Fallout: Equestria - Beautiful Intentions

by Alicorn Airport

Rating: teen
Tags: Adventure, Crossover, Dark
Length: 5647

Home. It's not what it once was. The war changed it. Zebras sufferes. But still some stand upon the ruins and fight to survive.

Home.

It's not what it once was; the war with Equestria changed it.

We suffered. They suffered.

But still some stand upon the ruins and fight to survive. Scavengers and traders. Killers and thieves. Old and young. Friends and family.

It's a wasteland.

But it's still home.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2015-12-03 03:47:34 UTC

Welcome Home

CHAPTER ONE: WELCOME HOME

Better wiped than striped...

         I smile wickedly as I relieve the first caravan member of his travelling bags. Some fruit. A regeneration-potion-filled syringe. Poisoned bullets. You were packing for a long trip, weren't you? Doesn't really matter, mine now.

       “Kuba, we're running out of time.” I shouldn't have the communicator volume so loud. She can distract me better. I huffed. “Five minutes before sunlight hits the talisman on their alarm...”

         “Which is enough time for me to get everything”, I whisper back into the transmission talisman. More cooked food forgotten in the campfire. And the fire-starting talisman still works. Wasteful. I slip the small auburn crystal into the carrying bags attached to my flank by vine rope. Rivers of light seem to twist around inside it. “If you don't keep distracting me... Besides, I doubt these stulti would notice even if they woke up.”

         “Good to hear you're practising your Imperialis...” She laughed. She's been trying to teach me for years. For some reason, I remember the curse words more easily. Some reason. “Really, though. Get out of there in the next four minutes. Don't do anything stupid.”

         “Sis, I'm not stupid. That would be you.” She chuckles again, a bit marred. Different from her usual flowing voice; the talisman must be acting up. I readjust the long-range rifle on my back to make carrying my loot more comfortable.

         How did this caravan last so long? They don't even have a watcher. Or a guard. But then again, the sleeping zebras seem more violent and wild than the average caravan.

         Before I know it, I have enough shining black ammo for both my rifle and Ua's, food for three days, some knives, and a significant amount of potions. Ua can make better ones, but it never hurts to have more. Your bags are empty, mine are full; I have your enchanted bullets. Thank you. I turn around to leave the camp while I still have time.

         As a last addition, I grab a small battery.

Vale!

         I gaze back to the camp momentarily, trying to watch for movement. My head stays turned around until the camp and their lanterns are just a spot between the plants. I disappear into the jungle; my grey coat and darker stripes keep me hidden.

My whistling of one of the songs Ua likes to play on her recorder is interrupted by a tree that wasn't there when I walked into this particular spot of the jungle. I fall on my rump. My nose now stings...

       A stymied snrk. “Did you trip again?”

         “I don't trip. You leave your potion bottles and mixers everywhere.” She does. I can't count the times I've tripped over something that looked poisonous. Or really sweet.

         “And you trip.”

         “Okhay, mhbe h do.” I admit, speaking around the metal in my mouth. “What else was on your list?” I keep hacking at foliage with the small gladius I took from one of the sleeping loot sources. I can't wait until the low shrub-jungle gives way to the vast trees of the rainforest, closer to our camp.

         “Yeah, maybe... Right, the list. You still need to get me some dragonfire orchids. And some water.”

         She goes back to brewing one of her potions, probably for a customer. Sister mine, let me go. I jump over a root as to not trip. A small feeling of satisfaction grows in me. Trees.

         Thick rainforest lies in front of me. The road back to home. I’ll have more than a hoof-ful of orders to build when I get back. For the time being, the dragonfire orchids are my priority.

         Rough, knobby bark greets my... procured... legionnaire boots. I can feel its waxy texture on my coat as I press my body to the trunk. The wall-walking talismans just below my hooves keep me from falling.

       I crawl up the trunk nimbly, enjoyable movement coursing through my limbs. I feel free up here. Almost better than my workshop.

