Fallout Equestria: Due North

"Alright ponies!" Snap Roll giggled. "Prepare for landing!"

I turned to peer out of the window, catching sight of a small village nestled in the next ravine. It consisted of a single street flanked by dull, identical houses. A single dirt road ran down the middle of this, interrupted halfway by some kind of bizarre red structure I didn't recognise.

Before I could get a good look at it the settlement disappeared behind a tall, jagged mountain. We were dropping, fast, towards a stretch of railway line running straight through a tunnel into the rock. I turned to Sunbeam, who was looking out at the jagged mountains rising to the north.

Songbird was sitting next to her, keeping a firm grip on her rifle and shooting furtive glances at me every time she thought I wasn't looking. She'd found a small notepad somewhere, and was doodling something I was yet to see with a battered pencil. She'd deliberately shifted so that I couldn't see her page without craning my neck, and it didn't seem worth the effort.

"You two excited to see Ponestown?" I asked casually.

"Uh huh," Sunny nodded, distracted by the sights.

"Yeah, sure," Songbird shrugged, distracted.

By now we were almost to the ground, our rotors stirring up a whirlpool of dust and dirt. Just great, my second clean day after four without a shower and I was about to be covered in dust. I rolled my eyes; just perfect.

"Cloudburst?" Evergreen called from across the cramped troop bay. "Try not to take too long. It's the basement of the bakery according to Actual, so that's your target. Just be careful; you may have to break in. The Northern Republic really doesn't like us, and they tend to be pretty suspicious of strangers."

"Alright," I nodded, standing up onto the shaking metal floor. "C'mon you guys."

My companions joined me just as the troop ramp dropped, the bay filling with the cacophony of the engines.

"One more thing," the sergeant added, "Don't radio for evac until you're out of their territory. It's a no-fly zone thanks to the artillery at Rainbow Falls."

"I'll remember that," I yelled over the din.

I set off down the ramp, stepping out into the filtered light. It was still pretty early, and there was a faint chill in the air as the Vertibuck took off. I turned to the others to make sure they were following, then set off into the tunnel, stumbling over railway slats.

The tunnel was short, hewn from the rock with bare hooves and iron tools. The ceiling was scorched black from the soot and smoke of steam-powered locomotives, but given how rusty the rails were I doubted any trains had been through here in a long while.

It opened out onto a wide plateau where the line curved to an abrupt halt, marked only by a yellow buffer. There was no station or anything, not even a goods platform. A dirt track snaked away up through a narrow pass, heading in the direction of our destination. I was about to follow it when I felt a hoof tap my hind leg.

"Hey, uh, Cloudy?" Sunny said nervously, "Would you mind, y'know, uh, giving me a lift?"

"Oh, sorry," I knelt down, silently cursing myself for forgetting her difficulties, "Sure."

She scrambled up, prompting a confused look from Songbird. I shot the girl a look that told her not to ask, and set off once more. The path led on, between the jagged rock faces of two mountainsides.

The sound of buzzing wings suddenly filled the narrow pass, echoing off the rising walls. I called a halt, holding out my foreleg to stop Songbird from walking past me. Something was approaching. The buzzing was loud enough that it scared me; whatever was generating that sound couldn't have been good. I checked my holorifle, filled with some of the many fresh cells I'd requisitioned from the armoury in exchange for the assault ammo I'd picked up in the sky-wagon; we were good.

Around a corner up ahead floated a bizarre device. It had a spherical metal body, about the size of a foal's skull, with a few miscellaneous sensors jutting out beneath a grill that formed its 'face'. Quad wings kept it aloft, buzzing incessantly. It was a Sprite-Bot, a war-era device built by the Ministry of Morale. I checked my EFS; blue. Lowering my weapon, I approached it just as it gave a faint pop.

"Hello?" an unfamiliar voice crackled. The machine tilted up and down, as if taking in my features.

"Hi?" I raised an eyebrow. "And you are?"

"You can call me Watcher," the voice said cryptically. "Who are you?"

"Cloudburst," I said bluntly. "I'm a Dashite."

