Fallout: Lavender Wastelander

“You have five minutes to change my mind, President Jacklyn,” Protector Casdin said. His scowling features were framed by the rectangular edges of the terminal screen.

The conversation so far had the brusque bluntness that Applejack was told to expect from the aggressive and outwardly hostile Brotherhood Outcasts.

“I’m only giving you more than one because Protector McGraw spoke highly of you, and that your field agent helped break into an armory.”

AJ shifted in her seat. She already knew about Twilight’s adventure from both Sergeant Dornan and Twilight herself. Both of them had left hours ago with Rainbow Dash on a mission that would take them all one step closer to cracking Vault 87. It would take an army to get through all the super mutants guarding the GECK, fortunately Applejack had a plan, but it would take some time to prepare. The Outcasts could help with that.

“She’s not my field agent, she’s an independent ally workin' with the Enclave,” Applejack replied. She shuffled some papers on her office desk, simple busywork to occupy her hands. A stack of letters to the family of deceased soldiers. Talon Company was proving to be a nuisance. “I’m eager to change how things was to how they should be. The slaver haven of Paradise Falls is about to be a thing of the past.”

Protector Casdin remained neutral and unspeaking, his posture as rigid as a mountain.

“Tell me, Protector Casdin, what is the Brotherhood Outcasts opinion on slavery?” Applejack asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It is a barbaric practice that the locals partake in,” Protector Casdin said through a scowl. “They’re too lazy to work for a better tomorrow for themselves. The Brotherhood's primary goal is the recovery of technology to keep it out of the hands of savages like them. A goal that Elder Lyons lost sight of playing the hero to the hopeless.”

Applejack stifled a huff. She respected Protector Casdin’s faith in tradition, but his attitude towards those outside of the Outcasts drove her up the wall.

“And would your task be easier if the Capital Wasteland was mutant, slaver, and raider free?” Applejack leaned back and tipped her hat. “Workin’ together has already advanced your goals. Or was Twilight not the one that done helped ya get into that armory?”

Letting them keep those weapons was a risk, but a calculated one. Elder Lyons had said the Outcasts were a radically fundamentalist splinter-group that broke away from the Brotherhood of Steel, who were almost all exclusively members of his original expeditionary force. A fraction of a fraction. The Outcasts die-hard faith in the Brotherhood Codex meant that it was taboo to recruit outsiders, unless they had proved themselves on a near-suicidal mission. Even with an armory full of weapons, the Outcasts were practically irrelevant without hands to hold them.

“She did,” Protector Casdin said through clenched teeth. “But I will have to reject any offer of alliance. The Brotherhood was founded as a response to the mismanagement and horrors created by the United States. A government that you are trying to rebuild.” He pointed an accusing finger. “The Codex demands that you be stopped.”

Casdin reached for the button Applejack knew would end the call.

“Wait!” Applejack jumped forward, holding up a hand. Protector Casdin thankfully stopped, giving Applejack a second to calm her excitement. “Do you know of Vault 87?”

“Yes,” Protector Casdin grumbled, settling back, “it is the den where the super mutants drag their captives to make more. We’ve left it alone. It’s a literal bunker.”

“Well, it’s a good thing that the Brotherhood of Steel is sittin’ on the biggest bunker-bustin’ machine in the Washington D.C. region,” Applejack countered. Protector Casdin furrowed his brow in doubt. “Your order wants to safeguard technology in keepin’ to the Brotherhood of Steel’s traditional goals. What better way to make sure Liberty Prime ain’t bein’ misused than bein’ on the same side as the people usin’ em?”

Protector Casdin’s face creased, glancing side to side as if his choices were physical objects to look at and judge.

Finangling an argument like Applejack did wasn’t ideal, especially having to treat the Outcasts differently from the towns wanting to keep their independence. The likelihood they would go along with their blossoming alliance dwindled. And if they were against it, they were a threat to regional security, small as they may be.

A terse sigh escaped Protector Casdin.

“You have my attention,” he said, though his tone was anything but attentive. “In the interest of safeguarding technology from misuse, I will agree to a temporary and provisional truce. We will not trade any of our technology or offer any soldiers to fight for you. Our role will be to make sure that you, the Brotherhood, or the Equestrians are not misusing technology.”

“Thank you, Protector Casdin,” Applejack said genially. “That’s acceptable.”

