Fallout: Equestria: Honest Herds

Fallout: Equestria: Honest Herds

By sargecadet

Chapter 9: I'm Okay

"Madam Chairpony Fluttershy, thank you for your kindness towards the wayward children of the Equestrian Wasteland."

Med-X and Mint-Als are really good. I haven't felt this clear in a long, long time. I probably wouldn't even be able to write my story (my gift, how ridiculous that sounds now) without those chems.

Friends supply me. It's awfully nice of them, considering they'd be charged with trafficking if they got caught. They don't say much to me though. They just stuff the needles and tablets into a gap behind a brick and leave. I miss them. Takes a lot of the stuff to get lucid enough to write. Some ponies say I'll turn any day now, but I think they're wrong. They don't know me. They don't see the world the way I can.

I hurt all the time. Do they still keep in touch with you? What about her? Does she ever mention me? Wait, of course not. I can feel the buzz wearing down really fast now. I'd best get to writing the story. It's a really important chapter. I might see you soon.

~~I felt lightheaded when I saw her, unable to fully believe what my eyes showed me. It couldn’t be her. I’d watched her die. I was with her, only a meter or two away, when I saw the bullet from the slaver’s gun turn her features to paste.~~

~~But there she was. She sat at the bar, pistol strapped to her left foreleg, scoped hunting rifle slung across her back, barding scratched and bloody but newer than what she’d had before, sipping whiskey straight from the bottle.~~

No, I'm remembering out of order again.

"Solon," Brute said as he nudged the sleeping buck's face with his hoof, "wake up."

Solon continued to sleep. He started making loud snoring noises. The mares sleeping next barely stirred. One of them yawned without opening her eyes. I wondered why any buck would want to sleep with two mares at the same time. Wouldn’t that be a bit crowded in such a small bed?

“Wake up, Solon,” Brute said again. The alicorn’s horn glowed, wrapping the mattress in a glowing magical field. He flipped the mattress over, sending Solon and his two mare friends onto the dusty floor.

"The fuck was that...!" the buck started to scream, but when he opened his eyes and saw Brute, "Oh, hi again, you big ol' pain in the flank!"

"Hello as well, Solon," Brute replied. I could see disdain for Solon in Brute's eyes. I didn't know where it came from.

"Ughhh..." moaned one of the mares. The other one was still asleep.

Solon smiled and spat the cigarette butt that had gotten stuck in his mouth onto the floor. He raised himself to his hooves and walked past me and Brute to get to a bottle of whiskey set on its side on a small table against the far wall. His horn glowed as he lifted and uncapped the bottle, pouring some of the dark gold liquid into a short glass which he twirled, and smoothed his mane with his left forehoof. Somehow what his actions made him seem more confident, a buck with a mind of his own doing whatever the hell he wanted to just because he felt like it.

"So what can ol' Solon do for you gentlecolts? I assume this isn't just a random visit, am I right?" He sipped from his glass when he finished speaking, his back still turned towards us.

“You are correct. I have a task for you...”

“Hmmm... How bout no?”

“Solon...”

The red buck turned around and threw, with as much force as he could, the glass of whiskey at the alicorn’s head. He missed completely and it shattered against the wall. Some of the shards scattered over the mares who were resting on the ground. The one that had groaned earlier, an earth pony, jumped up and shook the glass off her back. She stared wide-eyed at her surroundings before sitting down on the overturned mattress, pressing both forehooves to her face and mumbling “Shit, Solon, what happened last night?”

Solon ignored her and kept his attention on Brute. “Fuck you and fuck that burned bitch who owns you! I’m not doing whatever you want cause you think you have some Luna-blessed-shit-stuffing leverage over me! Fuck you!”

“It saddens me that you feel that way, Solon,” Brute sighed.

I decided to add my own voice to the conversation. "Umm, I'm sorry that we bothered you, but do you think that maybe whatever problem you have with Brute and Prophetess you could put behind you, at least for a little while?"

Solon glanced at me, studying me it seemed, for just a moment before returning his gaze to Brute. "Who the fuck is this?"

"I'm Fall," I said, depriving Brute of the need to introduce me, "and I was told that you could help me with something."

"No."

"You don't even know what..."

"Fuck off."

"Solon," Brute said, "all that we are in need of is your assistance in helping this stallion cross the border and join the army." Wait... I was joining the army?