         Running on a thick yellowish branch, I prepare for the jump.

I leap to the next tree’s closest branch. I start running, glad for the air that flows through my mane and makes my braid flap behind me. A carefree laugh escapes me as I spring yet again.

         From tree to tree, I keep on. I have these parts of the jungle memorised; it wouldn’t be good getting lost on my way to The Lookout hub. Only the rush envelops me.

       My freedom stops.

         The whirring of servos and rusty creaking of decomposing metal filter through the heavy leaves and into my head. Wires spark and flexible ducts leak. I shuffle my body into the embrace of the thick leaves. I have no pulse bullets.

         A magnetic feeling of repulsion pushes my soul away. Hairs over all my body stand on end. Something creeps inside of me, sinking my stomach. It’s cold. I try to steady my excessively heavy breathing. Little pinpricks run down my spine.

         Necromancy.

         Small parts of me hope it’s just a malfunctioning spider-bot. But I don’t hear the burn of propulsors. The slow, unsteady stomping of shuffling metal hooves echoes in my head. It gets closer.

         Right below me, the metal sounds. My heart feels oppressed; I think the fylacterium might stop working. Cold sweat breaks on my brow. My lips and limbs tremble uncontrollably. Static crackles in my ear.

         “Sis?” The dark presence kills communications with a snap. The talisman dies.

         I can feel my every breath course through me, my every small movement. I swallow the bitter taste in my mouth. Shaking, I dare look down through the branches.

         Sentry.

         The mechanical abomination moves slowly. But it’s not weak; it’s not hurt. It’s prowling. It’s looking for something to devour. Its head scans the area slowly, using sensors to find anything that moves. A sickly purple light washes over the plants and the trunk of the tree. The shadow of a bonfire envelops its form.

         Following it with eyes I’d rather have closed, I can see its face. It might’ve once resembled a zebra, a long time ago. A silver faceplate has rusted off to reveal the underlying pulsing wires. It bleeds a burning black alchemical mixture. Distilled essence of death. It smells like stale poisoned blood and burnt oil. I can taste the rot and decay.

         I wish I could talk to Ua right now. The silence from the talisman is empty inside my head. Yet I’m grateful no one can hear me cry.

         Its crumbling  and melted legs wail chillingly as they start moving again. The moving carcass of the machine whirs. The sound drills painfully into my brain and spine. I stifle a terrified sound. My breathing grows choppy. I hug my rifle tightly.

         Stopping suddenly, the sentry grows quiet. Completely silent. Then noise. Servos rev again. Oil and arcane brews pump like a steady drumbeat. Its neck twists slowly. The light is back. I can feel its icy fire as it passes through the branches next to me. It seems to scan forever. My heart is pumping. The alchemically enhanced device feels overworked. My throat tightens at the thought of my heart shattering. Or needing repairs while I’m out here.

         The sensor glow dies. The sentry prowls slowly again on its warped legs. After a few eternal seconds, it’s out of sight.

         I let out a breath held for a long time. My body shivers on its own. A laboured sigh travels to my mouth. The tears on my cheeks start drying.

         “—swear, if this is a joke I’m going to tie you to your tool rack and keep you there for a week.” The communicator bursts into sound, making me almost fall in surprise.

         “Ua…” I manage to say feebly. Ua’s angry tone quiets down. There is silence.

         “Yeah?”

         “Sentry.” Her silence becomes stunned.

         “In the north?” She seems hesitant. The old legion robots usually stay close to the big cities, patrolling their perimeter. This is our territory; it’s safe ground.

         My quietness speaks for me. She mutters something.

       “Kuba, get to the hub. We’ll trade for the orchids.” My big sister pauses. “We can’t afford bad mistakes. Or that kind of danger.” I nod even though I know she can’t see me.

         Standing up on the thick branch, I swing my rifle to my back once more. I come out from between the leaves. My legs feel weak, but I trot in place quickly to warm them up. I shake my head free of the stupor.