Protector Casdin cut the call without saying a word, and Applejack frowned at the lack of manners. She didn't claim to be the best judge of character or motive, but in her opinion, hanging up like that was just outright rude, and intentionally so. Whatever deal had just been struck was a tenuous one.

Sighing heavily, Applejack leaned over and pressed an intercom button on her office desk. She had needed Twilight and Daniel for a favor.

“Miss Jenkins,” Applejack called for her secretary. “Any word from Sergeant Dornan, Rainbow Dash, or Twilight on their mission to Paradise Falls yet?”

Applejack checked the clock on the wall. It was nightfall. They should be done soon.

<>~<>~<>

Douglas tilted his head towards the sounds of partying and revelry coming from the barracks. He was going to have to talk to Forty about how many nights in a row he was getting assigned to guard duty.

Like, what the fuck? He was supposed to just stand in a guard tower looking over the slave pens with nothing happening, while the rest of the slavers drink and fuck themselves stupid. What a joke, a sick stupid joke that the world conspired to play on him—or Forty was just a prick—both were valid options.

With nothing to do but his job, Douglas idly aimed his sniper rifle at the slave pens, checking them over to see that, yet again, absolutely jack and shit was going on. The slaves were inside the two little buildings connected to the cages to give the merchandise some reprieve from the elements. They were likely sleeping or whining about being slaves, as usual.

Pathetic, there wasn’t even a straggler he could shoot and claim they were trying a late night escape attempt. Douglas slung his sniper rifle over his shoulder and groaned. He paced around the little metal platform that acted as his watch tower to keep his legs from getting sore from the monotony.

Why did it have to be him on guard duty tonight?

At least he wasn’t alone in his misery, there were a few other guards, but still, there was no one to talk to at his station. It fucking sucked.

But if most of the other slavers were busy partying in the barracks or sleeping, what stopped him from finding his own fun? What Eulogy and Forty didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. Maybe Rebecca was feeling just as bored. Douglas could think of a few ways they could pass the time together.

Douglas made up his mind. He took the ramp down from his guard post and walked towards the back of Paradise Falls where the slave pens were kept. Rebecca was on foot patrol in that area, so unless she had the same idea he had to shirk her duties, he would find her somewhere near them.

It didn’t take long to reach the back of the camp, and even less time to spot Rebecca. She was in an alley between two buildings, slouching against the wall. Of course she was sleeping on the job.

Rolling his eyes, Douglas closed the distance and tapped on her shoulder.

“Oi, bitch, wake the fu—”

He came to a spluttering stop. Fresh blood oozed from a thumb-thick hole punched into her neck. Some fucker with a death wish had shot her in the throat, and no one had heard it. He whipped around to run for the barracks, only for what felt like a fist to slam into his back, sending him sprawling onto the ground.

Rolling onto his side, a shaft of purple light had punched through him from behind, going through his right shoulder blade and exiting his stomach. It took him a moment to realize through the blinding pain that an arrow had shot from above.

Fighting through the searing pain, Douglas rolled onto his side and craned his neck skyward.

He tried to scream.

<>~<>~<>

Twilight landed in the alley next to the second slaver she had killed, scowling in contempt. He had nearly raised the alarm, but thankfully her spellbow was fast enough to end him, and the loud sounds of partying coming from the slaver barracks towards the front of town meant that, even if he did yell, he likely would have been drowned out. It still wasn’t worth the risk. The mission was too important.

Rainbow Dash landed outside of the alley, the wagon she pulled far too large to land in the narrow gap. She spotted the slaver by Twilight’s hooves and chuckled.

“Nice shot,” Rainbow Dash complimented her. Twilight started to smile, but it faltered. She didn’t want to take pride in killing people, even slavers.

“Thanks,” Twilight said half-heartedly, focusing more on keeping an eye out for any more guards as Sergeant Dornan and Electrum leapt out of the wagon. The former joined Twilight’s side as the latter teleported into the first of the two slave pens.

They had to fly in with a wagon because power armor was too much mass for Twilight to teleport with her broken horn. One suit was equivalent in weight and bulk to two or three more individuals, and to make things more complicated, something with the radiation shielding in power armor required more energy to teleport a suit. It left Electrum unable to do so despite having a fully functioning horn and the correct spells.

Twilight turned to Sergeant Dornan as the power-armor-clad woman retrieved a bulky, spiked-barreled energy weapon out of the cart. The same one she had used when they first met.

“Do you think they modified the collar locks?” Twilight asked.

