Fallout: Equestria - Old Grudges

I snapped awake in a cold sweat for what felt like the hundredth time this month. Like was the case recently, the nightmares woke me, but I couldn’t remember them once I was back in the waking world. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I rolled myself out of bed and got to my hooves. My legs were sore, and they protested at even the thought of keeping me standing straight. Before I’d even had time to reach out for my glasses on the nightstand next to my bed, the reward for last night’s drinking session reared it’s ugly head right at the base of my horn.

“Ugh.” I half groaned, half muttered as I fumbled with my magic to drag my glasses onto my muzzle. “Gotta remember that scotch is not a good mixer with anything.”

Stumbling forward to the bathroom, I tripped over a couple of my notebooks, sending them scattering across the old warn out carpeting in my shitty little apartment. The sweat matting my fur kept one of them clinging to both my leg and the pipbuck strapped to it as I stopped with a sigh. Flicking my forehoof a bit, I shook it off the old archanotech device, and cast it aside and into a corner full of empty bottles and crumpled papers. Not caring to put forth the effort to put any of the notebooks back where they belonged, I simply let out another groan to show my displeasure.

Really, I loved to write. I don’t really know why my imagination seems to run off with itself so much, but I feel compelled to get the stories I came up with noted down. Ideas big and small easily flowed from my mind and onto paper, so much so that when I was just a colt, I was positive that it was what I was meant to do. However, none of the countless ideas and stories in these notebooks would ever be finished. Not because I didn’t want to finish them, just that I couldn’t justify spending the time on doing it.

Simply put, writing stories didn’t pay the bills in the wasteland.

With my headache now clamping down around my horn, I stepped into the bathroom and weakly used my magic to flick on the old fluorescent light. Just that much exertion sent a stinging pain through my head. Waking up like this had become the norm in my life, though. A hangover was always preferable to the crippling depression that the wasteland always brought back into my life.

With a twist of my hoof, I turned the water faucet on. The old piping in the walls groaned before sputtering through the old fixture, eventually calming down from a sporadic spray into a calmer, steady stream. With it came a bit of warmth too. Seemed that the old water heater in this place hadn’t quite given up the ghost after all.

I used my forehoof to splash a bit of water over my face, trying to beat back the rest of my exhaustion away with it. Unfortunately, I was still so tired that I’d forgotten I was wearing my glasses. It was fine, really. They’d needed a good cleaning, and this just was the best excuse I could have to actually sit down and do it. Waking up was always hard, but today was a work day, and unfortunately I needed to make myself presentable. I forced myself to use my magic to open the mirrored medicine cabinet above the faucet, looking up to find the solitary pill bottle sitting inside where it always had. Pulling it out and opening it up, I tipped it over onto my waiting hoof, and felt as a single pill rolled out.

Sitting down, I tossed the now empty pill bottle into the trash can by the door, and pulled down my only towel from the drying rack on the wall. While I used it to clean my glasses, I used my hoof to pop the small generic painkiller into my muzzle. I did my best to swallow it with my dry throat before leaning down to the running water and trying to take a drink. I immediately regretted it as the tap water here tasted like it was fed in straight from the old wastewater treatment plant on the city outskirts.

“Damn filth.” I sighed while levitating my glasses back onto my muzzle. Sitting back up, I reached my hoof forward and swung the mirrored medicine cabinet closed. As I did, a nightmarish figure came into view right behind me. Instantly, the mane on my neck stood on end, and I went wide eyed as I spun around to face the monster…

… only to be met with nothing.

Hesitantly, I looked around my apartment from the bathroom doorway. The murky daylight that filtered in from the boarded up windows highlighted the floating dust motes in my place. Other than that, nothing moved, nothing stirred at all in fact, except for the churning feeling in my gut that my recent nightmares were now clawing their way out of my mind and into real life.

Sitting down, I raised a forehoof to my chest and took a deep breath. Softly, I pressed it against the golden locket that sat around my neck. My racing heartbeat calmed at it’s touch, the only heirloom of my family reminding me that while life was sometimes scary, I still had something to hold onto from my old life to make me stronger than the nightmares in my head.

Finally feeling awake enough, I put on my clothes, threw on my saddlebags, and made my way out from my lonely apartment for the day.

