Fallout: Equestria: Honest Herds

Fallout: Equestria: Honest Herds

By sargecadet

Chapter 7: Where Does One Road End...

“You see, there was never time to hesitate when we fought them”

I apologize for my scrawling in the last chapter. Those particular memories were slipping away from me. If I hadn’t written them down then they might have been lost forever. But really, what would that matter? I’m just another earth pony with a story... my own, particular story... who can ramble and ramble on and on because in the end only one other pony:

You,

is ever going to read it. So take care. Maybe I’ll give my story to you personally.

"Sho, Fall, right?" I nodded. "Where're you from? Not the north, right?"

The orange mare, my owner, sat across a small card table from me. She twirled a cone shaped glass filled with a clear liquor with the tip of her hoof. Her smile was menacing, somewhere between an attempt at being seductive and murderous. The slight lisp she had came from her teeth; sharpened to points.

Her shack was, not surprisingly, the biggest. Sheet metal on the outside, it was decorated with bits of fabric, a cot covered in hay and dried rose petals, a standing and decrepit wardrobe, a radio buzzing almost inaudibly, scraps torn from paintings, the hides of mutated desert beasts I hadn't even seen, and the corpses of the recently deceased fighters. The smell was putrid, making it hard to be appetized by the plate of food in front of me. Not that I would have found it very appetizing in the first place as it was mostly some sort of mystery meat.

To my right was a workbench. Several weapons rested on it, two of which looked like some strange cross between a machine gun and a grenade launcher. Ammo of all types lay scattered underhoof on the floor. If I was going to kill her, I had all the tools I needed.

"No, I'm not from the north," I replied. She'd put makeup on, I realized. Was that normal for insane slave drivers?

"Hmm, then where from? East, west, south?"

"South," Her breath! Dear Celestia, it was so... so sickening! What did she eat?

"Colonist then? NCR? No, you can't be. You don't look like a scavenger. You've mined before, right?"

"Not a colonist. Yes, I've been a miner," Planning. I needed to make a plan.

"Yeah, the cutie mark says it all, doesn't it? Mining, mining, mining... So damn boring of a job, right? Well, I like mining, as long as I don't get my hooves dirty. So tell me about yourself. You did have a life before this job, right?"

There was a pick hanging on the wall behind the cot. That would be my primary weapon. Now, how to get it without her taking me down with magic... "I... um..." Why should I tell her anything about myself? I wanted her dead! She had caused so much suffering to slaves here, especially the slave who had fought that night. No, telling her about my real life would be indulging her. Lying. How should I lie... "I've been traded around by sla... mining companies since I was a colt. I was, uh, part of a tribe that got attacked by raiders," Yeah, she'd believe that. Now, back to the pick...

She nodded her head in understanding, pressing her forehooves together as she leaned against the card table. The table's hinges creaked. "We are sho alike," she told me, making my skin crawl a little, "When I was a little filly my parents got killed and I was shent away. My little brother and I got sold. I don't know what happened to my sister, though. I think they set her on fire," she rubbed her chin, "Wasn't raiders in my case though, right? It was my own fuckin people who did it!" She broke out in a big grin.

Her story. It sounded familiar for some reason... That pick. I needed it. "Hmm," I replied, "that sounds terrible." A distraction. What could I use to distract her?

"Oh, it wasn't all bad. Being a slave was kinda nice for a while. I even learned about some stuff. Got a book once. It was about some mare who killed a bunch of... well, everything. I especially liked the parts about a very shpecial slaver who wanted to save the world." She sighed, eyes shut, lost in the memory for a moment. I began shifting out of my seat, moving towards the pick. She opened her eyes again and I stopped where I was. "And then," she continued, "I killed my masters. That was fun. The slavers who didn't fight against me work for me now! See, I'm an entrepreneur!"

I didn't know that word, but I was pretty sure she wasn't using it right. She lifted a bottle from under the table. It was full of whatever she was drinking.

"Want shome?" she asked. Honestly I didn't, but if playing along with her dinner plans got me closer to killing her then it was worth it.

"Sure, why not?" Sure, why not?

She placed an old tin can with no label in front of me and filled the can halfway. I took a cautious sip. No smell, no taste, but damn was it strong. I squeezed my eyes shut as I swallowed. It burned going down, more than whiskey.

"Vodka," she informed me, "It's hard to find bottles of Shtalliongrad's Finest these days."

I nodded, saying nothing.

"Sho," she began again, tearing off a bit of meat from her plate and stuffing it in her mouth, gnawing through it with her sharpened teeth, "where did you learn to fight? That zebra was awfully good, right?"

"Luck. Just plain, stupid luck," I lied. A distraction. Vodka hurt, so...

"Oh, don't give me that bullshit, Fall." Was I that obvious? She trotted slowly around to my side of the table and whispered in my right ear, "Just how high were you? I know what a pony on combat chems looks like. Question is," she draped her forehooves across my shoulders, "who gave them to you?"

Dammit. Goddesses dammit all to hell. I was beginning to think that guard mare had set me up. Try to lie again. "No chems, just talent."

"Sho your telling me," she said as her hoof traced lazy circles around the scar on my neck, "that you, a common earth pony miner, are... sorry, were more talented at hoof to hoof fighting than a zebra that I chose specifically because he was well known prizefighter from a Little Warchestnut casino? Fall, Fall, Fall... I know you can't possibly be that shtupid, right?" She started nibbling on my ear with her sharp teeth. I felt a few drops of blood trickle out.

"Fine," Tell the truth, Fall. She won't believe you anyways, "There is a traitor in your organization. One of them gave me a cocktail of a bunch different drugs. Hadrine, the zebra, forced me to kill him." I wrapped my hoof around my can of vodka.

She let out a heavy sigh and kissed the side of my face. I cringed.

"Thank you. It's nice to get some honesty once in a while," Wait, what? She believed that? But it sounded so ridiculous! "Traitors, huh? Well, thoshe aren't to hard to deal with. An eye for an eye and all that shit, right?"

My blood was boiling. An eye for an eye...

She left my side and... sprawled herself across her cot, gazing at me with bedroom eyes. So this was the real reason she wanted the winner of the pit games to visit her. She was a horny, sadistic, psychopathic mare who idolized a dead megalomaniac slaver. How did she get so messed up?

"I'm a fan of winnersh," she informed me, "and I believe in rewarding good behavior."