“I doubt it,” Sergeant Dornan replied as she swept the barrel of her plasma caster from point to point. Twilight mimicked the movements with her spellbow. “They’re pre-war designs. It should be the same standardized lock, like a pair of handcuffs.” She grunted, lowering her weapon a tad. “Do you think people who kidnap others to work for them would keep up with individual keys?”

Sergeant Dornan had a good point, so the keys Applejack had given them should work. Twilight shook her head just in time for Sergeant Dornan to growl.

“Slavers are parasites,” Sergeant Dornan said through audibly clenched teeth, matching her death grip on the handles of her plasma caster. “Agitators and malcontents, leeching off of America. I’d line every one of them up for summary execution.”

Twilight knew who had put that phrasing into Sergeant Dornan’s head. They may have killed President Eden, but his propaganda still had its claws in the Enclave troops, even if they didn’t know it.

“Yeah,” Twilight said, not challenging Sergeant Dornan’s prejudices. At least the Sergeant’s anger was directed at those who deserve it, which was an improvement. Just a few days ago, Twilight had been a 'mutie’ to Sergeant Dornan, but now they considered each other friends, or at least good acquaintances. “As soon as Electrum teleports all the slaves to Daniel, we’ll go loud, but not a moment before unless absolutely necessary.”

Twilight wished Daniel could be with her, but the mission was to minimize any potential danger to the slaves, and moving everyone from where a firefight could break out was the safer option rather than attempting treatment in an active warzone. Many of the slaves would have suffered in captivity, and he was ready with supplies to treat them.

“Good,” Sergeant Dornan said, and the conversation died off from there.

Twilight, Rainbow Dash, and Sergeant Dornan stayed in position, waiting for what felt like forever with their weapons clenched in their hands. Twilight sifted in place, agonizing over every second. Electrum was taking too long. Had something happened? Twilight wanted to leave her post and go check, but as she turned away, Electrum teleported in front of her face.

Twilight jumped back and drew her bow, nearly shooting her on reflex.

“We’ve got a problem,” Electrum said testily, ignoring the bow in her face, which Twilight quickly dispelled. Her brow was furrowed and teeth clenched. Twilight didn’t know if it was anger or frustration, and Electrum spoke up before she had the chance to ask. “The second slave pen is full of children, and one of them refuses to leave until we rescue her friend from ‘The Box’.”

Electrum took hold of Twilight’s shoulder and pointed across the courtyard from the slave pens. There was a metal cylinder the size of an outhouse several dozen steps away from the pens. A Pulowski Personal Preservation Shelter. Twilight had seen them before. Hopefully there wasn’t a skeleton in there like many of the other ones Daniel had opened before.

“Okay,” Twilight said with a nod, “you get as many of the kids out as you can, and tell the girl I’ll rescue her friend.”

She spread her wings, but Electrum stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

“Hang on, if you can’t unlock The Box, the girl said that Eulogy Jones has the key.” Electrum motioned to the old cinema building close to the slave pens. A dividing wall made of junk separated the slave pens from the rest of town, but the wall was low enough that Twilight could see the decorated marquee from where she stood, which also served as a balcony.

The key lay right in the house of the ruler of Paradise Falls.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Twilight said, spreading her wings once more.

She flew over to ‘The Box’ and inspected the Pulowski Shelter. The coin slot normally on the survival shelters had been replaced with a small push-button, and the door had a latch welded to it with a lock holding it shut.

Fishing out her lockpicks from her backpack, Twilight set to work.

The lock was flimsy, only marginally tougher than the practice lock that came with her lockpick set. Once the lock fell off, she pressed the button. The door retracted inwards before rotating inside the metal tube. A filthy man with messy hair sat on the floor. He wore soiled clothing and a slave collar, and looked up as the door opened. Twilight guessed that he was in his thirties.

“Oh my gosh,” he said, sitting up. He blinked several times and squinted. Twilight knew she was just a dark silhouette to him, at least until his eyes adjusted to the moonlight. He suddenly shifted onto his knees and grabbed her pants’s legs, and his voice came out as a strained, begging sob of hurt. “Please, please, please, I promise to be good, just don’t keep me in the box, please.”

Twilight stared down at the man for longer than she’d liked, trying to form words as the man broke down begging to not be abused. Even in The Box they still had him wearing a bomb collar. It made his cries strained and choked.

What monsters would treat others like this? She felt no guilt for killing the slavers now.