"So I see," the little robot flew backwards, "And working for the Boomers. What brings you to the North?"

I let out a sigh; should I tell him? As far as I could tell this was a pony behind a terminal somewhere, spying on ponies with this flying robot.

"I'm heading to the MoA listening post in Ponestown," I hissed, my voice low lest somepony nearby hear.

"Those places have bypass spells protecting them," he explained, "You won't get in."

"I've already been into one," I rolled my eyes, still keeping my voice to a whisper, "Trotted straight through the bypass shields. I'm just here to make sure that wasn't a fluke."

It looked me up and down again, noting both my small wings and the filly perched on my back.

"I see you've found a friend already," he changed the subject, sounding vaguely impressed. "Normally I have to tell ponies to do that."

"Adopted little sister," I corrected.

"Alright," the bot turned, swinging around to get a look at Songbird, "And who's-"

The sound cut out for a second, while the girl blushed and tried to hide the fact she'd been staring at me during my conversation with Watcher.

"A human?!" the voice spluttered. "I haven't seen one of you in a long time." I could easily imagine the pony's eyes narrowing behind his terminal screen

"You-you've been to our world?" Songbird blurted out.

"A few times," he admitted, "A long time ago. Is CHS still there?"

"C-Canterlot High you mean?" the girl was in complete amazement, "Yup, and we're still doing the Friendship Games every four years."

"Really?!" Watcher sounded genuinely surprised. How much time had passed since his last visit?

"Yup," she smiled, "And we won last time. Well, I wasn't old enough to attend high school but I'm going to since my school feeds into it so I support Canterlot but I'm going to compete in the twenty-first… if I can get back in time." A thought came to me.

"If you've been there," I demanded, "How did you do it?"

"There's a mirror," Watcher said slowly, "In the Crystal Empire. It's a portal between the worlds; they keep it in the castle."

"Alright; that's where we're headed," I grimaced. All the more reason to head for the Empire.

"One more thing," he asked. "Did you say the next event was the twenty-first? It's still every four years right?"

"Y-yeah," she stammered. "The twentieth would've been two years ago now, why?"

"Was there ever a famous incident involving magic?" there was a sudden force to his voice, "Where someone turned into a demon?"

"Y-yeah," she stepped back slightly. "I mean, there was the Midnight Incident like seventy years ago-"

"Wait, what?" he spluttered. "That's not possible. I went there literally days after that incident, and that was forty years before the megaspe-"

The transmission cut off with a pop and an electronic fizzle. Watcher's last words had been mysterious; Before the megaspells, before the war ended? That would make it two-hundred and forty years since this 'Midnight Incident', but in Songbird's world it had been only seventy.

"Time must flow differently between the two," Sunny whispered.

I thought for a second, trying to work out the difference. So seven into twenty-four was…

"Three years there is ten years here," I blurted out, "Provided Watcher, whatever he is, was telling the truth."

"So I've only been missing for…" Songbird tilted her head to one side in thought, struggling to work out the problem.

"Four by three over ten," I explained, "One-point-two years, which is good. That way the twentieth Games hasn't happened yet, and it's far less likely they've given up looking for you."

She just looked confused, but seemed to accept my answer. The hovering robot abruptly resumed its regular broadcast of patriotic marching music, buzzing away down the narrow pass. I checked to make sure Songbird was okay, but she just looked away bashfully. Feeling a little confused, I set off once more.

The path led out onto a second plateau, divided in half by a wide and steep ravine. A tattered rope bridge, reinforced and rebuilt several times by the look of it, was suspended across as a way of crossing. At the near end a corrugated iron shack sat, protected by two ponies in dirty dark blue uniforms and field caps.

On the front of the shack an unfamiliar symbol had been painted. It consisted of what appeared to be a two pronged staff crossed over a sickle beneath an eight-pointed star, four of the points of which were curved. This was all painted in black on a background of vertical stripes; blue, yellow, and red from left to right.