Sweet Luna, my face was getting hot (well, along with another part of me...). Damn stupid traitorous body! I held on tight to my vodka can and took another small sip. Yup, still burned. She patted the hay next to her, leaning her head on her right hoof. I stood where I was. This couldn't be right. There was no way things could be going according to my plan this easily.

She noticed my unwillingness to move. Her horn glowed. I felt the hairs on my back stand up as she magically pushed me towards her. I glanced at the pickaxe on the wall, then back at the can.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, her lips curled in pouty... oh, what’s the right word... bitchiness, “You don’t want to acshept my offer? Well, this ish an inauspicious start, right? Was hoping to make this a tradition. The winners of the Pit games... sound delicious...” Her eyes had wandered as she had spoken. She abruptly brought them back to me. “Oh, I undershtand,” she nodded, her voice becoming heated, “You don’t think I’m pretty enough, right? Tell me, honest to Gawd, ish it the pointy teeth? Ooh, or maybe it’s the horn. Do you hate unicorns, Fall? Horn envy, or shomething like that, right?”

She stretched herself across the bed again, horn glowing brighter. I noticed for the first time the detonator she wore on a string around her neck. That was why she believed I couldn’t fight back, why she felt she could do whatever she wanted. Not that it mattered...

Goddesses, this was a weird evening.

I felt her telekinetic cloud wrap itself around my neck as she slowly pulled me forward. Still, I resisted, pushing my hooves against the floor. I shouldn't have since I needed to get near her to kill her, but she repelled me so much. I hated her. I despised everything she had done.

But at the same time, I knew that murder was wrong. Not killing to defend yourself, I'd done that, but planning, plotting to kill another...

No, I reminded myself, it isn't murder. It's war. War between good and evil, and I am definitely good. Killing in war was good, an almost... holy thing to do. I gripped my vodka can tighter and loosened my grip on the floor, and walked towards her.

She smiled. I hated her smile. I placed my hoof on the side of her face, trying my best to look like I cared, and she shuddered.

"Itsh been years since I've been with a strong buck," she whispered, "and you look sho much like somepony that used to love me."

A psychopath one moment, a lonely, lovesick mare the next. She must have been deeper than I'd thought, but I couldn't care less. Lost love was no excuse for brutality.

With a flick of my hoof I splashed vodka in her eyes. She howled in pain and lost concentration on her telekinesis. She tapped wildly at her detonator as I snatched the pickaxe from the wall. She screamed. I gripped the pick's handle tightly in my mouth and brought down the pointed end down through her chest. Blood splashed in my face. But she wasn't dead yet, not even close. The point hadn't done the damage I'd been expecting. I flipped the pick around to use the flatter part and got to work on her neck. It was over quick. There was blood. A lot of it was on me.

It wouldn't be long until her guards became suspicious of the scream that came from her shack.

I moved quickly, trying to gather supplies I would need to escape. Barding. I smashed open the wardrobe with the pick. A dress, a set of work rags, some sort of full body metal armor with a visor, and... combat armor. Perfect. No saddlebags though. That could be a problem for a long journey.

After strapping on the combat armor I moved to the workbench. The grenade machine gun things looked like it was in perfect condition (or at least what I thought was perfect condition since I'd never seen one before). The grenade machine guns were attached by a battle saddle with mouth triggers. They were both fully loaded with fat grenade shells that looked bullet shaped.

I dragged the heavy battle saddle of the work bench to the ground. It thunked heavily. I crawled beneath it and strapped it to my barding, tucking the handle of the pickaxe between the straps. On standing up I found it wasn't as heavy as I'd guessed. I readied the triggers.

Just then an ugly looking dark green unicorn buck levitating a submachine gun slammed open the shack door. He gaped at his decapitated boss's corpse then spun towards me, firing off a burst of screaming bullets.

"You!" he shouted. I felt a shot of pain as two of the bullets pierced my barding.

Panicking, I bit down on both mouth triggers. Big mistake. His body exploded into a cloud of bloody guts and muscle, along with bone shrapnel that peppered my face. The concussive force of the blast in the enclosed space crashed against me. My ears rang so loudly that I was afraid I was deaf. A thin trail of blood trickled out my right ear.

As soon as I got bearings back (minus my hearing) I dashed for the door. Outside, other guards were waiting for me. They were unorganized and panicking. Several of them saw me and opened fire, leading the rest of them to begin shooting wildly.

I tried to roll out of the way (which the bulk of my battle saddle made difficult) and fired a salvo of grenade rounds at my attackers. I saw guns go flying and bodies ripped apart by the explosions. A leg landed at my hooves and a pistol smacked against my head, giving me a deep gash.

A huge bullet impacted the ground by my right back hoof, leaving a sizable crater in the dirt. I looked up. The griffon.

She took aim again. Oh, fuck me, ran through my head.

I took off running. A bullet to my right. A bullet to my left. As I neared the gate the edge of a bullet clipped my ear. By clipped what I actually mean is that the Goddesses damned bullet tore my left ear off, leaving behind a bleeding stump. I screamed, but I couldn't hear myself.

I reached the gate. Taking out my bloody pick I found the generator and smashed the spark batteries to sparkling, burning, electrical bits that blew up in my face, at the same time narrowly dodging being blasted apart by the griffon's high powered rifle. A sharp whine that even my deafened ears could hear came from the fence, and the electrified fence was electrified no more.

With my pick I ripped a hole in the fence big enough to go through with my battle saddle. Avoiding another deadly bullet, I crawled through.

The griffon continued to chase after me as I ran towards the center of the camp. I was spotted by more of the camp's guards. Bullets pinged off my barding. A grenade went off next to me, showering me with red hot shrapnel.

Scrapper and Martyr weren't there. They weren't by the pit, and now I was forced to search for them. Dammit, there went my hopes for a quick getaway. A swarm of slaves rushed by me, running to the gate as the guards attempted to corral them. Whump. The griffon landed behind me and placed the barrel of her rifle squarely between my ears.

"You think you're some kind of a hero, don't you?" she asked me, "Just so you know, this is just a job to me. I won't feel an ounce of sympathy when I pull this trigger, but I will feel a little pleasure. I enjoy watching rebellious ponies squir--"

I'm certain she would have finished saying the word "squirm" if her head hadn't been blown to pieces just then. I found myself showered in yet another layer of blood, bone fragments, and gore. Spinning wildly, I searched for the sniper, only to feel a hoof flick against the back of my head.