Solon just grunted.

It was the awakened mare's turn to speak. "Look," she said, turning her gaze towards us, "I don't know what y'all're arguing about, but I can tell you that I'm not going to have it in my place o' business. Solon, hun, if'n y'all need to discuss whatever work it is that you do with these ponies, please head down to the cellar where the customers can't hear ya." With that ultimatum she stood, gave Solon a peck on the nose, pulled on a shabby, tattered dress that I guess passed for classy clothing in this part of the NCR, and left.

Solon hung his head and sighed. "Fine, do you two really want to talk?"

I was... joining the army? Why? "Yes, I think we should..." Out of the corner of my eye I noticed that something was missing. "Where did the other mare go?"

"What other mare?"

I realize now that the other mare had been orange.

The cellar was cluttered with booze, papers, and maps. And guns. There were a lot of small guns. Brute was too tall for the room and had to crane his neck down to keep his horn from scraping the ceiling.

Solon lit a lantern on the table in the middle of the cellar. In its dim light I saw for the first time a map depicting the vastness of the desert I'd crossed. A red line divided the upper third of the map from the rest of it. Above the red line was the NCR.

"Alright, look," Solon said, "like I said before, nopony owns me, not like you, alicorn. If you really do need my help I'm going to need either a really compelling reason or a fuck-load of caps and I know that you ain't got caps. So there it is, your choice."

I still wasn't sure why we needed this buck to help me get an alliance.

"The tyrants are calling," was all Brute said.

Solon's expression changed immediately. His eyes got wide and his right hind leg started shaking. The self-confident swagger he'd had earlier was gone. "Oh, sweet Celestia's..." He stopped his curse short, almost as if he couldn't find the words to complete it. "Are you serious?"

"I am."

Solon chewed on his lower lip.

I wasn't sure what was happening. "Umm, I'm sorry," I interjected, "but would you mind telling me what 'the tyrants are calling' is supposed to mean?"

Solon took out a pre-war cigar from a drawer in the desk and lit it with a small incendiary spell. He stuck it in the side of his mouth and said, "It means each and every one of us who ain't with the NCR but ain't with LW either might be royally--or should I say, democratically--fucked beyond all chance of survival."

"How so?"

"Every corner of the goddess-damned world is at war right now, kid. Now just imagine if all those wars moved in right on top of us." He chewed on the end of the cigar.

"That is an incorrect description, Solon," Brute replied.

"What do you mean, every war moving in on us?" This sounded bad, but it didn't make much sense.

Solon looked at me, and then back to Brute. "This kid doesn't know about the Legion?"

"You mean the bunch of raiders that attack refugee camps and burn the inhabitants for sacrifices?" I asked sarcastically, "Yeah, I've heard of them." My mind went back to that last remaining soldier in Wago Stop, half out of his mind and desperate.

"The fuck are you talking about? Refugee..." Solon's eyes got wide. "Wago Stop? That shithole? Did something happen there?!"

"Indeed," replied Brute.

"Yeah, the sick Legion freaks killed everypony," I added.

Brute shook his head. "You are incorrect, Fall."

"What the fuck do you mean the Legion killed everypony in Wago Stop?" Solon asked, worry... or was it fear?... coloring his voice.

"It was not the Legion."

"The soldier there said it was!" I protested.

Brute sighed. "The same soldier who was missing half his face and more than half of his mind? Fall, you must learn to find more credible sources. What we saw there was the work of the Steel Rangers, of which, I realize now, he was one. Did you not notice that the tents themselves were still intact, along with the bedrolls? The Legion would have taken those."

I tilted my head. The conversation had lost me.

Sensing my confusion, Brute explained. "The Legion is poor and would have salvaged the tents and bedding. Only some of the corpses would have been burned and others would be hung from wooden poles to mark the town as Legion territory. In addition to that, the Legion has only attacked raider and slaver settlements for the past year and a half. The 'soldier' was a plant in the NCR military by the Steel Rangers, which could be discovered by glancing at the brand on the inside of his right foreleg. He was there to look as though he were a victim while monitoring hoof traffic along the road north."

I was even more confused than I had been a moment ago. Who were the Steel Rangers?

"Dead? There was an attack?!" Solon worried, "Oh shit, oh fuck, oh fuck fuck fuck! My contacts! My papers!"

Brute levitated a folder from his saddlebags. "These papers?"