Both of the guards had near-identical automatic rifles mounted on wartime webbing/battle saddles, the designation IF-89 Sidewinder visible on the side of one. I'd seen one such gun before; one of the bucks on base in Neighvarro had carried one. They looked more like bipod weapons than battle saddle equipment, and had probably been chosen to look intimidating. One of the two battle saddles had an intact autoloader, with a second belt of rounds ready to be fed into the gun.

As we approached the pair they watched Songbird with suspicious eyes. One gave a hearty cough, beating his chest with a hoof to clear his throat of phlegm.

"Ugh," he grunted, "Welcome to the Equalist Republic of Northern Equestria. Trading for any goods is not permitted, unless you intend to apply for citizenship. I'd advise against it. Any form of antagonism towards agents of the government is prohibited. That means no shooting. Are you in possession of a passport?"

"Huh?" I asked. Why would we have a passport; this was the wasteland.

"D'you have a passport mate?" he dropped the pretence, scowling at me.

"No," I replied, "Why would I?"

"You need one for the Northern Republic," he explained, "So you can either get one issued here or fuck off. It'll set you back two hundred caps; put you all on one."

"This sounds like a shakedown," I snarled, not about to let a pair of troopers get the better of me.

"Shakedown?!" his parter, a rather tall earth mare, shook with rage, "I'll show you a fucking shakedown!"

"Leave it, Celestia-dammit," the stallion hissed, halting his partner. "Look, it ain't our choice. With the blight ongoing we need a way to track the arrivals and departures."

On one hoof, the price seemed pretty steep. On the other, I would need to come through here again once I'd reported to Lightning Dust. I reached into my saddlebag and pulled out the larger bag of caps.

I quickly counted out a couple hundred bottle caps, made easier by Pearl Gleam having organised them into stacks of fifty held together with string. I held out my hoof containing four of these, while the more experienced trooper pulled an unusual device from his webbing. He approached, brandishing the item in one hoof. It was shaped to be held like this, with a large metal block attached to the top end of the handle. A pair of antennae stuck out from the sides, pointing forwards, while on the top a large dial flickered.

The device let out a series of clicks and beeps as he waved it over me, keeping his gaze firmly centred on the dial. He moved on to Sunny, before finally covering Songbird.

"You're all clear," he sighed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a little leather-bound book. He snatched a pen in his teeth from another pocket, before spitting it out into the booklet.

"Alright, you're the guardian here?" he pointed a hoof at me, in response to which I nodded. "Okay, names?"

"Cloudburst."

"Sunbeam, uh, yeah."

"Songbird, Songbird Ba-"

"Species?" the trooper asked, cutting the girl off.

"Oh, well, human." she shrugged.

"Human?" he tilted his head to one side, before writing it down. Taking a second to admire his mouthwriting, he produced a stamp and planted it on the paper.

Content with the document, he passed it across to me. I examined the yellowed pages slowly; everything appeared to be official, with the staff and sickle printed in golden yellow on the cover of the booklet. My name had been written under 'Passport Holder', while the girls were under 'Accompanied By'. Songbird's name had a little asterisk, marking her out as an exotic species.

I thanked him quickly and set off at a trot, not wanting to get caught up any longer with the pair.

"Hey, uh, what were you scanning us for?" Sunny asked suddenly, prompting me to stop.

"TDC and raider disease," the buck explained. "Raider goes for your frontal lobe, turns you mad, hence the name; best guess says half of all the loony gangs and tribes have it. TDC's its bigger, uglier cousin. It'll still cause inhibition loss and a shit-ton of anger, but you can still think pretty clearly. The reason it's worse is 'cause of what it does to yours skin; it breaks out in fucking awful lesions and whole sections dry up and just rip off.

"Some one in four loses their lobe like with raider, only they're much tougher and less pony than raiders. You see 'em on the borders sometimes; batshit insane and starving things more terrifying than ghouls. Even the Marked run screaming from 'em.

"Biggest problem though is that infants' immune systems can't take it. If a baby picks up the shit, it's fifty-fifty they'll die. We'd like to keep a steady population up here, so infected aren't tolerated in the Northern Republic. Happy now? Good."

He lit a cigarette, leaving me with more questions than answers. Where had it come from? Where was this 'border'? Who were the Marked?