I turned around and saw the guard mare who’d given me the drug-water-canteen. She was wearing a few more wounds than I’d last seen her with as well and was carrying a hunting rifle that was more duct tape than gun. I opened my mouth to thank her for saving my life, but she interrupted me.

“Your friends are fine,” she informed me, “They’re in the upper section of the cube. Open the gate for the other slaves to escape, get your friends, and head north to Camp Steelhooves. Do not travel through Little Warchestnut.” As she spoke, my Pip-Buck pinged new locations on its map. “Camp Steelhooves, not Little Warchestnut. Got it?”

I nodded. “What do I do once I get there?”

She placed a hoof on my shoulder as an explosion rocked the ground ten yards away. “Become a citizen,” she said, “and keep heading north.”

She turned and began trotting toward the battle raging between the slave and their masters. “Why are you helping me?” I shouted, asking a question I’d asked before, “No other guards have even tried to free us.”

The sand maned mare glanced over her shoulder and grinned. “Because I’m no guard. I’m an NCR Ranger.”

The gate stood before me. Big and imposing, I was strangely feeling a bit sentimental about it. I shouldn’t have been. It was a symbol of oppression, keeping the slaves like me locked in, cruelly separating us from freedom. However, at least I knew where I was behind this gate. Outside was just the wasteland: big, vast, violent.

Well, that was enough sentimentality. I rammed my armoured shoulder against the gate, pushing with all my might. By destroying the electrification system I’d destroyed the massively heavy gate’s automated opening as well. Also, I’d stupidly forgotten about the Goddesses-damned lock.

I backed up and analyzed the situation. I could tear apart the gate with the pick, but that would take too much time and a glance behind me at the ensuing battle told me I didn’t have that. Maybe I could try to find a guard with a key. No, because that faced the same problem. Then it hit me. I was an idiot. In my possession were two over-powered grenade machine guns mounted on a battle-saddle. I took in a deep breathe, trotted farther back, braced myself, and bit down on the triggers. The intensely explosive projectiles arced through the air at my obstacle. The fiery ribbon of explosions tore the chain links apart, ripping the gate off its hinges, throwing bits of metal in all directions.

Well, that wouldn’t go unnoticed for long.

I galloped out the non-gate and headed toward the cube. Never before had I realized how far it actually was from the camp. With the weight of the barding, battle-saddle, the pick, and the fatigue I had already been experiencing, I was losing energy.

I was out of breath by the time I entered the cube. Tapping on my PipBuck’s lamp, I proceeded through the upwards slanted passage.

“Martyr!” I shouted, “Scrapper! Where are you!”

Even with the light from my PipBuck the passages were ominously dark. Bizarrely, I feared that the walls wanted to eat me, which was an odd fear, especially from an experienced miner like myself. There was something... off about these upper caves. What were the veteran slaves mining for up here? More coal?

No. Not coal. Not coal at all. I heard my PipBuck’s Rad-Sensor go click-click-click. Coal didn’t give off magical radiation. Then I started hearing things. Just bits of random sound at first, but soon I heard voices. Ghostly, whispery, terrifying voices. No, my rational brain told me, the ancestors wouldn’t live here. But still, I heard them.

“...torn to pieces...”

“...scientist, not a fucking sold...”

“...what if they can hear us...”

And then, just as suddenly as they began, the actual words stopped. A deep, gravelly growl replaced them. It chilled my bones.

“Scrapper! Luna-dammit, where are you?” I screamed, “Martyr!”

I felt something brush my hoof. I spun around, readying both triggers. Martyr looked startled, gazing at me wide-eyed with fear as I pointed my massive battle-saddle at his head. Scrapper stood behind him.

Exhaling the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding, I lowered my weapons and scooped up the little buck in a hug. He blinked away the shock of me turning my grenade machine gun on him and wrapped his small hooves around my neck. I reached a hoof around and drew Scrapper to me also.

The growl had stopped. I tried to say ‘I thought I lost both of you,’ but all that came out was “...lost you...that noise...”

“That you, Fall?” Scrapper asked. I grunted in confirmation. “That one mare said you’d get us out of here.”

“Yeah...” I responded, letting go of the two slaves, “um... yeah, you’re right. We should go.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” said Martyr.

We trotted out the halls, my PipBuck still protesting the radiation we were consuming. I had to lead Scrapper in the right direction through the tunnels with Martyr trotting quickly behind. I didn’t hear the voices again.

Outside the cube was chaos. The population of slaves had found the “opened” gate. So had the the slavers. Ponies rushed around, running away from the camp, running away from the guards. Bullets flew through the air, blood stained the sand. The moon was full. It illuminated the battlefield with silvery-white light, revealing every gory detail. A unicorn slave mare noticed me (or rather, noticed the firepower I carried) and cried out "Help us! We're getting slaughtered!" just before she was turned into a pony shaped sieve by a stream of bullets fired from a light machine gun battle saddle. The killer turned his attention toward us.

‘Boom’ was my response to that threat. The shoddily barded slaver buck exploded and splattered across the sand and the mixed up crowd.

I grabbed Martyr by his ragged clothing with my mouth and swung him onto my back. He grabbed my neck to hold on. I prompted Scrapper quickly to face the direction we needed to go and shouted “Run!”

And with that we fled into the desert, away from slavery, away from the mare who’d helped us escape. I had no plan for what we would do. We had no supplies besides a single canteen, two heavy guns, and a pick. The map showed Camp Steelhooves being far to the north, much farther than what we could cover in a night, and I had no idea what was in between.

Despite all this I was happy. I’d finally escaped and, for at least a little while, we were free.

My eyelids were drooping. The moon was setting in the west behind the mountains. My battle saddle was weighing me down but I refused to get rid of it in case we ran into trouble. The barding I wore chafed against my scars and the brand on my cutie mark. Many of my bruises still throbbed. My deactivated but still attached collar felt tighter. The stump of my left ear had scabbed over.

But none of that pain mattered because we were free. We were heading for the distant NCR border, nothing had attacked us yet, and... where was Scrapper?

Panic swept over me. I spun around, trying to spot her. I checked my PipBuck map. No marker. Dammit! Our canteen had been completely drunk several hours ago. She must have fainted from dehydration or something a while ago and I hadn’t noticed. Shit. Shit!