“H-hey,” Twilight stuttered, leaning down. She risked lighting up her horn to illuminate both of them. “I’m not a slaver, I’m here to rescue everyone.”

“Oh,” the man gasped once the ball of light appeared. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief as he pulled himself up by the shelter’s doorframe. “Did you get Penny out before me? That little girl is too innocent to be trapped in a place like this.”

“We tried, but she’s refusing to leave until we rescue you,” Twilight said, taking the man’s hand and guiding him towards the slave pens. “Tell me when your eyes are adjusted enough to see.”

She didn’t want to be rude, but it smelled like he’d been in The Box for days.

A claustrophobic, windowless space, with no food or water.

Twilight’s stomach twisted into a knot and the hair on the back of her neck stood on-end. But everything was fine, she wasn’t alone, she had her friends here with her.

“Hey, you okay?” the man asked.

“Wha—oh, yes,” Twilight spluttered sheepishly, dragged out of her flash of a nightmare. Things were fine. She was safe. “What was your answer?”

“I can see now,” the man said. It was a bit of a moot point. They had nearly walked the entire way to the pens together. She let go of him regardless and instructed him to wait with Sergeant Dornan.

She took a few moments to stand alone, pressing a hand to her chest to breathe, and get her bearings. Her eyes drifted to the marquee leering over the wall. Twilight scowled and stomped towards Rainbow Dash.

“Hey, Rainbow,” Twilight grumbled, cracking her knuckles and flaring her horn, “can you give me a reason not to go off on my own right now?”

“Um… suuuuure?” Rainbow Dash said, brow furrowed. “You look pissed. What are you planning?”

“I want to make sure Eulogy Jones can’t escape,” Twilight said, as she shifted from hoof to hoof. She wanted to punch something. Specifically Eulogy. Rainbow, meanwhile, screwed up her face.

“Ehhh, I dunno,” Rainbow Dash said, shrugging. “Keeping the brains of this operation from setting up somewhere else sounds like a good idea to me. Do you need me to come with you, or should I stick to the plan?”

Twilight winced. That was the opposite of what Twilight wanted, but Rainbow was right. Twilight knew going alone would be stupid and dangerous, but if things went wrong, Rainbow Dash was Sergeant Dornan’s way out. Even though Twilight knew her motives weren’t entirely logical, she wanted to put a stop to the evil running Paradise Falls.

Even if it meant going lethal to keep the horrors of slavery from being spread elsewhere.

<>~<>~<>

Twilight slowly pushed the door shut with telekinesis, using her magic to soften the door’s movements as she crouch-walked into the room beyond the balcony. Although the music blaring from somewhere inside the building would have made the noise hard to hear.

The room Twilight entered was almost completely empty and unlit, with all of the light coming up through a wrap-around bannister overlooking the first floor, the source of the overly-loud radio. It was teeth-clenchingly loud, but the racket kept her movements unheard.

Not wanting to squander the painful good fortune, Twilight crept to the bannister to scope out the floor below.

There was a countertop that once held the theater's cash register, but it was gone, and stools had been placed around it to turn it into a dining table. The radio sat atop it, and almost right next to the radio was a woman in a pink dress eating off a metal plate.

She had snow white hair that was shaved away on one side, almost mane-like, and the very visible bulk of a slave collar around her neck.

Twilight wanted to slap herself. How could they have not considered that Eulogy Jones might keep personal slaves? Twilight had a copy of the collar key, same as everyone else in the group. The woman wouldn’t be a slave for long.

Vaulting the bannister, Twilight spread her wings to slow her descent to the first floor and landed just behind the woman. The blaring radio drowned out the soft clop of her hooves and flap of her wings.

Standing behind the woman in the dress, Twilight pulled out the collar key at the same time as she reached out and tapped the woman’s shoulder. The woman didn’t wince. Instead, she calmly reached a hand out to turn the radio down before she spun the stool, a grin on her face.

“Ye—,” she cut herself off with an alarmed jerk. “Oh, you’re not Mr. Eulogy.” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Why are you here, Princess?”

With the radio turned down, Twilight could hear two people in the next room. A man aggressively grunting, a woman’s muffled sobs into a pillow, and the slap of flesh-on-flesh.

Rape. A slave in the next room was being raped. Twilight had to hurry. Twilight kept her focus on the door leading into the next room as she telekinetically pushed the key into the slave woman’s collar and turned it. The clasp loosened and allowed Twilight to see the heat-rash around the woman’s throat, like she had worn the collar for days or weeks on end.

