’t have made it.” He then turned to me. “And I’m truly very sorry not only about how this fuck-up went down, but about what you had to see back there.”

        Brightwing nodded. “I’m not upset by what you’ve said. You seem very... unhappy with this.”

        Einarr laughed grimly. “Yeah, you can say that again. These were supposed to be the salvageable ones from the Rangers.” Seeing our blank looks, he began to lead us to one of the shacks in the village. Once he’d shut the three of us inside, he turned to us and sat on his haunches, his mail jingling with every step.

        “Tell me everything you know about Ragnar’s Rangers.” We didn’t respond. “Good, that’s what I thought. Ragnar’s Rangers are a powerful merc group from the far north of Equestria. Brutal ponies. The harsh landscape has always bred harsh ponies, but these guys are the cream of the crop. Only the roughest and meanest get in. Of course, with a few notable exceptions, and I hope I fit into this category of exceptions, that means that for the most part it’s a crew of psychopaths. Raping and murder are widespread wherever they’re contracted. I split off with others as a protest of this behaviour, and was exiled to the south. Ended up around these parts. Heard your commander had put out a contract to the Rangers  so....” he looked sheepish. “....I fraudulently accepted the contract on behalf of the Rangers so that the real thing wouldn’t come here. These ponies are supposed to be the ones with morals and decency. Seems I was mistaken. There don’t seem to be any of those affiliated with the Rangers.”

        “So you’re....”

        Here he was looking irritable again. “Yes, an exile and a turncloak. I’m not proud of it. Oaths are very important where I’m from. But yes, my.... annoying altruism has dragged my name through the mud. And I lied, I’m not a lord. No fancy story behind that one, I just wanted to sound cooler.”

        He surveyed us as we took in this information, and he must not have liked what he saw. Embarrassed, he stood up and began walking out until I stopped him.

        “I’m sorry to hear all of that. Truly. However, what matters now is that we get back to Stalliongrad to report our.... success here. We’ll get a new assignment, and it might just be something that doesn’t involve the blood of non-combatants and foals.”

        Einarr nodded. As we left the shack and began moving back to the doctor’s shack so I could rest up and change my bandages, the smile returned to his face and he returned the hellos of his warriors as he passed. He abruptly turned around.

        “I appreciate that you listened to me. That means something to me. So, I’m going to do something meaningful in return. With this, you won’t have to wait around in this carved-up hellhole healing. We could be back in Stalliongrad in a couple days.” He reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a glass bottle of a liquid I had never before seen and that the Guard was never really able to keep very well-stocked, but that I would quickly come to love. It was a healing potion.

Einarr joins your party!

Ironside: Lvl 3

Brightwing: Lvl 3

Einarr: Lvl ?