The stallion returned to his post, leaving me to ponder. I resumed my trot; I had more pressing questions regarding my ancestry. I took my first step onto the creaking bridge, following the marker on my EFS; Ponestown lay ahead.

The path led onwards through the mountains, coming to an abrupt halt at a steep cliff face. In the valley beneath lay our target; a little collection of simple, generic houses organised into two opposite rows, with a small apple orchard filled with weedy little trees off to one side.

The place resembled a concentration camp more than a town, with every house being the same pale pink brick and timber roof affair. The only distinguishing feature for most of the buildings was their coloured doors. Out of all the buildings, only four stood out; one housed a bakery, another some kind of general store. The third had been converted into a barracks or command centre, and an area in front of it had been cordoned off with concrete crash barriers.

At the far end of the street sat a larger, more elaborate house which appeared to be serving as town hall. Four soldiers, wearing black riot gear over their blue fatigues, stood guard outside. On a flagpole rising from the storm-battered roof flew the flag of the Republic, although the stripes were horizontal this time, with red at the top and blue at the bottom.

Far more interesting than this though was the contraption seated in the centre of town, facing away from the town hall. It was painted a dilapidated red, the once-resplendent coat ruined by streaks of rust from two centuries of rain. The machine resembled a steam locomotive, with large piston-driven front wheels and a cowcatcher on the front. This projected significantly forwards from the machine, creating a platform atop which a podium sat, behind which a stone-faced soldier stood.

The remainder of the device was split in half; the front portion was taken up by a large wooden barrel-like contraption connected to a brass funnel pointing skywards. A large red engine block took up the rear half, from which protruded a trio of vacuum tubes, a pair of steel funnels, and a second smaller barrel with a curling, patched up rubber tube running from the top of it back down into the machine. Beneath the engine block there had once been a rear axle, but only the bent and warped mounts were left.

Scaffolding surrounded the contraption, shoring up the battered components and providing access to the funnel. A queue line to the front had been created with more crash barriers. Five ponies stood, at least a couple of whom had foals with them. As they waited another soldier climbed the scaffold, emptying a saddlebag full of sickly apples into the funnel.

The contraption began to rattle and hiss, threatening to shake itself apart. The barrels began to spin, and dark, murky clouds of smoke belched forth from the chimneys. Lights on the sides of the machine flickered, and sparks flew within the vacuum tubes.

The device wound down, producing a rusty oil drum from the rear. A trooper collected it and hoisted it up onto his back. He carried the drum along to the front, where it was connected to a cider tap next to the podium. Was this a cider machine?

I suddenly remembered our mission, and tore my gaze away from the cider press. A narrow staircase had been carved out of the cliff face before us, and so I gently eased my way down into the valley.

The floor was dusty and dirty, worn with two centuries of ponies passing by. The dust was stirred up all throughout the town as ponies milled around, trying to avoid eye contact with each other or the surprising number of gun-toting military ponies. One passed me by with a scanner in hoof, searching presumably for infected residents.

A sudden clamour caused me to stop and watch; from out behind the cider machine a pair of soldiers were dragging a young buck, who was kicking and yelling. Nopony else seemed to think anything of this, trying to ignore it and continue their business.

He was thrown face first into the restricted area in front of the barracks, landing with a thud on the baked earth. He scrambled up to his hooves, receiving a gun barrel against his temple and the order to sit down as a reward for his efforts. The soldier threatening him moved until she was behind him, keeping the weapon trained on him.

He wasn't alone; three other ponies sat alongside him in the form of a couple and an elderly stallion. The mare from the couple continually shot sidelong glances at her other half, who was trying his best to appear reassuring.

As I trotted into town I became aware that all eyes were on us. The numerous soldiers stared daggers at us and the few others in town who seemed not to be natives. The notably impoverished residents kept glancing up at us with weary eyes.

They were far from well off, with sack-cloth cloaks clinging to their starving frames. You could see the ribs on half of them; were resources that scarce? I shivered, put off by the shuffling passers-by.