Solon snatched them out of his grip. He dumped them onto the floor and began sifting through them until he found a piece of paper with a raised seal depicting a rising sun with crossed rifles above it and a coffee stain on the upper right corner. The print on the page was really small and there was a squiggly signature at the bottom. He let out a big sigh of relief.

"Fuck. Thanks," he said.

My head was buzzing with questions. The loaders one bubbled to the surface. "Brute?"

"Yes?"

"How do you know all that about the Legion?"

Solon answered instead. "Because we are Legionnaires."

Trust is for the weak. Mag taught me that. That belief of her's was vindicated in the end.

I should've listened to Solon also. He warned me about the north. Everything is a deathtrap off base. You can't even trust the ponies you thought you could. Everything I learn I learn the hard way. It's kinda fucked up.

I'm sorry, Celestia. There was nothing I coulda done.

"Here's the plan. I've used it a shit ton of times to do exactly what we're doing here so don't try to find holes in the plan ‘cause they're already patched."

Solon was explaining the process of getting me across the border semi-legally. Apparently there was a process to it beyond just crossing over an imaginary line. He had spread out a grid covered map held down at each corner by empty gin bottles.

"First, we've gotta get you past the border guards. Now, these schlubs aren't the brightest of the army but they're usually pretty vigilant when it comes to their job, so we need a way to get past them so that they only see me and not you," he explained.

"Why not just go around the border guards?" I asked.

"Shut up. What we're gonna do is go up through the highway east of north LW and I'll hitch us a ride with the local produce convoy that travels on that road every week. Day after tomorrow, actually, is the next one. I'll chat 'em up and you hide yourself under a pile of lettuce or something and I'll push a few caps their way to let me ride. I'll hop off and tap the back of the cart two times to give you the signal to hop out once we got ourselves past the border and 'bout halfway to Camp Garden Tiller."

"But why not just go around the border guards?" I asked again, a little annoyed that he hadn't answered me the first time.

He rolled his eyes. "Because if we go around them we go around the roads to. We don't want to do that."

"Why?"

"Radscorpions and shit, now pay attention. When we get to Camp Garden Tiller I'm going to need you to wait on the shaded side of the outside wall, so since that would be 'round 'leven o'clock you'd want to be on the..." He stuck his tongue out and glanced up. "...west side, which is where this one old pissant is always tryin' to sell sandwiches so if you're hungry I suggest you buy one 'cause it's gonna be late by the time you reach your destination. Now, if anypony ask you why you're loiterin' around just tell 'em you forgot your ID on base and a friend is talking to the desk monkeys to nab you a new one, got it? Then after that we are gonna go south to the bus station, just about a block away. The bus'll take us to Camp Steelhooves. Questions?" I raised my hoof. "Yes?"

"What's a bus?" I asked.

"Shut up," he snapped, "Dooya have any non-stupid question?"

"What's so important at Camp Steelhooves?"

"Our contact is there."

"I thought you were my contact."

"I'm middle management. The drywall, the support beams, a desk clerk, a glorified armed guard, a paper pusher, a grunt who can waltz off base and get piss drunk when they want. Kapeesh? I'm just the pony to help you get to where you need to go and that just happens to be where Sergeant Bloodfire is. Ol' Bloody is the one who can really pull strings on that base, get what I'm saying?"

I scratched at the dented barding covering my bruise. "Yeah, I guess I can understand that." I put my hoof down and looked at Brute, who'd been quiet for a while, resting with his legs curled under him by a shelf on the far wall. "Will Brute be coming with us?"

"Dooya think Brute could hide under a bunch vegetables? Really? Come on, be serious."

Brute cleared his throat. "It would be unwise in my case to cross the border. I am currently not welcome in NCR territory."

"Ha, you're a little more than not welcome, you stupid fuck!" Solon said with a wink.

"When we get to Camp Steelhooves," I asked, "are you going to stay with me a while? I might need some help learning how things work on an army base."

"Eenope," he said sarcastically, "You're on yer own after you meet Ol' Bloody. I've got this place to worry about. I'm too happy living the quiet family life with a mare who thinks I'mma buck worth lovin' and a colt who sees me like the father he never met. Nope," he repeated, "I used to run with the killers, but not anymore."