I needed to go looking for her. She was lost, blind, and out of water in the middle of the desert. But I couldn't go looking for her, not without putting myself and Martyr in danger. Like I said, we were out of water, I was running low on grenade ammo, and the sun was rising. As much as I hated it, finding water and shelter was more important than finding a lost friend. Fuck! Celestia-dammit, why couldn't decisions be easy for a change?

Martyr slept quietly on my back. How could he be so peaceful? No matter what, I decided, I wouldn't lose him. I'd already lost too many ponies. Too many friends.

Shelter. The sun was peeking over the eastern horizon. I brought up my map and zoomed in on our position. I searched for blips, shapes that suggested a cave or something. I found one better. A rectangular shape, obviously not natural. A shack?

I licked my dry lips. It must have been getting closer to summer for it to have been that hot in the night. My body felt sapped of moisture. If that really was a shack of some sort then a pony must have lived there once. If somepony had lived there then they might have left something behind. Hopefully water. It wasn’t too far. Just about a half an hour’s march to the west. Great. Now we would have shelter and a base to start looking for Scrapper. Yeah, I guessed that some things weren’t all bad.

No, everything is bad. We got to the shack within thirty minutes. Martyr had woken up and trotted beside me. The shack looked sturdy enough and the dryness of the desert had kept the metal it was made of from rusting. Problem was it was already occupied. By a pack of radscorpions,

“Hide,” I whispered to Martyr as I undid the straps of my battle saddle, letting it slide to the ground, and took out my pick. He obeyed, hiding himself behind the heavy weaponry.

I choose not to use the grenade machine gun out of fear of damaging the only shelter for miles around. That left me with just my melee weapon. Oh joy.

One of the large blue bugs skittered over the sand towards me, claws clicking and tail waving. I slapped its barbed tail away with one swing and with the next I impaled the spike through its ugly face. It uttered an unearthly "skreeee" as it died. Apparently that was like a battle cry for radscorpions because the rest of the family decided to skitter my way. I took a ready stance.

I slammed my pick through the head of the closest bug repeatedly. It still swung its tail at me as it was dying, the barb clanging off my barding. Next bug. WHAM. Dead. I jumped back to avoid a massive stinger from the biggest one of the group. Leaping forward again, I brought up the pick through the beast’s tail and twisted, ripping its flesh under the thick exoskeleton. “skraaaaw!” it protested, whipping me around with its tail, my teeth still gripping the pick's handle. Its throes of pain resulted in ripping off the half of its tail above my weapon.

My success, however, was short lived. The giant radscorpion leapt on top of me, snipping at my face with its huge pincers. It opened wide its mouth(?) and screeched, "click-click-ckraaw!!!" with rotten, sickeningly meaty breath. Mustering up all my strength, I jammed my pick through the beast's chin. It writhed. I wriggled out from under it. And that's when I got stung.

You know, that's a major design flaw with the combat barding I was wearing. The sides were heavily armored with metal and some sort of ceramic plates. I could take most shots to the sides and shoulders and walk away just fine. If a bullet slipped in between the plates (as several had), oh well, it was just one bullet. Clouds of shrapnel were mostly no problem either. All in all, it was pretty good armor for a gunfight. The underbelly, on the other hoof, was just the opposite: useless. Just a system of straps designed to keep the rest of the barding held to the user despite being thrown around like a rag doll in an explosion. So, basically, when the only remaining radscorpion (a white one, oddly enough) decided to stab me with its ugly, barbed, poisonous tail there was nothing to stop it. And it hurt like shit.

I flipped over and slammed the pick through the remaining bug's ugly right most eye. The beast twitched for a while until it looked dead. I stabbed it a few more times just to be sure.

Oh Goddesses, did my guts ache. Venom from the bug's stinger seeped into me. But I was okay. I could still stand and walk. My vision blurred a little and I heard a disembodied hissing sound as I trotted over to Martyr's hiding spot, but it quickly went away. I could try to fix myself up when we got inside.

"Hey, Martyr," I called. He peeked his head up from behind the huge grenade machine gun battle saddle. "Let's go inside."

He nodded. "What about the guns?" he asked as he ran up to my side.

I looked back at my battle saddle laying in the sand. It looked so... heavy. My head felt buzzy. "We'll get it later," I decided.

We trotted slowly toward the shack. I... wasn't feeling right. I tripped over my own hooves, narrowly avoiding falling on my face. Something was wrong. But I was okay. I could make it to the door. Then I could rest. Yes, the door. Then water, then sleep, then finding Scrapper. I swung open the door. Oh look, a floor that wasn't sand. That's nice.

"Hey, he's awake!" a mare shouted.

I felt my eyelids flutter open. Oh Goddesses, I felt bad.

"Really?" another mare said, "The medicine pony said he'd be out for a week. Is something wrong?"

He's alive, at least. I say that's pretty right," I saw the outline of a light bulb through my blurry vision. The lightbulb was swinging back and forth. It was mesmerizing. "Stream, tell Lyra to come here quick! His wound just opened up again out of nowhere!"

What? "Yes ma'am, miss Three!" What where my sister and Three doing here? Where the hell was I?!

It was dark. My stomach felt like it was splitting open. My face felt wet, sweaty. "FUCK!" I shouted. I was in so much pain. I felt like I was on fire and like I was drowning at the same time. "Fuck... Luna kill me, please, please, PLEASE! It hurts! Oh, Goddesses..." Was dying like this? My intestines were being ripped apart by hooks. I thought of Two being melted by that energy weapon blast. Was this what that had been like for him? Agony? "I promise I'll be better... fuck, fuck, shit..." I whimpered, begging forgiveness from the Goddesses, "I'll pray more and I'll be good and I won't chop up evil ponies anymore I promise I promise... Oh, FUCK!"

I felt a hoof gently rest on my face. "Shhh... just go back to sleep Fall. You'll be okay."

"So you're saying he's awake but he hasn't said anything?" asked a voice that sounded like a mare gargling gravel. My vision still looked fuzzy, but I could clearly see that the face above me had a horn. A split horn.

"Yes," replied another voice. Three's voice? I wasn't sure.

"Well that's odd. I haven't seen catatonic shit like this since the war. Some ponies... lots of them, actually... who got seriously fucked up in the head just froze like this."

"So he has brain damage?" asked a deep stallions voice. Dad?

The gravel throated mare scoffed. "Nope. More than one way get your head fucked up."

"How do we... uh... fix him? Ah mean, we can't do deliveries if he can't move." Lily? No way. I watched her die. There was no way she could be here. Actually, where was here?