         I begin running and jumping through the branches again. Back home to the hub. To The Lookout. I have a full bag and orders to build.

         The once exhilarating freedom is gone, replaced by cautious nervousness and wariness of any mechanical noise. Running and leaping becomes just necessary. But I don’t mind; I just want to get home.

         Ua remains quiet for the rest of my journey.

         The trees become bigger and older as I approach The Lookout. Their leaves are thicker, but they obstruct less. They become further apart. I know these trees like my own stripes. I know their shape and their resistance. They are what I know best that isn’t made of metal or plastic.

         Finally, the sight of a stone spear that seems to pierce the horizon greets me. As I come closer, I jump down to the ground. My galloping becomes trotting.

         Intricate stone in the shape of a massive legionnaire rises in front of me. Even the scratches on her armour have been hoof-carved in almost painful detail. Its stone plumes and pilum cut the clouds above in half. A testimony to the once-mighty Caesar.

         The statue stares into the heavens with grey eyes, keeping watch in the night. Keeping the stars at bay with its mighty figure. White and crimson marble makes The Lookout safe.

         Once in the dirt path that leads to the one of the biggest commerce hubs in the Northern Wasteland, I begin to see the rebuilt remains of Lookout. Tin houses and half-ruined huts greet me. Legionnaire helmets and old war masks line the entrances of some of them. The few trees remaining here are mostly abandoned and empty.

         Noises of the everyday life in Lookout come to my ears. The din of other zebras moving everywhere and buying and selling, weapons, armour, and food. Cryers for the various different merchants and workshops announce their bosses’ wares, all claiming they’re the best. A group of Legata from the south haggle with the shopkeepers over the fair price of some rifle scopes. Various caravans unload for the night to stay in some of the ‘hotels’ made of pre-war troop transports and some of the old underground transport carts.

         I walk towards the centre of the hub. It was once a station. Big underground trains used to run in the tunnels below. Ua says I could probably fix some of them, but the Merchant’s Guild says she should ‘think twice about sending someone my age down there’. The Guild controls almost all trade from here to The Void. They’re a bunch of old zebras who say they’re trader leaders; they send representatives to ‘monitor trade in every major commerce centre’. To me and my sister, though, that just means they come every month asking for some of our profits. She says it’s ‘a good deal’ since they own the ruins of the station.

         Behind the great circular platform of the statue, the metal door to the Inner Hub stands, always open. I need to get home and relax; work on some guns and spider-bots for a while. I don’t cry in public, especially not because I’m scared. Sellers who cry in front of potential customers lose credibility. My sis and I work hard enough to not lose credibility, but it’s better not to risk it.

         The Inner Hub is much more quiet than the outside, by which I mean I can distinguish individual voices and sounds and not just noise. From what was once a cafeteria or something similar, old Ladha sells firefruit and various mysterious meats. The customers in here are better dressed, in more powerful armour. Some of them have robotic servants or protectors. Customised spider-bots abound. One even has a balefire egg launcher. I wonder if I could secretly take just one of those to make some batteries or bullets… Then I reconsider, seeing as I’m not desperate to that degree. I’d rather be alive to turn a profit.

         A very large storefront in the left is where I’m headed. Our shop might not be out in the front, but it’s not small, and we make good weapons, tech, and potions. It used to have a glass front, but we cut it out to not cut ourselves. The square room has metal walls, like everything else in the station. Shelves with potions and some of my smaller inventions line every centimetre of wall. Jadi alchemy signs cover the walls. Our welcome mask is a helmet with air tubes and potion ducts. Ua traded for it a long time ago; she says it belonged to some warriors that fought far away, something called a ‘Steel Ranger’. I would strip it of the technological components if she’d let me.

         In the middle of the shop floor, a pony sweeps the floor. Yes, a pony. Glamour sweeps using her wings; the device on her right fetlock makes it hard for her to use her hooves. She calls it a PipBuck. She always wears that form-fitting blue and yellow dress with a ‘50’ in the back and chest.