The bar had a porch. Did I mention that? And by had I really do mean had. But at the time it and the rest of Town were intact. I walked out on the porch to get some fresh air and to get away from Solon's persistent whiny yammering.

Life had made me tired. I was sick of all this, the quest, the violence. I don't intend to sound weak but I wanted very strongly to go home. My tribe was under attack and I wanted to be there for them, not here in the north.

I complain too much. You don’t want to read the rambling complaints and anxiety of an old, slowly dying buck who can barely keep his head on right without chems. I’m sorry. In fact, if I hold any respect in your eyes, you should probably just stop now. Things only get worse from here. How could I, a simple mining pony, be the cause of so much death? I don’t know. Somepony more of a historian than I will ever be will probably put things into perspective one day.

But I am getting off topic.

I walked out on the porch to get some fresh air and to get away from Solon's persistent whiny yammering. There was something I didn’t like about Solon. It wasn’t his persistent use of the word “fuck” or his slimy attitude and his over-self-confidence, it was just... him. He bothered me. His accent got under my skin and crawled around. The idea that he was helping to raise that little colt who was controlling the bar when I arrived worried me also.

The idea of sneaking into the territory of a faction that so far hadn’t really impressed me was troubling me too. The NCR... all I’d seen them do was show weakness in the south. They’d let the Major Doctor, one of their own, be stuck in a slave trader’s market until they bought her out! And what about Martyr? If that attack had been launched earlier Martyr ~~might still be alive right now~~ would be travelling north with me stillIf that attack had been launched earlier

Mint-Als. A Safe, Natural Alternative to Harmful Mental Stimulants! Caution: Can cause dependency, itching, swelling of the left-rear-fetlock area, eloquence, lucid dreaming, susceptibility to addiction to other chemical substances (including but not limited to: alcohol, paint fumes, duct-tape adhesive, anabolic steroids, Med-X, sheep’s milk), excessive charisma...

I was the only one on the porch. The sun had passed its high point and the day was half over. It was still hot outside though. The ponies I’d seen walking around earlier had all retreated inside, except for three of the prostitutes across the street who, modestly, wore nothing and were fanning themselves with bits of old NCR newspaper.

The bruise under my barding ached acutely as I rested. The axe by my side felt weighted. My father once told me that a warrior's weapon always felt heavier before it needed to be used. I hoped that I wouldn't have need of it too soon.

I examined my PipBuck. I wondered what the matter was with it in regard to its mechanical failure. I suspected that some pony in the north, across the border, could give me an answer.

Uncomfortable. Yes, uncomfortable was how I really felt about the whole thing. Why was it important for me to join the army? Who was this "Bloodfire" stallion? How did any of this help my tribe? What was this band of "Legion" raiders (if they were, indeed, raiders) actually do, and how did they tie into what I was doing? If Brute was with the Legion, did that mean that Prophetess was with them as well? Why was Solon so disconcerting to be in the presence of?

My trail of thought was shattered by the arrival of a friend. An old friend. But at the same time, a friend I never would have wished to see.

"Hey, kid."

I turned toward the voice. My jaw plummeted to my chest and my eyes went wide as grenade-launcher rounds.

"How've you been? Any of my advice work out for you?" said the dark mare. A sniper rifle was slung across her back. She wore no barding, but her side was impaled by a metal pole that went straight through her and appeared to be causing her no pain, so perhaps that counted for something.

I wasn't sure of the proper way to respond. I should have said 'Hi, nice to see you again' or 'Thanks for saving my life all those weeks ago' or maybe even 'In the name of the holy goddesses and all that is sacred, what the fuck happened to you?' but instead I said nothing.

"What," she asked, "nothing? No 'how've you been?' or 'are you hurt?' or maybe just 'hello'?"

I stutteringly said, "Hello." What had she really expected me to say? She had been no real help to me once I had left the Ghost Lands. If she had stayed with me, escorted me north, maybe I could have avoided all of the pain and suffering I had found.

"Well, now that we've got minor formalities and salutations out of the way," she gestured to the pole in her side, "mind helping me out? I can't quite reach it."

The north-west edge of Little Warchestnut was grimy looking. I saw NCR soldiers and civilians lying, passed out drunk, in the gutters. Some of who I presumed were locals joined them. Every building was brown and defaced by graffiti. Doors and shutters hung off their hinges. We passed a building that was a burned out set of walls missing a roof.