Every day I’ve spent living in this building, two things have always been constant with it’s elevator. The first, is that it smells like cheap booze and sex. The second, is that it’s probably the slowest elevator in the world, so it makes encountering other tenants fairly… awkward. Seriously, I don’t think you could even build a slower elevator to traverse four floors.

“Hell of a party we had last night, right, sugar? Any chance for another fun night like that in the future?” Harp, the last mare I’d wanted to run into spoke up as she stepped up uncomfortably close to me. I swear, she was only so bold because she was the most profitable working girl in this place. Even then, it was because she was a mule and not to sound racist, but they trended towards that line of work. But not once had I ever shown her interest to even have her talk to me like this… at least, not once when I was sober that is...

“Uhh, sure.” Honestly, I can’t remember much from last night. But, for as long as I could recall, anytime somepony said there was a party, I normally woke up still owing Cold Draft a day's pay worth of caps. Could be worse, though. There was that one time I woke up between the Orchid twins. Sharry is a nice enough mare, but I can’t say I was ever that into her brother, Vanda...

“Oh, honey.” She giggled as she started to rummage through her sequin studded saddlebags. As she did, I caught the fresh track marks all over the inside of her foreleg. “If you can’t remember it, then you know you had a good time.”

“Probably not as good as you did.” I sighed, just wanting to get off this crazy ride. “Goddesses, I need a drink.”

“What?” Harp perked her ears and looked at me in a puzzled sort of way. “Even after last night?”

Ignoring the mystery that last night still was, I tried not to make another sound out of my muzzle. This morning was already too painful to exist in with the hangover to add more annoyance too it. Thankfully, the elevator slowed itself to a complete stop, and seemed to tease me by giving me the longest awkward pause in the history of my life. Finally, the chime sounded, and the doors crawled their way open, revealing my path out of the social embarrassment box.

Of course in stepping out, reality hit me hard as the decrepit walls of the old Hacienda hotel. Once, it was a grand hotel that catered only to the residents of the Applewood hills, and it was the classiest brothel in old Los Pegasus. Fast forward to nearly two centuries after the bombs, it got a rename to the Skyfall hotel, and was probably still the classiest brothel left in the Los Pegasus ruins. And unfortunately for me, I lived in it.

Trudging down the old hallway toward the large swinging door that lead to the lobby, I did my best to remind myself that things for me could always be worse.

And of course as I reached the door, it swung open and hit me in the face.

“Oh, heya there, Sawyer!” The cheery voice of Eff EL was far out of place for how my morning was going. “I’ve been looking for you!” His voice was winning out over the pounding pain that was my headache, but I wouldn’t call that a good thing. Sure, he was probably my only real friend in this shitty settlement, but working under my boss as well meant he was always keeping tabs on me for him. Between him and Vanilla, they were Eighth’s eyes and ears in this place. Eighth Note worked his way into everypony’s lives in his town, and nothing was ever off limits for that stallion. He’d do anything just to get some news to broadcast out to the uncaring wasteland.

“Hope it’s not as an excuse to extend your break from the studio again.” I grumbled, softly rubbing at my sore horn. I used my magic as lightly as I could to readjust my glasses on my muzzle before shaking off the hit.

“Nah.” He rolled his eyes gave me a pat on the shoulder. “Just seeing if you were awake yet. Kind of a late start today it seems.”

“Yeah.” I grumbled, pushing past him and headed out the door. “If you want to talk, it’ll have to be at the bar. I need a shot of something strong to dull today down a bit.”

“Really?” He spat out with look of surprise. “Even after last night?”

“Ugh. Yes.” Again with the mysteries of last night. “Do me a favor, and just, don’t talk until my hangover gets a bit of the whiskey treatment, alright?”

He seemed to abide by my request as we continued through the marbled foyer. I had to keep my right eye closed from the abhorrently bright daylight, and the other half squinted just to get myself through here. What I wouldn’t have paid for a pair of nice, prewar sunglasses about now…

One of the mares behind the lobby desk giggled and nudged at her co-worker went past, whispering something to her. Probably even more gossip about whatever the hell went on last night. Today however, I couldn’t care less about it. I just wanted to get my drink and relax a bit.