         The pink pegasus has been here for a long time. Ponies here aren’t very many. I’ve only seen one or two others, and they looked more like wanderers than like her. I know about the war; we all do. But my sister says that Glamour’s not guilty of past sins. She came from something called a Stable, up north and through the badlands. We took her in. Ua said she’d have to work for the shop for it to be fair, so she cleans and acts like our assistant sometimes. She mostly stays in the back to avoid the weird stares she gets, but this is the least busy time of the day and she wouldn’t stop doing her job.

         As I come in, she smiles at me and ruffles with her feathers the part of my mane that’s not braided.

         “Hi Kuba.” She speaks Jadi with a funny accent. Combined with her voice, which is even more high-pitched than mine, it makes her a little hard to understand sometimes.

         I only reply with a quick hug. She watches me as I walk through the open door and into the back. The back rooms are four: a bedroom where we all sleep, my workshop, Ua’s lab, and a bathroom. The door to my sister’s lab is ajar. The glow of her lanterns filters through it. I prefer electric lights.

Entering the orange-lit room, I see my sister’s long, straight, bluish tail turned to me as she rummages in her chemical racks. She turns to me and gives me a soft look, proceeding to hug me. I return the embrace, burying my head in her soft orange-grey shoulder. She smells like she brewed something that burned fur off. It’s good to be back home.

         “So. What do you have for me, sis?” She sits down and looks at my bag. I take off my cloak and rifle, laying them on the floor. The contents of my bags are emptied onto the cloak.

         She grabs the fruits and potions, arranging them around the room. I put what I’ll use back inside the bag; to store in my worktable. She looks at every item.

         “Did that caravan have enough?” Rule one of scavenging for Ua: ‘never take from a target who doesn’t have enough’.

         “They did.” I reply almost solemnly. It’s a fair deal. They have more than enough; we take so we can have enough. That’s been drilled into my head for all the years of my existence.

       “Good.” She smiles tiredly. Her silver eyes look at the table where she put the fruit.

         “I’m going to go finish the guard-bot for the Dhahabu Caravan.” She nods. None of us have slept today. Too many denarii on the line. I walk out, leaving the door like it was.

         Crossing the grey hallway, I enter my workshop. I place my halfway-empty bag on my tinkering table. On its surface, parts for a walking robotic guardian lay partway through assembly. I head to the corner and put on the fitted soldering mask lying there.

         I use the crook of my hoof to take my screwdriver. The rest of the materials are already on the table from when I last worked on this in the afternoon. Connections and circuitry are already soldered, but unarranged inside the main shell.

         Out of my bag, the battery I took from the strange caravan goes into the screwdriver’s compartment. I press the button on its side. It whirrs energetically. I get to work.

         I don’t know how much time passes, only how much progress I make. By the end of tonight, this has to be finished. I’m determined to get us the early delivery bonus.

         Glamour walks inside a few times to check on me, I see her in the corner of my eye. Just a short white mane done up or light blue eyes. Nobody bothers me while I’m working on an order this important.

         Piece by piece and mechanism by mechanism, it comes together. Solder, tighten, clip. In just a few hours, my work is done. I sigh with satisfaction. A job well done.

         I wipe the sweat off my forehead. Hunger stirs in my stomach. Tomorrow, when the customers arrive, I can put in the defence programme talisman. Right now, I go for my second meal of the day; I’m not hungry that often. Or tired, for that matter.

         My heart’s fylacterium keeps me going better. But possibly getting tired in the middle of the day is not very convenient. Or good for business.

       Passing by the bedroom, I can hear Ua and Glamour already asleep.

         I go into the lab for one of the brown and yellow fruits I stole from the caravan.

         On an old wooden table lay the two mutated fruits. Mutfruits for short and practical. The orange and yellow skin with brown spots doesn’t seem very tasty, but I bite them and chew the bitter taste I’ve come to love. Good, bitter and acid. Not old bitter, but natural bitter, tasty biter. I swallow.