I turned back to watching the mare in the restricted area. By now she'd moved on to the buck from the couple, waving another TDC scanner over him while keeping a pistol gripped firmly in her teeth. The little device clicked and beeped, and the soldier's eyes went wide.

She rammed her gun's barrel against the back of his head. He started to sweat, muttering something incomprehensible. His partner cried out, starting to cry.

The crash of the gunshot swept through the crowd, leaving silence in its wake. I jumped. The citizens lowered their heads and returned to their business, leaving me standing in the street. I was still stunned; I'd seen death by now, but not like that. Even if the stallion was infected, they shouldn't have just…

I felt a surge of righteous anger. I gripped my holorifle, ready to put a holographic blast into a soldier's face. For a second all was forgotten, but then I felt a small hoof tap my neck.

"Uhh, Cloudy?"

I looked around; half the town garrison, easily a dozen ponies, had guns trained on us. I let go of the weapon, letting it dangle from its sling. I was in over my head; there was no way I could even try anything without getting shot. Irritated at my inability to act, I stomped quickly over to the bakery.

I pushed the painted door open slowly, still throbbing with rage. It was deserted within, save for a tired brown mare sitting behind a wooden counter, heavy. She just sighed and soundlessly pointed towards a heavy oak bookshelf beside her, with a lone lantern flickering atop it, surrounded by breadcrumbs.

There was flour everywhere, forming a thick off-white layer across the room. It hung in the air too, filling my nostrils and lungs as I tried to breathe. I fell about coughing, trying to clear the damn stuff from my airways. What in Equestria could they need this much for?

"I need to, ugh, get to the basement," I managed to splutter amid the assault, "Please?"

The mare just rolled her eyes, as if she was used to this. She pointed to the bookcase again.

"It opens," she said flatly. I nodded slowly; was this a secret door or something? I trotted over, stirring up more coarse flour from the floor.

Applying gentle pressure to the bookcase caused it to swing open, revealing a narrow wooden staircase down into the earth. Had I just entered a black market? If trading was banned then such a place would probably exist.

"Hurry up," the baker demanded, and I stepped into the narrow stairwell. Songbird joined me, and I pushed the bookcase back into place with a hind leg. As I did so the shop owner picked up a half-empty bag of flour in her hooves and threw it across the room, covering our hoofprints.

A flickering light could be seen at the bottom, bathing the lower steps in a warm glow. I made for this, easing slowly down the weathered stairs. At the bottom we came up against a heavy oak door, a lantern dangling from a hook screwed into it. From beyond echoed sounds of… singing?

I pushed it gently, and it swung away on rusted hinges, revealing the last thing I'd expected. They'd built a whole bar in the basement, complete with a live band. They'd even managed to salvage a violin and an accordion, while a crate was used to tap out the beat.

I stepped into the warmth, and Sunny climbed down off my back just as Songbird came up behind me. She shut the door, and I took a quick look around.

The bar was served by a robot, which hovered above the cobbled floor on some kind of rocket booster. Rugs were strewn everywhere, covering the cobblestone floor. The band's lead singer was an ageing unicorn buck, who's current song concerned a young mare using a disguise to sneak into the navy, to get revenge on a cheating fiancé.

Slowly I trotted up and sat at the bar, just as the robot floated over, a bottle of beer clutched in a mechanical claw.

"'Ello," he greeted in a cheery yet artificial voice, "Welcome to the Shop, mate. Can I get y'a beer?"

"Uh, d'you have anything else?" I asked, not really wanting to try alcohol again after last time.

"Sparkle Cola fine?" he said flatly.

"Yeah sure," I shrugged, "Two please."

He served up, one for me and one for Songbird, who sat down next to me. Sunbeam had decided to skirt around the half a dozen drifters in the bar, listening out for information. I kept an eye on her as I tossed a few caps at the bartender.

The song finished up, and the singer leant in towards the old stage microphone in front of him.

"Now fer all of ye who're down on yer luck, 'ere's an old favourite of mine," he smiled, pulling an old chair close and sitting down. "It's the tale of the HMLS Cadence."