The blurry mare shrugged. "I don't know," she grumbled, "I wasn't ever trained to deal with advanced psychology stuff like this. Just stay near and talk to him, I guess."

Cold. So, so cold. Colder than a river in winter. Why? Why was I so chilly? I felt sweaty. Where was I? I glanced around my surroundings. Light fell through a window above me at an angle that made every bit of dust in the air shimmer. Tin walls, refrigerator, shards of a mirror held to a board, radio, rotten wooden floor. Martyr was lying on the floor, curled up asleep. He looked so peaceful. A short gash was cut diagonally across his forehead. For some reason I felt guilty about that gash but I wasn't sure why.

My eyelids started getting heavy again...

The mare on top of the tower. What did she do? How could that tall tower fit in this dark, small, cold box I was in? So many questions, and none of them mattered.

And suddenly I wasn't cold anymore. I was burning. Green flames wrapped around me. I saw my skin melting off, dripping from my shoulders to my hooves. But it didn't hurt. It was actually a bit funny. I started laughing! I felt happy. This could be the end, but who cared? It was my turn. I'd watched my friends die and now I finally got a chance to see them again. I could apologize! But the burning... it was just so fucking hilarious!

The dark mare walked up beside me. "Do you understand now?" she asked.

I shook my head, a big smile plastered across my stupid face.

"Well, you'll know the truth eventually."

The ceiling above me looked cold. One hoof hung off the edge of the cot. My vision was locked on that solitary patch of ceiling and my breath was stale, sickly, disgusting. I was stuck in that odd paralyzed state that comes with waking up. So I did nothing.

I must have just stared at the ceiling for an hour before I felt strong enough to move. Lowering one hoof to the ground slowly, I felt confident enough to put my weight on it. I collapsed. My legs were too weak and wobbly to support me. Slowly, painfully slowly, I raised myself up, leaning on the cot.

My barding and slave rags lay folded in the corner by the refrigerator. Besides them were my book and the orb from the foal killer. Where was Martyr?

The door was kicked open and I jumped, anticipating an attack. Goddesses, had a few weeks in the wasteland made me that nervous? Fortunately, it was just Martyr. He was dragging in, backwards with his teeth, my massive battle saddle. Once he was indoors the little unicorn set down the guns with a thud and sat, panting.

“They’re heavy, aren’t they?” I muttered.

The little buck jumped, startled, and faced me. He still had that mysterious gash under his horn. "Fall! You're awake!"

"Yes, I am," I replied, "How long was I asleep?"

Martyr swiped his hoof along the ground and looked toward the ceiling. He mumbled something under his breath.

"Martyr? I'm sorry, I didn't hear you."

"Umm," he murmured a little louder, "you've been out for three days."

I stood there and blinked. Three days? No, that wasn't possible. I'd found this shack so that I could have a base to go looking for Scrapper. I couldn't be three days behind! No! It wasn't fair! She could be dead by now! And, Goddesses dammit, I was sick of losing friends! Leaning against the wall, I stumbled over to my barding. I needed to go. I needed to find her. I picked up my barding and tried my to put it on, but my wobbly legs collapsed under me. Dammit, I needed to search for her! This couldn't be happening. I needed to find my friend!

"Hey," the little colt piped up, "what are you doing? You still need to rest."

"Help me put my barding on."

He stomped his hoof. "No."

I raised myself up to a standing position again. I turned my head toward him. "What. Did. You just say?" What right did this little buck, this... this kid, have to tell me what to do? I saved his life! "Help me. Now," I growled through gritted teeth. I couldn't armor myself on my own.

"No. I said no," he replied, "I spent three days and nights fixing you! Do you know what it's like to make an antivenom for an albino radscorpion sting with only basic poison training? It isn't fucking easy! You almost died!" Small tears had started to trickle down his face.

'I'm sorry. You are right, I shouldn't put my life at risk anymore after being in a medical coma for several days. I will return to the cot and continue to rest.' That's what I should have said.

Instead I said this: "You don't get it, do you?" I shouted, "Scrapper is out there because I wasn't damn smart enough to make sure she didn't get separated from us! And what were you doing? You were sleeping! You didn't even try to make sure she was with us!"

He stumbled back and fell on his rump. Tears streamed down his face.

And I continued to be an idiot. "Don't you get it? I need to find her! It's my fault she's out there in the desert!" Oh Celestia, I felt lightheaded. I blinked the headache away. "Now get me some water," I said in a calmer tone, "and help me with my barding."

Salty drops streamed down Martyr’s face. He stammered, "N-no," through choking tears.

I sighed. "Fine." Reaching down I picked up my barding and slipped it on the best I could. I didn't bother with the straps. I stumbled over to open the fridge. Half a bottle of water surrounded by empty bottles. I grabbed it with my teeth and drank it down. My PipBuck clicked angrily at the radiation tainted water I consumed. As soon as I’d finished it I hated myself. The last of the water. Damn.

I turned slowly to face Martyr. “What happened to the water? Were those bottles full before?” I asked, my voice quivering. No more water. No more water. No more water. We were stuck in the middle of

Detailing Sergeant Bloodfire?

“That’s me.”

Oh, well that’s good. Nice to meet you. I’m...

“What d’ya need, civvy? Actually, why are you even in my office? 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...”

Umm, no. I’m here because, umm... crap, what was that code phrase... uh, ‘what you did for me was a very kind gesture.’ Yeah, that was it.

“Oh. Ooooh, so you’re that buck then. Well, it’s certainly good to finally meet you. Your name wouldn’t happen to be Fall, would it?

a Goddess forsaken desert and I’d just chugged down the very last of the water. Oh fuck.

I shook my head, trying to clear away that thought. I found my pick and stumbled out the door. The sun beat down on my battered hide oppressively. Already I felt woozy, but I needed to find Scrapper. I needed to find her. There wasn't any time to waste.

My PipBuck map, once again, told me nothing about her location. Trying to figure out the route we’d followed was impossible because all the sand looked the same and we’d been travelling at night. I’d just have to guess. We’d left the camp, heading north... had we changed course? Dammit. Where was our path? I couldn’t figure it out.

I wandered. I had my PipBuck to tell me how to get back to the shack, but with the E.F.S. not working it didn’t really tell me anything else. Well, not much else regarding enemies. What it did tell me was that I was already getting dehydrated again, my body wasn’t quite right, and that I’d consumed enough radiation from the tunnels and the water to be... umm, whatever the technical term for the needle pointing to the yellow was.