“I’m here to rescue you. What’s your name? Are you a pony?” Twilight asked, setting the collar next to the plate of food. The white hair and the fact that the woman knew Twilight was a princess were leading Twilight to think so.

“My name’s Clover, and no, not a pony,” she said, rubbing her neck as she frowned. “And neither is Crimson. She’s the one in the next room with Eulogy.” Clover scowled. “You can rush him while he’s distracted with her.”

It confirmed Twilight’s assumptions at the goings on in the next room, at least. If Eulogy was naked, that meant he was unarmed. She could easily take him prisoner instead of killing him. He could pay for his crimes for a long time.

“Good idea,” Twilight said, fully facing Clover once more.

The twin barrels of a sawed-off-shotgun poked her in the nose. The demonically sadistic grin on Clover’s face sent chills down Twilight’s spine as she took a step back, raising her hands.

Clover lowered the shotgun and tilted her head to one side, giggling. “Had ya for a second there, didn’t I, boss?”

“What the fuck?” Twilight muttered, seeing that Clover had a leg holster just barely hidden by her pink dress. “Why do you have a gun?”

“Maybe because I’m Eulogy’s bodyguard,” Clover said, looking at the slave collar Twilight had set beside her plate of food. She rubbed at her neck and grinned, fixing Twilight with a smile that sent the hairs on the back of Twilight’s neck standing on-end. “But you stole me from him fair and square. You got my collar off, so I’m yours now to do whatever you want with.”

Twilight almost swallowed her tongue fumbling over her response to that. Clover’s collar was off, but she wanted to be a slave? Twilight had no clue why Clover would want that, but as insensitive as the label was, all Twilight could guess was that Clover was crazy and needed serious psychological help. But Twilight could worry about that later. A woman was being assaulted in the next room.

And Twilight could no longer hear the two of them.

“Clover!” a man, Twilight guessed it was Eulogy, hollered from the next room. She heard the shift of mattress springs and the rustle of clothes. Eulogy was out of bed. “Is someone at the door?”

“Yes, daddy,” Clover called back with a flirtatious giggle. Bile crept into the back of Twilight’s throat hearing that phrase. “But don’t you worry about it, I got it.”

“Don’t you tell me what to or what not to worry about!” Eulogy growled. “Don’t make me lose my cool with you. You don’t like it when you make me lose my cool, do you? I hate it when you make me punish you.”

Rage lit a fire in Twilight, burning away the confusion and fear Twilight had felt when facing Clover. She drew her pistol, too furious to worry whether the action would get a reaction from Clover.

Twilight was after Eulogy and would end him if it came to it. Abusing people was bad. Gaslighting them into thinking it was their fault for the abuse was a level of villainy that went beyond even Sombra or Chrysalis, whose magic could break. If Clover had suffered months or years of abuse, what kind of thoughts had Eulogy put into her head about her own self worth? She was broken and loyal enough to be trusted with a loaded shotgun so long as she had her collar on.

Clover’s smile faltered. “No, I don’t, Mr. Eulogy. But she’s just a slaver who wandered in from the party.”

Eulogy grunted in annoyance. Twilight’s ears flicked as she focused on the sounds. The woman still let out muffled sobs, but had quieted. Bare footsteps on the hard floor rapidly approached. Eulogy was coming. She was ready to arrest him. He would face justice.

A dark-skinned middle-aged man stormed into the room. He wore red silk pants and a silk shirt that was as purple as Twilight’s fur. He stared at Twilight for a split second before glancing to Clover, who stepped towards him.

His eyes went wide.

“You took her coll—”

Clover’s shotgun sent Twilight’s ears ringing as Eulogy’s head disappeared in a spray of meat and bone. What didn’t fly into the next room painted the door frame red with gore. Eulogy’s corpse fell to the floor, twitching, and Clover reared her head back in laughter that Twilight didn't hear, but rather saw as Clover’s pearl-white teeth glittered in the light of the room.

“—found a new master to be the favorite of.” Twilight’s recovering hearing caught Clover saying to the corpse through bouts of manic giggling. “Can’t sell me now that you’re D-E-A-D, dead without a head!” Clover scurried over and kicked Eulogy in the ribs.

“C-Clover!” Twilight half-stuttered, half-shouted, just to hear herself over her ringing ears. “Give me your shotgun.” She put more force behind her words. “Now.”