He picked up a guitar from the floor and started to sing, the band picking up his tune. It was an inspirational story, a tale about the former crew of a sunken ship working to restore her. Soon I found myself tapping along with my hooves.

"Why hello there," somepony, standing behind me, slurred an attempt at smoothness,. "We don't get many pegasi 'round here." I turned to look at the stallion, who had a sly smile on his face.

"Do I know you?" I asked bluntly, not particularly impressed.

"Holy shit, you're a guy?!" he yelled, rearing up and toppling over in surprise. I was taken aback; I'd been told many times I had the snout of a filly, but never been mistaken for one.

"Don't mind 'im mate," the bartender robot gave a mechanical sigh, "'e's drunk."

The unfortunate buck staggered to his hooves, rubbing his forehead where it'd smacked the cobbles.

"I am not," he shot back, "Tell me he doesn't look like a mare."

"Sure thing," the robot shrugged its spindly arms, "'e looks like a bloke."

"C'mon Whitetale," the stallion gave an exaggerated eye roll, "Some friend you are."

"Now since when 'ave we been mates?" the bartender's iris apertures narrowed. "Last time I checked we've a hundred-cap tab 'ere in the name of 'Lamplight'. Now until you pick that up we ain't chums."

"Fine," Lamplight pouted, sitting down on the stool next to me. "Look, I'm sorry I though you were a mare, happy?"

I shrugged and picked up my cola, taking a swig of the mostly-flat carrotty liquid. It was good, there was no doubting that.

"Can I at least get a name or something?" he asked. I rolled my eyes.

"It's Cloudburst," I said.

"Alright," he shrugged, "I'm Lamplight, but y'can just call me Feather; everyone does."

He was a tawny brown colt, with thin, gangly limbs and a dark brown mane that formed a messy clump on his head. He wore a thin brown jacket over a green shirt, with an ammunition belt slung across his shoulders. His cutie mark was a lamp, glowing with a small flame.

"It's 'cause he's got feathers for brains," Whitetale explained before I had the chance to ask why.

"Pretty much," Feather admitted. "Hey, nice gun."

He was looking at Songbird's rifle, currently propped against her stool, black metal glinting in the flickering light of the Shop. She got up, proudly picking up the weapon to show it off.

"SMLH right?" he asked, a self-assured grin plastered across his face, "Griffon variant. It's been a long time since I've seen one of these."

He reached a hoof across me to touch it. He was grinning like a foal in a candy store, an expression I'd last really seen in Tesla Jolt. I shook my head; I wasn't thinking about that now.

"There's not that many of these left," he continued, "Mostly decommissioned early on in the war. When I first came up here with the caravan one of the guards had one; he could hit a bullseye at eighty yards."

"You travelled with a caravan?" It was Sunbeam; she'd taken Songbird's seat while nopony was looking and was now looking at Feather with a great deal of interest.

"Eight years ago," he gave a wistful sigh, "Back when the war with the Marked was in its infancy. My mum, her name's Lifegiver, signed on to a caravan when they stopped off in our home of Dodge Junction."

"War?" I asked, hoping to finally get some answers.

"Y'aint heard?" he spluttered. "Been going on for nearly a decade. The inhabitants of the Divide all united under one guy, calls himself 'Hurricane'. They've taken the name the 'Marked Legion' and've been trying to invade the Republic ever since.

"Anyway, in the caravan there was us two, Straight Silver, Iron Curtain, old Greasy; he owned the whole thing, his niece Sonnet, and the two guards; Pistol and Silas." I felt my mouth drop open.

"As in Pistol Grip?" I asked quickly. "The merc from Fillydelphia?"

"The one and only," he smiled, "Small wasteland huh?"

"I guess," I shrugged, "Did you say the other was called Silas?"

"Yeah," he replied, "Silas Goldenclaw."

"He was the one with the rifle right?" I asked. "A brown griffon?"

"You've met him too?" Feather's eyes went wide. "Where?"

"Outskirts of Hoofington," I explained, "He… died in a raider ambush."

"Is that his rifle then?" he asked.

"Yeah," I admitted, "Seemed a waste just to leave it."