         Viscous pulp disappears down my throat. My stomach feels full from the fruit almost as big as half my head.

         Satisfied—probably until halfway through tomorrow—I head into the bedroom.

         Ua is asleep and quietly snoring. Glamour is spread-eagled on her mattress; some of her feathers are very close to my sister’s face. Her PipBuck screen seems to be on and displaying soundwaves. I shrug and lay down on my bedroll to look at the ceiling and wait for tiredness to come.

         My chest rises and falls. In the quiet,  I can hear the hydraulic pumps and talisman working inside it.

         To the mechanically exact beat of my heart, I fall asleep.

* * *

         Automatically, I wake up.

         Sitting up on my blue bedroll, I stretch slowly. Glamour’s mattress is empty. She must already be sweeping and dusting the shop before the clients come in for the day.

         Ua is still waking up.

         Driven by the dry feeling in my mouth, I get up to the bathroom and drink my thirst away on the cracked wooden bowl of the sink.

         By the time I finish drinking, Ua is already in the store space, awaiting any caravans, soldiers, or simple lone wanderers of the Wasteland to come by and decide they wanted something we offered.

         If it weren’t for the faded paint and age of the walls, with her blurred-looking stripes and lavender-ish mane, she might have lost herself against the backdrop except for the golden earrings. Unlike me. My dark colours were good for acquiring what we couldn’t trade for under the cover of darkness, and they suited me.

         Glamour passes me by, back into the bedroom to use her PipBuck and listen to music. She might even go to sleep, seeing as she rises the earliest.

         “Good morning, Kuba.” Her soft but broken and accented Jadi grazes my ear. I look up to her face.

         “Hey.”

         The pink pegasus ruffles the front part of my mane and keeps walking. As long as she doesn’t accidentally undo my braid, I’m okay with it.

         From a nail driven into the side of the wall, I retrieve my cloak and rifle and strap them on. I lower the hood, no use for stealth in Lookout.

         I walk to my workshop. I come back on my back hooves, bringing with me the large metal ball that, once I put in the talisman, will be a caravan guard bot. I set it down on the table, taking care not to damage anything inside before the protection spells are functional.

         Ua looks at the robot with what I can only describe as pride. It’s decent work, but I could’ve done better if given enough time.

         Turning the sphere on its side, I push the small hidden button that opens the maintenance panel. The Dhahabu Caravan should be arriving soon. A rectangular panel slides open, revealing inner circuitry, spellwork, and the small compartment where the talisman is inserted.

         With my mouth and thin pliers, I place the soldered circle in its place. The panel closes. Accompanied by the sound of electricity flowing, the robot springs to life, floating about a metre above the floor. Its armament systems come online. It stands by, awaiting commands. I hoof Ua the control talisman for when the caravan arrives. I need to perform some self-maintenance, my heart rhythm decreased.

         My sister nods in understanding. She places the talisman on the same table where we trade.

         In my workshop, in a corner, lies one of my most prized possessions: a scanner I stole from a band of mercenaries a few months ago. Using the same battery that had powered my screwdriver the night before, I turn it on and point it to my chest. The screen flashes only one result: «Friction excess.»

         Grabbing one of the lubricating oil pills Ua made for me, I swallow it. It tastes like iron. I shake my head like a dog and head once more to the front of the store.

         Glamour is standing in the doorway, facing to the store. A gruff, throaty voice speaks in an accent similar to hers:

         “—am Paladin Vanilla Gelato. We do not… ah... trouble… problems. Only… deliver us the Stable one. Pink mare comes with us. She is… required.”

         Sticking my head out, I see a pony. Not only a pony, but a very muscular golden-white stallion approximately three times the size of anyone I had seen before. He wears strange armour. I wonder if I can trade for a piece of it. His glaring features look almost metal. He is with two others. They wear it too, but with helmets. One of them is looking up at our welcome mask. It looks very similar to his helmet. So these are Steel Rangers.