Stumbling through the wasteland was not a good search method. Unfortunately, it took a long time for my jumbled mind to get that. I was at least two and a half miles away by the time I figured that out.

My mouth and throat screamed for water. The sun was beginning to set. I sighed and turned around. You’ll find her tomorrow, I told myself. What a load of horseapples.

The walk back to the shack was demoralising. Every step felt heavier than the last, every breath more filled with despair and sand. I couldn’t do it. There was no way I’d make it to the NCR and convince them to help my tribe. I couldn’t save anypony, either. All my friends ended up dead. Two and Three, Lily, Hadrine, and potentially Scrapper as well.

I stopped. No, I reminded myself, you have Martyr. You are saving him. You can take him somewhere safer, somewhere where he can grow up without worrying about being enslaved and starving.

The thought of saving that little unicorn buck gave me strength and it gave me hope. I would make it. I would find my way north for him and, together, we would save my tribe.

When I (finally) made it back to the shack I heard a terrible noise. It was like a scream, only it wasn’t a scream. It sounded otherworldly, like it was being said by a voice trapped in another voice. I barged through the door. Martyr sat in the far corner with his hooves clasped over his ears.

It was the radio. That little Celestia damned radio was what was making that terrible noise! I stepped towards it, pick raised, ready to turn it off the easiest way possible. The clicking of my PipBuck made me step back. What the hell? Change of plans: don’t smash the mysterious radioactive screaming radio.

Then, out of nowhere, the screeching stopped. “Access code, seven, eighteen, kindness, fifty-two, loyalty, ninety, twenty-seven, thirty-six,” said the voice, sickeningly sweet yet strangely familiar, of a mare. It was immediately followed by a deeper, more artificial voice saying, “Access granted. Welcome to section blue, Doctor Leftcoil.”

The screaming started again immediately, louder than before. I released my pick and dropped to the floor. I pressed my hooves to my ears. The torturous sound rose higher and higher until finally, with no warning, it stopped. It just... stopped.

I stood up. My ears rang. I trotted over to Martyr.

“What was that?” I asked. I could barely hear myself speak.

Martyr tapped his hoof against his head a few times, as if he was trying to knock the sound out of his brain. “That,” he said, pointing his horn toward the demonically loud gadget, “happens every night. You just never heard it ‘cause you were asleep.” Well, that made sense, but why did it do that?

And that’s when my dry mouth, woozy head, and weak legs reminded me that that was a mystery for another day. I closed the door, shrugged my barding off in a corner, and pulled the cord connected to the single lightbulb in the room (what was it powered by, I wondered), plunging us into darkness.

“Good night, Martyr. I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

“Good night, Fall.”

Flicking on my PipBuck lamp, I looked at myself in the shattered mirror. I looked... different. Missing an ear, covered in scars, my old self wouldn’t have recognized me. Me then wouldn’t recognize me now, either.

“Hey, Fall, you asleep?” asked a little voice from the cot behind me.

“Not yet,” I replied from my spot on the floor. Sleeping was hard. Everytime I closed my eyes I saw my friends being killed. Conversation was better. “So, Martyr...”

“Yeah?” he whispered back.

“How’d you learn about poison?”

“I was a slave in a lot of places, remember? One of them was a radscorpion farm.”

“What pony would be stupid enough to keep radscorpions?”

“The ones that make casseroles out of their stingers.”

I would never understand northern ponies. "So," I continued, "how'd you get that cut? The one on your forehead, I mean."

"You hit me while you were sick. You kept thrashing around."

"Oh... sorry."

"It's all right," he replied, his voice sounding small and distant in the darkness of the tin shack. He yawned. "Good night again, Fall."

"Good night, Martyr. We'll leave in the morning, alright? Find more water and food, then we'll go north."

"Okay. And Fall?"

"Yes?"

"I'm glad you're not dead."

"Thanks."

Good night, Martyr. I'll miss you.

“You fucker, you made us walk this entire way for a shack?!” was the sentence that woke me up. “Really? A Luna fucking shack? In the middle of the fucking desert?!”

“The fuck I did. Shit horns over here is giving the ball-sucking orders!” said a mare’s voice.

I rose to my hooves as quietly as I could and shook Martyr awake. His eyelids fluttered open. “Wha...” he started to say as he rubbed the front of his hoof across his face. I pressed the tip of my hoof to his mouth and signaled to be quiet. Dammit, this could be bad.

A deeper voice spoke. “Shut up, you two. Look, it’s not just a shack, it’s a really old shack.”

I motioned for Martyr to move off the cot. His eyes were wide. I put on my slave rags, stuffed my book and the orb in the pockets, and began strapping on my barding. Luckily I was stronger today. Martyr scurried under the cot and snatched out a jug of water. Why hadn’t that been in the refrigerator? Never mind, it didn’t matter.

“So it’s a fucking shack. Big damn deal. What the hell do you expect us to find in there? Bricks of fucking gold and shit?”

Martyr helped me strap the heavy grenade machine gun onto myself. I readied the triggers. Who were these ponies? Slavers? Raiders? Looters?

The deep voice spoke again. “Wartime tech goes for lots of caps at trading posts. We can use the metal walls to make better armor, too.”

“Oh, fuck you,” said a stallion, “Since when have we ever traded with those New Canterlot pussies? We’re the fucking East Rock Raiders, in case your walnut sized brain dropped that tid-bit of obvious...ness.”

Raiders. Shit.

“Hey, big guy?” said the mare who’d spoken earlier, “There’s a bunch of dead radscorpions around the front. I think somepony got here before us. All the good loot’s probly gone.”

“OOOOH!” exclaimed a much more energetic sounding mare, “Now I can test out my new magic propelled grenade! Ya know, to see if there’s somepony inside!”

I looked at Martyr. He looked at me. We ran for the door at the same time. A whistling sound shredded the air. We barreled out the door and threw ourselves on the sand just as the shack exploded in a blast of flames and shrapnel! My pick’s point slammed into the ground in front of me.

Martyr and I both looked unhurt, but we had bigger problems than shrapnel wounds. We stood and dusted ourselves off. I readied the triggers on my battle saddle.

I examined my enemies. Three earth ponies, two unicorns, two pegasi (I still wondered why they weren't with the Enclave), and, most bizarrely, one medium sized buffalo bull. What the hell was a buffalo doing this far from the Ghost Lands? And what was he doing with raiders?