As we rounded the corner from the lobby and headed to the other side of the building, I could hear that the casino was packed today. The only thing in this place that kept the Hacienda Del Sol name, the casino was probably the only place I liked to be in here because ponies were either too busy gambling to care about me, or I was too busy drinking to care about them. Reaching the old oak double doors, I lifted my hoof and pressed it against it. My stiff muscles ached to push it open, but to be honest, it’d probably have hurt more to try to use my magic.

Of course, Eff had to step in with his pleasant smile and open it for me. Like a show off out to prove how hungover I was, or a good friend. But mostly a smug show off.

The dark interior of the casino was immediately soothing on my tired eyes. However, the trade off was immediately noticeable as a thick wave of cigarette smoke billowed out past us. The room was also unbearably hot, even with all the old ceiling fans running on high. Still, my salvation sat in the back of the room, just past the old one bit slot machines.

Cold Draft’s bar was the best one in the ruins of Los Pegasus. Well, to me it was, anyway. It was a perk of me working directly under Eighth Note, really. I always had the option to run a tab, and Cold always knew I was good for it. Unfortunately for me, I liked my liquor, and could run up a large tab. Still, either Cold or Eff always knew when I’d had enough, and had saved me from a fair number of bad decisions in the past.

Worming our way through the patrons toward the bar, I was dismayed to not see Cold standing up behind the bar like normal. It was then, that Eff couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Hey, while you wait for Cold, you want to play a few rounds of ‘make the mark’?” Again, he spoke in his cheery voice, sounding far more confident than normal. “I took a look over the new V.I.P. list for this week, and I’ve been itching to beat you. Bet’s five caps you can’t make a mark.”

Now I know something is up. Eff is never that eager to bet like this, not when he’s never won a round. But, with last night’s blackout, I figured that I might need an extra few caps to pay off my tab if I had one. Worst case is that I’ll finally miss one and I’ll tell Eff I’ll pay him the caps later.

“Fine.” I said, taking a seat at the bar and putting my forehooves up on it.

“Okay.” As he spoke up, he craned his neck and looked around the room a bit, his smile growing wider as he found one of the V.I.P.s across the room. “Over there is Mr. Shetland, co-owner of one of the eastern valley grape plantations.”

Turning, I found the stallion in question right away. The smaller than average, portly white stallion wore a ragged tuxedo with a horribly over greased combover mane. He was seated at a poker table staring intently at the cards in his hooves. Slowly, he puffed at the cheap cigar clinging to the end of his muzzle, tapping his rear hoof as if waiting for the other horseshoe to drop.

“He’s basically broke.” I shrugged and turned back to look at Eff EL. “He’s trying to put up a look like he’s made of a million caps, but still he looks at those cards like they’re the only thing keeping him afloat. So I assume that the Misses and him are no longer together and she’s cut him off.”

“What?” Eff as always, sounded generally amazed. “Did Vanilla tell you that?” He jabbed at my side. “It’s not fair if you heard it around The Studio, you know that’s against the rules.”

“The rules are that I tell you something about them, that’s it.” I grumbled. “And no, I didn’t hear it at The Studio. You know I can stereotype ponies far too easily, and he is the poster colt of a stallion desperate for caps.” I can’t help it if I can just look at this world like it’s a poorly written novel with generalized characters. The only upside to my tendency to think up stories all the time. Most ponies wear their personality on their sleeves, always trying to hide who they are from the world around them. Some days I feel like I’m the only pony around who can see them for the actors they actually are...

“Takes one to know one…” Eff muttered under his breath. Before I could even retort, he turned and looked around again. “That one was too easy. Even your quote unquote character type casting skills won’t help you for this next one.”

“Where the hell is Cold Draft?” I groaned. Was it really so hard to get one goddess damned drink today?

“Probably in back helping with the keg delivery.” Eff said so nonchalantly that I almost didn’t register it. “Oh! This one is good.” He tapped at my shoulder and point over to the other side of the room. “Do her.”

With a roll of my eyes, I spun around on my stool and looked around. Normally, I need him to at least give me a name or profession. This one however, would have given it away too easily had he given up anything, and even then, he’d tried to deceive me. The pony in question stood out like a mare in heat around a group of raiders. The large frame and soft as flowers yellow coat could almost be missable from under the styled and silky smooth purple mane that flowed down nearly to the floor. The large brimmed sun hat and dark oversized sunglasses that I’d loved to have had three minutes ago were the last touch that gave it all away.