I was not very impressed. Why, I wondered, would any government, connected to a country or a tribe or anything, let its citizens live in such awful conditions? It didn't even look like any real standards of quality were being enforced. I saw a zebra in a suit laying in a gutter, passed out, with his hoof around a mule whose throat had been slashed open messily. My stomach lurched at the sight and I cringed as I fought the urge to vomit. I had seen some bad shit, but that dead mule and the passed out zebra just gave such an air of casualness to death that it made the whole city seem extra sick and fucked up.

I looked to Sergeant Bloodfire. He seemed completely unfazed by the disgusting conditions of the neighborhood. I guess seeing it before had made him less sensitive to it.

"The general store is just about a half a block away," he said.

I nodded. Strangely, it was then that I noticed my new NCR MP service dress uniform wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as I'd expected when I first saw it.

"Absolutely Everything - North LW Branch" (the general store we'd been seeking) was (relatively) more impressive than the buildings we'd been walking past for the last quarter of an hour. The door was covered in chipping red paint and the window to the left of it had been replaced with cardboard, but all the shutters seemed to still be attached which placed it higher on the niceness scale than just about everything around it. The sign could've definitely benefitted from some touching up. As a place to stay, it seemed promising, at least from the outside.

"Well," the sergeant said, "shall we?"

"Yeah. I could use a rest," I replied.

We walked inside (the lock was unlocked) and stood on a floor mat that proudly said "WELCOME" and had a picture of a smiling pegasus without any hair and a bad skin condition (for some reason I didn’t immediately think “ghoul”) with eyes going opposite directions. The walls and shelves were lined with odds and ends, gears and (familiar looking) spark batteries, canned foods and glass-bottled drinks, gizmos and stuff that could only be described as "stuff", all of it covered in a thin film of gray dust.

Some of the dust launched into the air as I wiped my hooves on the floor mat and I sneezed hard enough to make my ears pop.

"Hey, Cram, you here?" the sergeant called, his tilted slightly up towards the top of the staircase at the back of the general store.

I heard a crash come from above us and a mare's voice saying the words "Celestia damn you, you fucking boxes!" and then another crash, followed by an "eep" of pain.

"Yeah," the sergeant whispered to me, "she's here."

Within a minute I saw the shape of a pony materialize at the top of the stairs. She walked down... no, glided down the steps, wings half opened, and then trotted between shelves towards us. Her coat was a dark cranberry color and her mane was the color of eggshells, a soft white. She wore an apron streaked with stains of rust and other things that make stains. And, by Luna's infinite mercy, she looked so familiar!

"Do you have a passport?" the border guard asked the cart owner.

The cart's owner grunted and shuffled some papers around. "Eyop," he said in affirmation, a weird accent leaking into his speech. One of the Brahmin heads mooed and the other said "Shut up. I'm hungered too. We'll get som' food later."

The guard snorted and then said "And you?", a question directed at Solon.

"Well, ya see," my companion explained, "you even asking me that is illegal." I heard the rustle of paper once again.

There was a short pause, during which I guessed the border guard was reading. "So?" he asked.

My nose itched under the hay.

"Diplomatic immunity and protection against search and seizure of property." Solon's voice sounded mildly slimy.

"So?" repeated the border guard.

"So you need to let me an my friend here with the cart across the border. This paper is just as good as a passport."

"Oh," replied the guard, "Okay then. Lemme just check the cart for contraband, standard procedure and all, you understand..."

"What part of 'protection against search and seizure of property' do you not get?"

"Huh?"

"You can't search the cart."

"But I have to. It's the standard."

"But you can't."

"But if you have contraband in the cart..."

Solon suddenly sounded indignantly angry. "I am insulted at the very suggestion, private!"

"But I'm just following..."

"Fine, search away," Solon sneered, "but know that your superiors will hear of this!"

"B-b-but I..." the border guard sputtered. "Fine. Go. Just forget I said anything."

I pictured Solon wearing a huge grin just then. "Thank you, private," He replied, "I am glad that I could convince you to listen to reason... and the law."

The cart lurched forward and I heard the border guard, just a few yards or so from me, mutter "Oh, Gawd, I'm gonna get so much crap for this."

"There he is," Solon said, pointing to the uniformed stallion sitting behind the desk against the far right wall.

I nodded, I guess as a way to acknowledge that I saw him.

Solon nudged me. "Go talk to him."