As much as I was examining them, they also seemed to be examining us. Neither group did anything besides stare at the other.

"Huh. I guess there really were ponies inside of that shack," said a pegasus mare wearing the magical propelled grenade launcher battle saddle and a pouch of ammo.

The buffalo she was flying above whipped out a pump action shotgun from a holster by his side and shot a slug through her wing. "You. Fucking. Idiot!" he shouted at her as she dropped to the ground, "That shack was the best find we made in months! Shit, even without the tech there might have at least been fresh water!" He gave her a swift kick in the groin and picked up his shotgun, reholstering it with lightning speed.

"Ouch," empathized a tan earth pony mare with a spiked yellow mane.

A purple unicorn mare pointed a hoof at us. "Hey, shit horns," she called to the buffalo.

"What?!" the buffalo snarled.

"Those fuckbags there've got water."

This was bad.

"Hmm, so they do," said the buffalo, rubbing his chin.

"Let's kill 'em," said the unicorn buck who had before proclaimed they were the 'East Rock Raiders'.

"You idiot, that pony has got a bigger gun than..." replied the buffalo (who so far seemed like the most level headed of the group) before he was cut off by a pistol shot fired the empathetic mare.

The shot flew over my head by a meter, but that was enough of a threat that I decided to open fire. I bit down on my dual triggers, sending the thunking rounds toward the aggressors. Unfortunately, I hadn't checked my ammo before hoof to see how much I had. The thirteen remaining grenades exploded on impact with the ground, blowing apart pistol mare, breaking two legs on the downed pegasus, and sending burning shrapnel and sand at her friends. The sand drifted through the air. Carried by a small gust of wind it clouded my vision.

I picked up the pick from the ground and pulled Martyr close. "Thiiit..." I whispered. This was bad. Surrounded by raiders, sand in my eyes, armed with only a pick, I was in a pretty bad position.

Buckshot impacted the side I held Martyr on, pinging off my barding, striking through my neck, head, and exposed flank. I heard the little unicorn yelp in pain as the lead pierced his flesh as well. Blood dribbled into my right eye, further blinding me. I searched wildly for where my attackers hid.

During the split second as I turned my head from the right to the left was when it hit me. And by "it" I mean the stock of the magically propelled grenade launcher. Swung by the buffalo.

You know, it's funny how when you're asleep you don't really feel pain. While I was unconscious I had, for the first time in a long time, a nice dream. Scrapper and I had taken my little sister, Cactus Flower, and Martyr to a little creek bed to play. The grass was a brilliant green (very un-tarplike, I should add) and birds sang sweet, repetitive songs as they flew. A tiny string of water looped itself around my front hooves as I stood at the very edge of the water. Scrapper had her eyes back and I guess that in this dream she had never lost them. Martyr and Cactus splashed each other with water and played around. It was nice.

Well, it was nice until Cactus pulled the pin on the grenade.

I woke up in pain, which wasn't all that unusual for me by now. The first thing I noticed was my hooves weren't touching the ground. Where my front shoulders connected to my body felt on fire. I shook my head to clear my blurry vision, making me swing, making me hurt more.

My scream was so loud that I hurt my own ears. I was held off the floor by two hooks hanging from chains. They pierced and dug through my flesh, worming their way deeper into my muscles as I hung. I fucking hate raiders.

"Help!" I screamed, "Somepony, please, help me!" But nopony heard me.

I cried. I felt helpless. All I could do was hang there, just like the other corpses hanging near me. The darkness was all around me, suffocating me. Or maybe the suffocation was from the stench. It didn’t matter. All those other times I’d almost died, and here I would die a raider’s decoration.

Laughter. Through all the pain and tears I started to laugh. “Ha! That’s right, mother-fuckers! Fall’s gonna be a chandelier forever!” I wasn’t even sure what I meant, but it sounded rebellious so I liked it. Fuck those raiders. Especially that buffalo. Traitor. What right did he have to have left the Ghost Lands? I kept laughing and laughing, each breath pulling the hooks further through my shoulders. The pain made me laugh. “Yeah! About damn time, too! I hate all of you! Go screw yourselves!” I shouted at nopony.

I wish I could still laugh at pain.

Goddesses bless those gunshots that woke me up out of that daze. I felt together again. The pain became more real and my laughter stopped. My automatic reflexes when it came to gunfights were kicking in. I needed to hide from whoever wanted me dead.

I bit around the hook on my left and agonizingly lifted my shoulder off it. Without both of them holding me up I started falling to the ground. The right-shoulder hook pulled more harshly at my flesh, tearing away at the skin and muscles, until finally a large strip of skin, from the joint of my shoulder to my back, tore off my body and I fell to the hard, cold floor.

Blood gushed from my wounds. I screamed. Standing at that very moment was more painful than anything I’d ever experienced before. A billion razor sharp needles heated a million degrees took turns stabbing me each time I moved. The muscles in my right foreleg refused to work. I leaned on my left side to keep myself up. Go! I screamed in my head, Just go!

I inched my way to the door. I didn’t need to open it. The door was blasted off its hinges by the edge of a magical-energy grenade boom. Splinters showered me, sticking in my skin and mane. I was thrown onto the floor.

I stood once again. Limping, I slowly, painfully made my way out into the warzone. It was hell.

Streets between buildings of wood, metal, rock ran with blood. My hooves landed in a clump of former pony that the dark had concealed. I tried to slither my way along the walls, trying to not be noticed. A full moon lit the battlefield. Glancing up briefly, I was met with vertigo and the sight of... one of the Goddesses flying? How much blood had I lost?

Raiders fought ponies in NCR armor, only it wasn’t quite NCR armor. The barding looked more protective and the soldiers all either wore wide brimmed hats or frightening gas-mask-helmet abominations. The NCR ponies were winning. While the raiders sprayed bullets wildly and lobbed every grenade they could lay a hoof on, the soldiers used controlled bursts and precise shooting. I would’ve been impressed if I wasn’t bleeding and trying to escape.

A sniper's large bullet whizzed through my mane. I tried to trot faster. Go! I told myself, Get away from here! Then I remembered Martyr. The need to find him pushed aside my urge to escape. "Martyr!" I shouted out, my voice barely noticeable over the battle.

An NCR pony backed up against the wall in front of me, her face scrunched up in pain from the bloody gash on her flank. The raider attacking her pressed his pistol against her head with levitation, mouthed the words "you won't hurt me anymore," and blew her brains out.