Clover twirled on her heels like a dancer, blood coating her face and hair. She obediently held her shotgun out towards Twilight by the barrel.

“Here you go, lover,” Clover said with a cheerful calm that put Twilight on edge. Clover had blown a man’s head off and was smiling. And what was with the ‘lover’ comment? Twilight pushed the thought aside and took the shotgun. She’d worry about Clover later, there was at least one other slave in the next room.

Twilight forced her way past Clover and over the headless corpse of Eulogy.

The next room was far smaller than Twilight would have expected from a theater, and the floor was flat rather than in tiers. All the theater bench seats had been pushed aside to make space for a massive heart-shaped bed in the middle of the room which was illuminated by standing work-lights.

A dark skinned woman lay atop the covers, curled up and crying. She only wore a slave collar. Twilight approached slowly with Clover following behind, and Twilight cautiously checked around the room to see if there were any more slaves. She saw no one else, but there was a terminal on a wall between a metal safe and a table. The table was stocked with bottles of alcohol and cartons of cigarettes.

The projector lit up a screen on the back wall, and casted a white light over a skeleton hanging upside-down from the ceiling by its ankles.

It was a sickening, grotesque display. Twilight’s anger at Clover faded. Eulogy was a monster.

She reached Crimson, who gazed up at Twilight and forced a smile.

“Hey, Crimson, you’re safe now,” Twilight said gently, telekinetically draping a blanket over Crimson. Twilight turned to Clover, who was rubbing at her raw neck again. “Can you find her some clothes?”

“Y-yeah, sure,” Clover said.

<>~<>~<>

It took several minutes to help Crimson get dressed and out of the theater, but once she was ready to leave, Twilight escorted Clover and Crimson to the slave pens where Electrum, Rainbow Dash, and Sergeant Dornan waited. So far, no other guards had seen them.

Once everyone had reunited, Twilight let the others know what had happened, and that Eulogy wouldn’t be a problem anymore before coaxing Crimson to go with Electrum.

“Clover,” Twilight said, turning to the woman. She had stayed at most ten steps behind Twilight, and at least, far too close for comfort. The ex-slave smiled and gave Twilight her undivided attention. “I’m going to need you to go with Electrum and Crimson.”

“Nope,” Clover said, shaking her head. “I ain’t letting you out of my sight, lover.”

Twilight cringed. The affection Clover gave her left an icky, sick feeling that lingered in the back of Twilight’s mind. She didn’t want to exploit Clover for her own benefit, even by accident.

“Could you just call me Twilight, please. I’m not your master, or your marefriend. You’re a free woman now, Clover.”

Clover rubbed at the raw spot on her neck, frowning.

“I don’t think so.”

Twilight didn’t know what to say to that. She wasn’t a psychologist, but Twilight knew from experience that trying to distract from your trauma could lead to some bad decisions. Her whirlwind romance with Daniel had worked out well, but it was still sudden and forced, a way to cope with stress.

What would Clover do if Twilight pushed her away?

“Okay,” Twilight said, sighing heavily. “I won’t lie to you and say that I’m comfortable with all of this, but I’m not going to force you to do anything against your will. If it's your choice to follow me, it’s your choice. In return, I want you to respect my wishes and stop it with the ‘lover’ talk. Deal?”

“Deal,” Clover said, smiling.

Twilight smiled back, only having to force it half-way. Clover was unpredictable, and there were far better people who could help her, but to get Clover the help she needed, Twilight wanted to earn her trust first.

With that dealt with, Twilight walked over to Sergeant Dornan, who had watched the entire exchange.

“I don’t see her as my slave,” Twilight said hastily. She didn’t want to ruin whatever she had with Sergeant Dornan by becoming a slaver in the woman’s eyes.

“Never said you were,” Sergeant Dornan said. “I think you handled it well. She’s in better hands now than she was before, at the very least.”

There was some solace in that.

Twilight heard the snap of Electrum teleporting away with Crimson. All the slaves were safe. Twilight nodded to Sergeant Dornan.

“Level this place like you’re a nuke,” Twilight said, telekinetically handing Clover back her shotgun before drawing her own pistol.

Sergeant Dornan’s plasma caster hummed to life as she thumbed a safety button.

“With pleasure.”

She would only offer slavers the chance to surrender once. Any that did, did. Any that didn't would realize too late that they had made a fatal mistake.