"About what?" I asked.

"I don't know," Solon replied, rolling his eyes, "You need something, right? And that something requires you to join the army, right? Well, he's a detailing sergeant. It's his job to right orders for ponies who've been 'transferred' from one base to another." He nudged me again. "Go."

I snorted. Goddesses be good, none of this made any sense!

I walked to the front of his desk and asked, timidly, "Detailing Sergeant Bloodfire?"

"That’s me," he said, not even bothering to look up from the levitated book he was reading. It was a thick paperback book with the title 'The Naval High-Seas Adventures of Hayseed Hoopspinner' and a very creased spine. The detailing sergeant looked probably twice my age, but maybe a little less than that. His golden coat looked dulled from age. Gray strands stood out against his red mane. His body looked like he had once been a strong warrior but had let that go a little by taking a job that made him sit around a lot. His face had was a little creased as if to match the spine of his book.

I already knew I was talking to the right pony because Solon had told me, but I pretended to act relieved at finding the correct detailing sergeant because it felt a little less awkward. "Oh, well that’s good. Nice to meet you. I’m..."

He interrupted me. "What d’ya need, civvy?" he asked, bringing down his book so he could peer over the top of it, his voice tinged with annoyance. "Actually, why are you even in my office?" I was in an office? I thought he just had a desk. "Your marefriend get deployed to some eastern shithole? You here to try and get her orders changed? Well, I gotta tell you that I see a lot of ponies like you trying to get orders adjusted and..." I had no idea what he was talking, so I decided it was my turn to interrupt.

"Umm, no. I'm here because, umm..." My mind went slightly blank as I grasped for the words Brute had told me to say. "Crap, what was that code phrase... uh, 'what you did for me was a very kind gesture.' Yeah, that was it."

His eyes widened and brightened. He gently folded down the corner of a page in his book and set it down in an already opened drawer. "Oh. Ooooh, so you’re that buck then. Well, it’s certainly good to finally meet you." He had heard of me? Had Brute told him about me? Or Prophetess? "Your name wouldn’t happen to be Fall, would it?"

"It is," I answered.

“Well then,

So, tell me again, exactly why you did... what you did.

Why do you care?

Well, I do care. That’s what matters. It’s my job to understand the minds of those who...

I don’t have any reason to trust you.

Do you have a reason to trust anypony? You’re a wanted stallion and there are plenty who would not be willing to give you due process. You certainly chose a... gruesome method for your work.

I...

Look, Iron, I want to help you. I don’t have a hidden agenda or some reason to be lying to you, it’s just my nature to need to help ponies! You’ve seen my cutie-mark, you know I’m telling the truth.

A scalpel can cut for more than one reason.

What does “the tyrants are calling” mean?

What?

We found it written a hundred times on the underside of your mattress.

I don’t... What is that?!

Oh, don’t be alarmed. It’s just a little gizmo the army came up with to help soldiers suffering from psychological trauma. Soldiers like you.

I’m not suffering from...

Yes... yes you are.

Yes... yes I am... I’m sorry for doubting you, Ma’am. I always knew you had my best intere...

Shhhhh... Rest easy, soldier. You’ve got a long trip ahead of you.

“What?”

“The bar,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “In case you haven’t noticed, kid, I’m no unicorn and my neck doesn’t exactly stretch that far.”

“Oh.” I tentatively reached my jaw to grab the pole jutting from the dark mare’s side.

“Alright,” she said, way too calm for what I was about to do, “when I say go, you yank that fucker out, got it?” I nodded. “Okay. One, two, three, go!”

I yanked that fucker out and let it clatter to the floor, thunking hollowly against the boards. Following the pole came an ugly green ooze of some unnatural sludge that really didn’t seem like it should have come from a pony. The smell of it, or lack of smell rather, made me feel a little sick. The dark mare showed no pain, exhaling slowly as though she’d just managed to remove a tiny splinter that had bothered her for a few days.

let’s get your paperwork in order and get you set up with a good story,” He glanced at my barding. “and get you a uniform.”

“What’s wrong with the armor I have?”

He smirked and tilted his head. “Well, you know, the NCR may be a bit more... shall we say, standardized? Than what you’re used to.”

“Hmm...” That sounded true.