       I glance up to Glamour. She is the only pony in Lookout, and the only pony I know that comes from one of the Stables. She seems on the verge of crying. Her eyes are wide in surprise and fear. They want her.

         With uncertain steps, she backs away, almost stepping on me. I dodge her panicked hooves. She notices me, looking at me regretful but pleading. Tears, glistening, pool in the corners of her eyes.

         Ua stands up, firmly placing her front hooves on top of the table. I can see other merchants looking at the scene unfold. Looking at the ponies and watching for any sign of hostility. Some of them are loading rifles and pistols. One has a hoof-mounted crossbow. I flick my neck to get my trigger in my mouth. My rifle's stock rests on my right shoulder.

         "She's our friend." My sister is in that state of cold anger she gets in whenever anyzebra tries to swindle us.

         "You... ah... do not understand. She needs to come with… us. Now” My bite on the rifle grows stronger. The merchants across the station are coming towards the shop with their own weapons. I wrap my tongue around the trigger. Glamour hides in a corner. The other armoured ponies aren’t looking at the welcome mask anymore. They have weapons too. Firearms, but Equestrian. Different, blockier design. Mounted on their shoulders, their rifles’ sights some to their viewports.

         No one has any idea who fires the shot.

         A helmet falls to the ground with a heavy clang. There is a muted crack as the Paladin’s helm hits the floor. A multi-barreled minigun on the shoulder of one of his soldiers starts rotating. Blood stains the back of his brown mane, flowing slowly down his neck. Yet the armour still stands, swaying slightly.

       My guard bot starts shooting.

         Ua shoots backward from her position, grabbing me by the neck and flattening the three of us to the ground. A hail of bullets begins. I can hear the hot metal whizzing by my ears.

         As we lay on the ground, only one thought comes to mind: ‘it all went wrong’.

         Crashes and cracks as the walls and objects on shelves are torn apart. Shots ricocheting off metal plates as merchants fire on the ponies. The automatic fire of the minigun stops. One of the armour-clad figures bitterly mutters something in Equestrian.

         Screams travel through the air as metal shreds flesh and bone.

         Without thinking, or thinking about thinking, we all head towards the maintenance entrance in Ua’s lab. Hot lead sprays behind us, chasing our tails.

         Through the broken door and to the corner.

         My sister hurriedly grabs random vials and bottles and stuffs them in bags. With a buck, the door flies open. We find ourselves in the blinking half-lights of the train tunnels.

         Ua kicks the door closed.

         Blood rushes past my ears. I can hear my heart’s mechanism working overtime. We keep running frantically. Getting away as fast as we can. The broken rails beneath our hooves make us half gallop, half leap.

         The sounds of battle grow farther, muffled by the walls and thick metal door.

         The door explodes.

         One set of heavy metallic hooves snaps part of the rails in half. My head turns to see, wide-eyed. Ua is walking backwards, facing the metal monster. My throat knots as I notice the whirring engines and glowing eyes. Similar to the phantom robots in the jungle. It moves with cold exactitude. This pony is programmed; killin is its main directive.

It growls at us. The sound is like a sheet of metal being fed through the junk melter in the military part of the station. The helmet’s viewport glints maliciously even though there is almost no light.

         I bite hard on the handle of my rifle until my mouth hurts. I keep his eyes in my scope, backing slowly away as it approaches at an almost leisurely speed. Glamour stands next to me, behind Ua, who holds a white legion knife in the crook of her fetlock. She’s covering the pegasus with her other hoof.

         Steadying my legs and neck, I line up my shot with the green glass of the helmet. My tongue wraps around the cold trigger. It takes one step more. I pull.

         At an almost crawling speed, a white bullet bursts from the rifle’s muzzle. The silenced weapon gives a quiet thump. The long projectile bursts into flames. It flies. And bounces harmlessly off the advancing Ranger’s viewport.

         The bullet buries itself in the dirt beneath the ancient rails. The armoured pony turns his head from Ua and Glamour to me. It aims a thick barrel at me. Motors whirr as it locks on. With an explosive outburst, it fires. A small dark sphere arcs towards me. Grenade.