"Well you've found use for it at least," he sighed, "What with whatever-your-friend is here having claws."

"My name's Songbird," the girl shot back, "And they're called hands, not claws." She sounded almost offended, withdrawing the gun from his reach. I turned away from them both, glancing around the bar, exploiting his distraction to refocus on our mission. There was no sign of the facility that was supposed to be present anywhere.

"Hey, Whitetale," I called out. He floated over.

"Whaddaya want mate?" he asked.

"Is there like, a prewar facility down here?" I asked, keeping somewhat quiet.

"Y'mean switchboard?" he asked. "MoA-MoM project? It's here alright, an' I can let you in, for a fee."

"How much?" I asked, rather annoyed. It seemed everypony wanted my caps today.

"Hundred and fifty," he said flatly, "An' don't try and haggle."

"Fine," I rolled my eyes, fishing the caps from my saddlebag. I tossed them his way, and he expertly caught them in a mug grasped in a mechanical claw.

He hovered out from behind the bar and across the basement. I got down and gestured to my companions to follow. He approached a section of boarded-up wall, raising a mechanical arm bearing a saw blade. A few of the patrons gave confused glances as he cut free the wood, revealing a narrow doorway.

"There you go mate," he gave a slight chuckle and hovered away with an air of superiority. It took me a second to figure it out; he knew about the bypass shields, and though I'd just payed a sizable fee to access an inaccessible facility.

Well, I was going to prove him wrong. I pushed open the doorway, revealing a claustrophobic stairway leading deeper into the earth. Taking a deep breath I stepped over the fallen boards, and into the abyss.

The stairs led down into a cramped room which greatly resembled the one from the Red Racer factory. Shattered terminals and rotting stacks of paper sat on tiny desks and filing cabinets, probably holding data that could've won or lost the war. The only difference between this place and the last was the logos; the Ministry of Morale had stamped their emblem into the floor.

At the far end of the room was our target, a shimmering wall of translucent blue energy. I approached slowly, ignoring the mountains of documents and broken technology. It smelled, as expected, faintly of ozone, and provided most of the light in the room.

I approached, trying to calm my racing nerves. There was a high chance it wouldn't work, that I'd be stuck on this side, but all I could think was 'there's still a chance'. At a snail's pace I brought a front hoof up to it.

It wasn't solid. I felt my heart soar as the realisation hit me. I pressed on, passing cleanly through; I'd done it.

That could only mean one thing; I was related to one of the two original Dashites. Shaking with excitement, I deactivated the shield and trotted inside.

The next room was only slightly larger, and bore the markings of the Ministry of Awesome. A single central terminal unit connected to a single bundle of thick cables running up through the ceiling. The screen glowed a steady blue, indicating it was powered.

I trotted up to it, and was surprised to see two internal messages, one sent and one received. I opened the first out of interest. It read:

From: Lance Corporal Ballad [HUB_Switchboard]
To: Corporal Eclipse [POST_A216]
Re: Just wondering

Hey, Eclipse?
It's Ballad; just wondering if you knew why the general's kid's been given Vermilion-Level clearance? Hoping you might have some idea, given you're related and all that?
Thanks.

Who exactly was 'the general's kid', and why would they be given clearance? If both them and Eclipse had been awarded such status it would make sense, given they were both related to the general, but for some reason only the kid had clearance. Maybe the reply would hold more information:

From: Corporal Eclipse [POST_A216]
To: Lance Corporal Ballad [HUB_Switchboard]
Re: Just wondering

Look, Ballad, I haven't spoken to her in years. The general's more of an older sibling to her than I am; I could've taken custody, but instead I gave her up. Still, at least half these listening posts are built on her land, so I'm pretty sure she's got something worked out with the general. From now on can we keep these discussions off the network? Blossomforth'll flip if she catches us discussing her CO like this.

An estranged family, where the older brother had decided against taking in his younger sister in lieu of their parents. Instead presumably the general had adopted her, granting her status above her brother.