And this is how I became Iron Heart, Corporal, NCRA Military Policepony. I was transferred from Appleloosa Auxiliary Reserve Command where I had patrolled the streets, finding criminals and keeping other military ponies from violating some set of laws called the Standardized Code of Equestrian Military Justice or SCEMJ. As it was customary when arriving at a new command post, the sergeant outfitted me with a Class-A dress uniform. It was a deep, dark green high collar coat made of wool with a black stripe running down either side. On the front of the right shoulder was a sewn-on patch depicting two slanted gold stripes next to a shield. This patch was apparently what made me a corporal. The sergeant gave me several little pieces of multicolor cloth pasted to thin bits of metal. He said they were awards for... something, I forget what they meant. Except for one of them. One was for being wounded in combat. I put on a set of boots. He said Military Policeponies wore sand colored boots in their dress uniforms instead of fancy pony-shoes. Hat, or “cover” as he called it, came last. It was a red thing made of a soft fabric, a beret he said, that sloped over my ear to the left so that it felt lopsided. A silver shield shaped badge was pinned to the front.

And when I put on the uniform I had a strange feeling. A new name, a new look, a new story... I could feel the old me, the real me, being buried.

“Oh, you’re back,” she said. A half-smile wormed its way across her face.

Bloodfire smiled in return. “Yes, it would appear that way. I brought a friend.”

“I can see that.” She turned away from us and trotted to a small table by the big counter on the left side of the store. “So how much trouble is this one in?”

“None,” he replied, and with a smirk added, “believe it or not.”

“Sooo...” Her voice trailed off, “He’s here because...”

“Because he’ll be of import to us later. For now, he just needs a place to stay.”

The mare turned her eyes on me. “You’re letting yourself get pulled into his crazy schemes, you know, right?”

I shrugged. “Can’t end me up in a worse place than I was before.”

Before Solon and I left for the border Brute pulled me aside.

“When you meet the sergeant,” he said, “tell him 'what you did for me was a very kind gesture.' That is the codephrase you must use to let him know I sent you.”

“Your bed is in this room. It’s the one on the right hoof side, third from the wall. You might want to change the sheets, though. Last mare who used that bed brought over a lot o’ smelly ghoul hookers.”

I nodded, outwardly showing no emotion, or at least attempting not to show any excitement. Inside, I was jumping for joy like a young buck getting their first warrior stripes painted on. A bed? A real bed all to myself? After all the time I spent in the desert, in the slave camp, I had a place to stay with a real roof and a real mattress and real food!

"Breakfast is at seven, but since you'll be working on base you should check out the chow hall schedule. I guess Bloody is going to show you around your first day." She looked to my new employer. "That right?" He nodded and she continued. "If you need something, ask for it. If I find any shit missing from my store I know who to blame. You're the only pony staying here right now who I don't know much about."

I nodded. "So what should I do while I wait to... to do whatever it is Military Policeponies do?"

She shrugged. "Most of the ponies who stay here don't do much of anything. There're casinos and stuff downtown, but you don't exactly look like the most cap-loaded of ponies." She shrugged again, as though she perceived the act of shrugging needing reiteration. "The Church of the Lightbringer has a chapter up the street if you're the religious type, and there's a cheap saloon down the street if you ain't."

The Lightbringer. I'd heard that name before. The pony who saved Equestria or something like that. I felt the need to learn more.

"If that's all I need to get back to work arranging the attic," she said, "Feel free to settle in and get comfortable. Dinner's at eight, er, twenty hundred. Whatever."

She turned to leave, heading with folded wings toward the ladder coming from the ceiling. Bloodfire seemed to have mysteriously vanished. "Wait," I said as I suddenly realized I'd forgotten something important.

She stopped and turned her head. "What is it?"

"I didn't get your name."

She smiled slightly. "It's Cramberry, but everypony calls me Cram. You?"

"Fall... I mean, Iron. It's nice to meet you, Cram."

"Nice to meet you too, Fall, Iron, whatever."

Authors note: I’m not going to finish this fic. I have completely lost interest in it and it depresses me to look at it. However, I thought that if anyone wanted to look at what I had written for chapter nine before I gave up then it would only be fair to post it.
Anyway, I’ve learned my lesson: never, ever, ever attempt an experimental fan fic your first time around. Ever. Thanks for the support I got from those of y’all who actually liked this crap. If you’re interested, I’m working on a new fic that may or may not be a one-shot.
Adios!