“That’s no mare. It’s a stallion.” I grunted. “Anypony who tries that hard to look like a mare has more secrets than even I want to take a guess at.”

“Oh come on!” Eff nearly faceplanted himself against the bar in outrage.

“What’s all this commotion?” Cold Draft yelled out before trotting out from the door to the store room. “Oh, hey Sawyer. Here to pay off your tab?”

“That and get a shot before I go.” I sighed, happy that I could finally get today going.

“What?” Cold scrunched up his muzzle in as much confusion as Eff and Harp had. “Even after last night?”

“Why does everypony keep saying that!?” I groaned and flopped myself down onto the bar top. “Seriously, what the hell happened last night?”

“I’d be delighted to tell you how you made my night a living hell.” Cold Draft said with a glare before hoofing out a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass. “But, I’m sure you’ll get an earful from Eighth after your briefing.”

“Briefing?” Now it was my turn to be confused. “When the hell did he say he wanted to see me for anything?”

Cold facehoofed hard and cast a glare over to Eff EL. “You didn’t tell him?”

“Oh, Sawyer!” Eff said as I closed my eyes and let out a disappointed sigh. “Eighth Note wanted to see you. He’s got a job needing to be done A.S.A.P.” With a pat on my shoulder, he shifted off his stool next to me. “Anyway, been fun but I gotta get back to work! Bye!”

Eeyup. Going to beat the ever living hell out of him for that.

Sighing, I opened my eyes and looked over to Cold Draft again. I watched as he poured the last of what was the only good part of this morning out of the bottle and into the scuffed up shot glass in front of him. With a quick flip, he tossed the drained bottle into the metal waste bin next to him and gazed over to me. I reached out with my hoof, but was dismayed when he instead grabbed the glass and slugged the drink down his own throat.

“What? You think you have time to drink?” He offered with a sharp look of disgust. “Get over to Eighth’s office. You’ve wasted enough of the day just sleeping off last night and moping around.” Picking up a rag with his hoof, he quickly got to wiping out the empty shot glass. “And when you’re done with whatever errand he wants you to run, we’ll talk about the hundred cap tab you wracked up. Until then, you’re cut off.”

“One hundred!?” I nearly fell off the damn stool at that. That’s damn near a week’s pay for me! Cold was right, Eighth was probably going to roast my ass for this, but like always, I’ll just have to deal with it. Not like I have any other choice really. “Fine, dammit. I’ll get going.” Today just could not get any more disappointing, could it?

Knowing my luck? In thinking that, I probably just fucked myself over…

Walking through the assorted sheet metal buildings, vendor stalls, and bustling crowd, I tried to keep my eyes from the brightness of the clouded skies. This crappy city always made me cringe, and I never really could understand why. As far as settlements go, Starwalk city actually wasn’t that bad of a place to call home. We had strong walls that kept the raiders out, pretty much unlimited power from the Studio’s arcano-generator, and what sometimes felt like too healthy of a population.

“Care to try some delicious radhog on a stick?” An elderly unicorn mare with more hair missing than she had teeth left called out as she waved her disgusting cooked meat in my face. Using my own magic, I pushed it back and pressed on towards the only other intact tall building in Starwalk city.

Still, this city wasn’t without it’s flaws. On the surface, the gambling and whoring might not look too bad, but everypony has their vice in this place. Out of them all, I think the only thing I’ve managed to avoid was getting addicted to anything more than alcohol. Dash, Buck, Mint-als, you name it. You could find it for almost any price here. In fact, there’s so much of it around, that I’ve always wondered where they found so much of the stuff in the ruins of Los Pegasus. Still, ponies had needs, and we’re nothing if not a resourceful bunch. We always get what we want, even if the goal is seemingly impossible.

Maybe that’s it. Maybe this place reminded me too much of Stable 13. Sometimes I can remember snippets of my life back there. Crowded halls, the monotony of everyday life. I even remember a mare who used to be addicted to Sparkle Cola. I never understood how somepony could become addicted to soda, but honestly, I’d give up everything now just to have that life again. At least then I’d have my real family and friends back. I’d have a purpose, I’d make a real difference in the community.

However, that life was gone, and here I was, the slave I’ve always been. Not really a slave I guess, just more in the metaphorical sense. Well, I do technically belong to Eighth Note, but… Ugh! Why must I think about this? It always ends up getting me off track, and today I really shouldn’t be letting my mind wander.