The raider took one look at me, a bleeding and pitiful excuse for a buck, and walked away to where his comrades were fighting. I guess I wasn't a worthy opponent.

I continued slithering my way along the walls, staying out of the way of ponies with guns. I stopped to pick up a combat knife the NCR mare had carried. A familiar thunking sound told me that the raiders had found the right ammo for my battle saddle.

"Maahduhr!" I called out again, my shout muffled by the knife. My call was answered by screams from across the street. Not the deep, throaty death screams from adults, but the shrill cries of fear that little fillies and colts make. They came from behind a makeshift door that was part fence, part sheet metal. I limped across the road, narrowly avoiding a stray rifle bullet.

I pushed down the weak door with what little strength I had left and was greeted with a bullet dangerously close to my already destroyed right shoulder. A little blue coated and pink maned raider pegasus child, younger than Martyr, clenched a pistol in his teeth. Behind him were other children cowering in fear. "Fall!" I heard Martyr's voice but I couldn’t see him.

The pegasus colt spoke through his pistol. “Fuhendah, fuff ‘ace!”

I put down my knife as I leaned against the wall, taking weight off my right foreleg. “What did you say?” I wasn’t a threat as long as he was aiming that gun. I could barely hold myself up. All I could do was make him think that putting away his gun so he could speak was a good idea, and maybe I’d have a chance.

He put his pistol under his wing. He tried his threat again. “I said surrender fuck fa..!”

I picked up the knife again as fast as I could, threw him against the wall, and pressed the knife against his throat. “Ret. Dese. Foars. Go," I breathed. I must have twisted my right leg again because it burned like salt poured on open muscle.

The raider colt hyperventilated. His throat scraped against the blade, drawing blood. He turned his eyes toward the foals huddled in the corner. “Go!” he shouted, “Leave!” He turned his eyes to me. “Please,” he whimpered, “I don’ wanna die!”

I let go of him and kicked away the gun he’d dropped. “Ah don’ kirr foars.” I turned to face the children huddled in the corner and dropped the knife. "Let's go."

Martyr sprinted across the room and wrapped his hooves around my neck. "I knew you'd find me! None of the others believed me, I knew you'd get here!"

I set him down and lightly kissed the top of his head. Slowly, the other five foals trotted over to me, cautiously deciding whether or not I was real. No, that wasn't it. They wanted to know if I would hurt them. They were covered in bruises. Some of them walked funny. One or two of them clenched their hind legs together. I immediately knew what had happened to them. It was the same thing that happened to Lily. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair. It isn't Goddess-fucking fair! I wanted to kill every damn raider who'd ever lived, but at that moment I was in no condition to do it. Instead we just needed to escape. "We should go," I repeated. One filly nodded in agreement.

A peek out the door showed that the bulk of the battle had moved away from us. The road north was open. I motioned for the kids to follow me. The noise from the fight was still deafening. I started leading my new followers in between the corpses that littered the street. Martyr walked slowly at the end of the line, helping a wounded and shivering filly to walk.

Have you ever felt that shock of fear that chills your bones, makes your knees weak, threatens to knock you down? I felt that. Six pistol shots. Just six. Those pistol rounds broke my world, shattered it irreparably. I could always recover before, but this was the end of what I’d known since I was born.

Those shots were aimed for the flesh of innocents.

I spun around, searing pain ripping through my torn muscle. Martyr’s eyes were wide. He looked at the filly he was supporting. A bullet had grazed her flank and she was crying, but it wasn’t serious. Martyr then looked at himself. His side was bleeding. It was bleeding a lot.

“I... I can’t feel it...” he muttered. He took a step forward, the filly still by his side, then collapsed. His face hit the dirt road with a thud.

As fast as I could I limped over to his body. I pressed my hooves uselessly against the three bullet holes in his side to slow the bleeding. It was everywhere. The red life crawled its way up my fur over my hooves. Fresh tears came to my eyes, washing over the old trails that had stained my face. Too much blood, too fast. Shock.

I raised my eyes to see the raider colt. He stood at the edge of the door, mouth hanging open, pistol on the ground. His eyes met mine. He ran.

“You, with the scarf!” I shouted at one of the kids I’d just freed, “Give it to me!”

He hesitated. “Bu... but momma gave me it before the...”

“Just fucking give it!”

He obeyed. I snatched it from his weak telekinesis and did my best to tie it around Martyr’s bleeding abdomen. I lifted him onto my back, barely able to support him. I was shaking. If I ever saw the colt who’d shot him again, I’d blow his scrawny pegasus head off!

“Let’s go!” I shouted.

The warm summer night air became cold as my little group of refugees stumbled through the desert. I was so thirsty. So painfully thirsty. And lightheaded. My torn muscles had been bleeding for a while. Martyr’s blood had long ago soaked through the thin scarf and dripped off my back in thin streams.

So thirsty. So hungry. So cold. So dead. Why couldn’t the suffering just end? Every friend I made... I wanted it over.

How are they, friend? Are they well? I haven’t seen them in so, so long... We aren’t so different, you and I. I’m just... worse. That’s the word. Worse.

My right foreleg gave way and I dropped to the sand. Goddesses, help me... I thought, Give me a break, just this once.

My help came in the form of a dark green (almost black) pony seven feet tall with wings and a horn. It glided gently to a stop in front of me, its hooves only inches away from my face.

This wasn’t one of the Goddesses. I’d seen them enough in dreams to know this wasn’t them. It had to be a hallucination. I looked upwards to the being’s face. Around its neck was a sign. In the dim light of my PipBuck I could make out the words “Vocational Brute.”

Footnote: Level Up

New Perk: Camel Pony: Thirsty? You should be. You’re in a desert. Fortunately you’ve trained yourself to be able to ignore your thirst for longer than most ponies. Dehydration does not affect your stats until you reach the Advanced Dehydration stage.

(Thanks [once again] go to Kkat for building the foundations for the amazing FO:E universe. This fic wouldn’t exist without her. Thanks go to OkiiNovice for reading my fic before just about anyone else and being a real swell dude. Thanks go to oki_all_day for promoting this fic in Scootaloo's Pre-War Blues’ footnotes [you should read his fic]. Thanks go to primepersephony for promoting this fic in Equestrian Wetgrave’s footnotes [you should read that also]. And finally, thanks to all my readers and the awesome FO:E fan community. Thanks y’all!)