         I leap to the side.

         Heat sears the end hairs of my tail. Waves of force crash into me. I land on my side. Skidding madly on the gravel, I am tossed away.

         Dull pain shoots through my skull as I crash into something hard. Black fills the edges of my vision. I let out an involuntary whine. One small tear falls from my left eye.

         Breathing heavily, I blink slowly and open my eyes. Ua is whirling around the ranger like a hurricane. She cuts tubes and cables. With her two white knives and small pistol, she tears at the pony.

         The ranger in the metal armour backs away uncertainly. It tries to get away from my sister, but wherever it moves, she’s there waiting.

         Then it stands still.

         It sticks out a leg. Catches Ua’s hoof. She falls face-first to the ground. My limbs start moving again; I stand with difficulty and start limping to my sister.

         Suddenly, Glamour is next to the Ranger. She bucks the grenade launcher. The weapon is knocked slightly off its place. The Ranger turns to her, pulling an egg-like object out of a box attached to its chest. Glamour backs away.

         Something stirs among the tracks.

         Ua rises to her hooves with determination. Her nose is bleeding and she has a jagged cut on her cheek. Shaking, she breathes a long exhalation. She spits a dark glob of blood and saliva to one side. Biting her pistol, she fires once into the pony’s helmet. It cracks the crystal. She doesn’t stop. Two. Three. Four. Five. The glass on top of the other eye shows a hairline fracture.

         I weakly grab my rifle and point it to the eyes. Vicious eyes hidden behind crystal. I squeeze the trigger as hard as I can. Again and again until my cartridge runs out.

         The first bullet fails. The ranger shoots in my direction. Bent out of course, the barrel sends it to my right. The second bullet crashes into the glass, shattering it. One last bullet goes into his head.

         Inside his helmet, the pony screams. It curses through the tears in Equestrian. Slowly, its voice fades out. A small trickle of crimson liquid flows from its eye like a tear. It stands, but there is no movement.

         The Ranger is dead.

         Ua lays on the ground, drinking a blue liquid from one of the smallest potion vials. She gulps it down. Some drops of aqueous material drip from a small crack in the glass. There is none left inside by the time she puts it down. Blood stops flowing from her nose and her cuts close.

         “Kuba”, she says with a rasping voice. She holds up another vial. Nodding, she throws it at me. My head feels fuzzy, but manage to catch it in my mouth. Using my tongue, I remove the cap and drink. The black washes away from my field of vision at the same time as the liquid washes down my throat. I sigh in satisfaction. My heart beats faster than normal to pump the solution into my bloodstream.

         To her side, with her hooves on the sides of her head, below her ears, is Glamour. She’s trembling. Her wings hang limply to her sides, dragging her feathers on the dust.

         Ua glances at her, sterling eyes shining with concern. The pegasus won’t look up, covering her face with her bangs. She’s crying. Tiny sniffles come from her.

         My sister gets up and lightly places a hoof on Glamour’s slender shoulder. Glamour looks up. This is the worst I’ve ever seen her look.

         “I… s-sorry” she sobs. Ua hugs her in that sisterly way that only she knows. Tears flow. Ua stands with Glamour leaning on her fragilely and weeping softly.

         I sit by and wait. The sight of Glamour crying begins to weigh on me. Slowly, I go up to the two hugging mares and join in.

       Every mental path comes to a peaceful stop as I slump against them.

       I was going to ask Glamour why the Rangers were chasing her, but I decided against it; she was shaken enough as it is. Besides, it’s not like worse things haven’t happened.

         After a long time, the embrace breaks. I feel some of the tunnels’ chill. Forgotten metal carts creak and moan as they give in to age. I look at my sister, who’s still stroking Glamour’s mane. Ua looks back at me with steely determination and nods. I tilt my head to the door from where we came. She nods again.

My tongue moves around inside my mouth, readjusting my rifle. I give my shoulder a small shrug.