Stopping in the middle of the crowd, I tried to take a deep breath and refocus myself. Finally feeling brave enough to turn my aching eyes upward, I looked at the Studio. The tall circular building always looked to me like a stack of dirty dinner plates more than anything. But, the large, monolithic antenna that stuck out of the roof tended to make the last flared floor of the place look like one of the flying saucers out of the old Astro-Buck adventure comics I’d read when I was just a colt.

“Hey, move it, asshole.” The annoyed voice of pony filled my ears sharply before I was shoved aside by a mean looking blue coated hellhound. Her angry pink eyes reminded me that there were worse things in the wastes than a hangover, and I should probably avoid pissing those things off. The metallic glint of a large cybernetic arm on her caught my eye before a short purple coated stallion with glasses pulled my attention down as he walked by with her.

“Some ponies actually have places to be.” The small stallion snapped at me before turning back to the way they’d been walking. “Friggin’ idiot.”

“Seriously?” I muttered to myself, shaking the encounter off before realizing that I should probably get moving again. Not to say that I shouldn’t work, but would it really hurt to have one single moment to myself? Between the nightmares I’ve been having, and the time I’ve spent drinking, I feel like there’s nothing else to life other than working.

Without a care, I pushed my way forward through the crowds up to the revolving glass doors that lead to the lobby of the Studio building. The two guards in combat armor nodded to me as I approached and stepped aside from the door. The mare on the left was a new hire last week, a young pegasus who’d wandered into town. Rare to see her type below the clouds, but that’s why Eighth has her on door duty. He had to make sure everyone can see how ‘accepting’ and ‘open’ we are as a community, but honestly nopony cares. My personal guess was that the reason was somewhere closer to the fact that he didn’t like being the only pegasus stuck in this city.

New hires aren’t unheard of around here. Accidents happen, or ponies waste all their caps at the casino and get evicted all the time. No, the ponies to look out for in this city are the ones who’ve been here longer than anyone else. To that point, the mare on the right had been here since before I’d even been bought. The white strands creeping through her short pink mane almost made her lithe red coat look feeble, but I knew first hoof that Mrs. Brushed Billet had only steeled herself since she was appointed head of the city’s guard. I couldn’t count the times she’d saved me from doing something stupid on one of my benders, or lent me an ear when I needed to get something out of my system. Still, she was more loyal to Eighth Note than anypony outside of his close friends, and that earned her my respect.

“Late start today, Mr. Sawyer?” She smiled as I reached out for the door. I only had to deadpan at the question before a smile crawled across her muzzle. “One of those days, then?” She nodded toward the lobby and waved her hoof. “Best get in there then and get it over with.”

“Yeah, thanks.” I sighed and pushed forward into the foggy glass storm door. “Have a great day.” Like always though, Billet was right. Might as well get whatever this job is done with so I can go back to being miserable.

Trotting across the worn felt carpet of the old studio lobby, the curling and yellowed posters of centuries ago did their best to keep my mind from wandering too far. Old album posters for Sweetie Belle, Pon E. King, Whinny Valley & The Four Seasons, along with a few other assorted old world bands sat over the tarnished golden records that sent them into the heights of fame back in the day. This whole building used to be a recording studio for all the big bands of the day, and as such, was of great importance to the Ministry of Image.

Along with the numerous protection spells that preserved this place past the megaspell apocalypse came a whole lot of high end designer furniture, extra amenities, and other assorted luxuries that a pony would have had to spend a fortune in extra bits on way back when. For that reason, the first ten floors are luxury apartments for the well to do of the city. The next two are recording studios converted into ‘guest’ rooms for anypony Eighth Note sees fit to house, while the top and final floor Eighth treats as his personal penthouse and studio for his radio station.

The elevator chimed as the polished metal doors rolled back. A well dressed couple stepped out and glanced over at me as I approached. The stallion was dressed in a well worn in tuxedo and a stately looking top hat, while the mare wore a shimmering gold dress. Both of them were eerily silent as I trotted past them and into the elevator, but it was their silence that spoke louder than anything. The ponies who lived here didn’t like the ‘hired help’, and they made it known. If not for Eighth’s rules, they’d have had me beaten and tossed out like the rest of the ponies in this city.