Suddenly it all fell into place; post A113 had been built under a Red Racer facility, and Red Racer was owned by Scootaloo. Surely other posts could have been the same? If the general referred to Rainbow Dash, head of the MoA, then it all made sense. But that would mean that Scootaloo had a brother: my ancestor.

If I could walk through the shields in two separate locations, then I had to be distantly related to either Dash or Scootaloo. If the latter had a brother, then he, Corporal Eclipse, was almost certainly who I was descended from.

I turned to my companions, unable to contain my excitement any longer.

"I've worked it out," I declared, my voice still barely above a whisper, "Scootaloo had a brother."

Sunny beamed, leaping up to hug me. I caught her with a foreleg and pulled her close to my chest for a second, before gently dropping her to the floor.

"So, uh, you're related to one of the founding members of Stable-Tec?" she asked, to which I nodded in response.

"I-I guess that's pretty important huh?" Songbird stammered, her face flushed again.

"Yup," I smiled.

I unrolled my data transfer cable and jacked into the mainframe, downloading all the data I could. The Boomers would hopefully have use for at least some of it.

"Now c'mon," I turned to leave, "Let's get back to Firefly."

The trot up to the Shop was without incident, and soon I found myself within the confines of the underground bar. Feather was waiting, his amber eyes wide.

"What did you find in there?" he asked eagerly.

"Just some data," I shrugged.

"About what?"

"Nothing really," I gave a false sigh, not really wanting another long conversation. It was enough to convince him. He moved away slowly, disappointed.

With that out of the way I headed back upstairs, into the sea of flour that was the bakery. The owner was as disinterested as ever, and simply gave the floor a fresh sprinkling once we'd passed through.

Outside a sense of despair hung in the air as the great cider machine rattled and heaved. The citizens ambling this way and that didn't bother to look at us; they knew our group by now. We were just more of the visitors who drifted in and out of their lives, turning a blind eye to their struggles.

As hopeless as the situation was, I knew that I wasn't just going to sit back and do nothing. I'd get the help of the Boomers, and then we could distribute food or something. These ponies looked like they'd be grateful for any charity at all.

With a heavy heart I turned to leave, only to feel a tugging at my fetlocks. I turned in irritation, only to be greeted by the sight of a literally starving mare, desperation in her eyes, clutching at my barding.

"Please," she wheezed from a parched throat, "Any food you can spare; I have a filly-"

She never got to finish that sentence. The butt of an assault rifle was telekinetically smashed into the side of her head, sending her sprawling. Her broken form hit the ground, staining the dirt red with blood, her pupils dilating to irregular sizes.

The unicorn soldier who'd assaulted her swung his weapon around in a wide arc, bringing the barrel into line with her head. He didn't need to fire though; the life faded from her eyes of its own accord.

"Are you hurt?" he asked flatly, without a hint of actual concern.

"No," I replied, "I'm fine."

"Then move along," he snarled. I obliged, feeling sick with worry. Was this normal? Nopony else had reacted. What would become of her foal?

"Uh, Cloudy, we should probably go," Sunny encouraged, and I wholeheartedly agreed. I set off at a slow canter, allowing Songbird to keep pace. We didn't look back until the rope bridge and checkpoint were behind us.

"This is Cloudburst to Firefly Actual," I switched on my radio, "Requesting evac. We're at the drop-off point."

"Roger that," replied the stallion on the other end, "Railroad 1-2, divert to intercept. Actual out."

It was a few more minutes of uncomfortable silence before an A/CV-2 sky-tank swept down from the sky, engines trailing storm cloud. The aircraft came to a halt in front of us, and the rear ramp dropped to allow us access.

We sat in stony silence for the duration of the return journey. The incident had shaken us all to the bone, most notably Songbird. She looked ready to burst into tears at any moment, but ultimately stayed quiet. Any joy I'd obtained from the discovery of my ancestry had been erased in that moment, seeing that helpless mare be bludgeoned to death. It just wasn't right, and from that moment on I wasn't going to let it be.

Footnote: Level up.

New Perk:
Fight the Power! - Seeing the horrors of the Northern Republic has deeply affected you. No longer able to sit back and watch, you now gain 25% additional damage against soldiers and officials of the Republic.