Even as run down and cramped as my shitty apartment was however, I’d never stay in this place. If nothing else for the fact that while the city guard were great at protecting the folks outside of the tower, there would be very little they could do if I was lost in an angry drunken rage inside this place. This place was just like the glass towers in half my stories. An elaborate but fragile society that only needed a single tap to send it shattering to the ground.

As I hoofed the top floor button on the elevator and watched as the doors slid shut, I did my best to remind myself of something. Eighth Note, while being an egotistical bastard, had all our best interests in mind. Well, mostly…

In an annoying juxtaposition with the Skyfall’s elevator, this one was abnormally fast. Within what felt like only moments of movement, another chime sounded as the elevator slowed to a crawl and stopped at the top floor. Knowing Eighth, it wasn’t just for the comfort of the high class ponies more that it was probably for expediting the speed at which his ‘employee’s’ give him the various information they’ve gathered recently.

The doors slid open, revealing the lavish reception area that Eighth had constructed. The numerous plush couches only had the most minute smell of mold to them, and the old wood paneling in the room was still mostly lacquered to a sheen. However, absent behind the still stark white reception desk, was Vanilla. Eighth hardly ever sent out his prized possession from the tower. Only in times of great importance did she even ever leave the city walls, so her absence was a mystery that I’d have to have Eighth enlighten me about.

Stepping out of the elevator, I stood in the middle of the room and perked my ears, listening. For once, I think that the entire floor was dead silent, which was odd, because there was always something going on up here. If nothing was happening, something is very wrong today. Without so much as an ounce of hesitation, the large double oak doors to Eighth’s office swung open in dramatic fashion. Like always, the pegasus bastard was sitting behind his desk. However, out of place on him, was a look of anger I haven’t seen in a very long time.

“You’re an hour late.” He grumbled as he put his forehooves down on his desk. “Do you have any idea what happened last night?”

“Let’s see.” I sighed as I trotted forward into his office. So far, everypony felt like it was perfectly fine to dance around that question, so I felt it was fair that I got my own play at it. “Nah, perfectly normal night.” Using my magic, I pulled one of the plush hoofstools over from the velvety red couch that he had tucked in the corner of his office. Sitting down on it, I watched as his expression went from one of anger, to steaming hot rage. “Why don’t you tell me what the hell happened?”

“Typical! Of course you wouldn’t fucking know.” He growled and angrily shook his hoof at me. “You’re always too busy drowning yourself in booze on my credit to even fucking think about helping me keep this goddess damned city from collapsing into chaos and violence!” Slamming his hoof down on his desk caused me to jump.

Okay, this was… different. I’d never seen Eighth this bad off before.

“I… didn’t mean to run up such a tab. I will earn it back, whatever you need done I’ll do it.” I tried to tread lightly with my wording. Seriously, what did happen last night?

“A tab? That’s what you think this is about?” Again, he groaned and glared at me. “Didn’t Eff EL tell you about Swift?”

“Your personal courier?” Honestly, even in the entire time I’ve lived here, I’d never really known the mare. With me always away on odd jobs for Eighth, or her always away delivering something for him, I’d never quite gotten to spend more than a few days getting to know her over the years.

“Yes.” With a heavy sigh, he seemed to calm down a bit. Carefully, he folded his forehooves together on the table and closed his eyes. “Last night she was supposed to return to the Los Pegasus ruins from the far wastes with a package of mine. Very important, and very secret.” I wanted to ask what this mystery package was, but somehow he knew I wanted to know and simply lifted a hoof to silence me. “I don’t know how, but somepony knew about it. They intersected her route, killed Swift, and stole the package.”

“Oh.” Was all I could say as I looked down to the floor. “I’m sorry, Eighth.” While I didn’t know her that well, he did.

“I wish it hadn’t come to it, but I can’t afford to sit on this any longer.” He spoke with his normal, authoritative tone. “I know I don’t normally ask this of you, Sawyer, but I need you to go and retrieve that package.”

“M-me?” I fumbled out the words as my train of thought derailed and spectacularly crashed. “Swift was a pro at getting around! I can barely hold my own in a fight, you know that!”

“Which is why you’re going to have help on this one.” Eighth groaned out as he slid open a drawer on his desk. Out from it, he slipped a manila folder. Carefully, he slid it across to my side of the desk and motioned for me to pick it up. “I’ve been watching this mercenary for a while.” Grabbing the folder in my magic, I pulled it over to me. Opening it, I levitated the few small cuecards of hastily scrawled notes close enough so that I could read them.

Mercinary File: Banshee

True Identiy: Unknown Unicorn Mare

Skillsets: Well Educated/Pipbuck equipped. (Stable born perhaps?) Highly advanced combat skills. (Possible Ex-Steel Ranger) Advanced infiltration training and equipment. (Well Funded or High class connections possibly) Numerous cross country contacts (Baltimare, Tenpony, Friendship City, New Pegas, Vanhoover)

Notes: Habitually refuses payment from those she helps. Only takes jobs that involve helping a specific pony or community if it’s ‘morally’ correct. Exhibits a ‘hero’ type mentality with little hesitation to use lethal force. Despite hiding her identity, dislikes shady or secretive negotiations.

Final Subject Ruling: Danger to the city status quo. Avoid any contact/involvement with Starwalk City if possible.

“Really?” I sighed. Setting lowering the cue cards down from my eyes, I peeked over my glasses at Eighth Note in annoyance. “This says don’t get her involved. Why not hire some Talons?”

“And risk a contract negotiation that could take days?” He snorted. “This package is too important to this city. Too many lives depend on it.” He paused with that, eyeing me over as if to gauge my reaction.

“Does it really?” I asked slowly. This wouldn’t be the first time Eighth had told me something I ‘needed’ to hear at the time to get my to do his dirty work.

“You have no idea.” He spoke starkly, not even budging an inch on that. Normally I’d press further, but actually feels like it’s important to him. Maybe it’s just the way he’s coping with the loss of Swift, but between that and the shit I supposedly did last night, maybe for once I wasn’t the one who needed to be cut a break.

“Alright.” I nodded, floating the cue cards back over to his desk and setting them down. “Where do I go to find her?”

Sitting back with an enormous sigh, I could feel as his mood changed to being more relaxed and it made the room feel about a million times lighter than it just had. Slowly, he reached into his desk again and pulled out an old map of Los Pegasus. Unfulling the yellowed and worn map, he traced his hoof along it until he nearly hit the ocean.

“Here.” He said, tapping his hoof on it. “There’s a bar on the outskirts of Boardwalk called ‘The Back Alley’. One of the bartenders there knows how to get in contact with her, but that’s all we know.”

“Seriously?” I said as I got to my hooves, stepping forward to take a look at the map. Boardwalk wasn’t the safest settlements, and it was nearly halfway across the city ruins from here. At the very least my pipbuck would ensure I didn’t get lost on the way there. “One of the bartenders knows her? That’s the only lead I’ve got to follow?” It was going to be a hell of a long walk for nothing if this didn’t pan out.

“Look, you know I wouldn’t send you if I didn’t have my hooves tied.” Eighth Note looked up at me, softening his expression as he did. “I didn’t buy you all those years ago to make you do anything, Sawyer. You’re as free a pony as anyone else here.” With a sigh, he looked down at the map again. “But I’m asking you to go as an enormous favor for me, nothing else. I hope that you’ll do this in my hour of need.”

“Yeah yeah. I’m not going to say no.” I rolled my eyes and gave a soft chuckle. “But one of these days the whole ‘I set you free’ routine isn’t going to hold as much charm as it did years ago.”

“I know.” For once, I watched as a genuine smile grew across his muzzle. “So long as you remember that one of these days, I’m not going to be there to pay your excess bar tabs.”

I nodded and turned around. “Point taken.”

“Oh, and Sawyer?” Eighth spoke up before I started toward the door. “Please, watch yourself out there.” Casting a glance over my shoulder, his normally studious look had given way to one of grave concern. “I’ve already lost one friend, I don’t want to lose somepony I consider family.”

“You know I’m always careful.” I smiled as I trotted for the elevator. Lowering my voice to just a whisper, I felt I needed to mutter the rest under my breath. “If the ponies who got Swift don’t kill me first, I really hope that this ‘banshee’ doesn’t…”

--Chapter End--

“In Los Pegasus, everyone's a star.”

Quests Finished: none

Quests Started: Rebel Without A Cause

Levels Earned: none

Perks Earned: none