Fallout Equestria: Steelheart
Written By: CyberDutchman
Edited By: JC

Chapter 8: Trials and Cracks

”All too often, we find ourselves trying to patch over the cracks in our persons, either by intention or by necessity. ”

I’ve experienced pain before.

...

On second thought make that a lot of pain.

...

Okay, more like a hell of a lot of pain actually.

What I mean was my past Stable life wasn’t exactly cushy and I got bruised and shocked on a depressingly regular basis. One of the perks of being a robot technician. I’d thought that was terrible, a travesty of life and circumstance when others in 63 might never get a single scratch at their job their whole life.

Then the last two days happened. Sweet merciful Luna, I wanted my mild shocks and bruises back again. That had been heaven! Now robots had blasted me, a mutated monster worm tried to eat me, bullets shattered my hip, and then I had to endure Preserve’s supposed “care” to deal with the damage. I’d couldn’t have known before but I’d had it fantastic in 63. I’d been just about certain nothing could ever hurt more than the last two days.

“Whoops! Hmmmm... I think he might have needed that. Should we put it back in?”

This hurt more.

“Nah, he’s fine. Gotta plenty more where dat came from. Besides, we’ve been sharing with him all day. Only polite he shared back!”

A constant tide of pain made me gasp and whimper while my captors stood close by and chuckled. Of the pair the older was a unicorn with a gray, pockmarked face and graying orange mane while the other was a nearly bald earth pony with fat red jowls. I couldn’t guess his age because his fat, bloated body could have been anything. A pair of pliers hovered slowly towards the rolling trolley that always accompanied them, gleaming a rusty silver and red in the dim light. I watched through bleary, swollen eyes as they popped open and a small white drop fell onto the dirty, blood caked tray atop the trolley.

“What do you think? A keeper?”

“Oh yeah, dat’s a keeper fer sure! J’ever seen one so shiny?”

“Hmmm... nope, that’s as pretty as they come. Guess he was tellin’ the truth about being from some Stable. Nopony else ‘round here has anything other than rotten yellow, not even those Ranger bastards. And speaking of Rangers,” he said with a tap on my hoof from the bloodied pliers, “how about telling us what they’re up to? Maybe some codes, a few deployments? Anything come to mind?”

I shivered and moaned as my jaw sent jolts of pain from the missing molar over and over, demanding I run; back to 63, back to the Castle, back to safety, back to anywhere but here. The rest of my body told me it didn’t have the energy and wished it would just shut up. One leg told me nothing at all and never would again. At that moment I envied it and wished the rest of me would follow suit.

“I- ahn... I told you, they kicked me out. I-I’m not a Ranger, I just wanted a job...” I wheezed, cringing as the motion lashed me with more pain. How had things gone this wrong?

I didn’t know, but was easy enough to pick out the starting point. Someone bashed the back of my head in. Or at least that’s what I assumed had happened. I hadn’t been in much shape to try to recreate the chain of events when I finally came to. What I was certain of was I’d woken up in a dry, cool concrete cell without any memory of how I’d gotten there and a still bleeding lump behind one ear. Not a great way to wake up to begin with but that hadn’t been the worst part. No that was when I’d discovered what they’d taken from me.

My frame, my gun, my uniform, and worst of all, my Pipbuck. They'd left me with nothing. No... less than nothing. I was now lame, beaten and bruised on top of my crippled state. Worse than I’d been before. Broken.

Only I could have managed that. I mean, I’d had everything I could have asked for. Hell, I'd had everything I had asked for! First Inquisitor in a century, chosen by the Elder herself, fixed up with the best the Rangers could offer, and in one day I’d lost it all, become even weaker than when I arrived at the Castle. I’d walked in under my own power, walked out with more power, and now I could barely walk and had no power. All in one day.

One. Day.

Because I was the only idiot in this Luna damned Wasteland that could think strapping on the best tech I could come up with would let me fix a world just as broken as I was.

I’d stopped thinking much after that, silenced my thoughts and become a pathetic lump on the floor, tucked in on myself in the back corner. I’d stayed like that for hours, maybe a day or more, I didn’t know. There was no sense of time in that dimly lit cell, only the scent of decay.

Then, just when I felt the anxiety beginning to reach it’s peak, they showed up. Unnervingly personable fellows with cheery dispositions who gave me water and asked how I was doing. I’d thought they might have actually wanted to help me for a time. Then they’d brought out the pliers, pins, and knives and lost their masks.

Their names and cutie marks should have given me some hint of that but as I’ve already established I am not great at figuring out others. Tooth Pick was innocent enough but with a mark showing a set of teeth getting bashed in by a mining pick it really lost any possible innocence. I didn’t want to think about how the old grey geezer had gotten it. His blobbish buddy, Gristle, was worse. His was a set of teeth cracking through a long bone. I absolutely refused to think about how he’d gotten it.

“Oh pipe down, dis is nothin,” Gristle muttered while prodding a cut in my foreleg. I wanted to cry out but the last three times he’d punched and prodded the cut until I didn’t have the breath left to continue. This time I held it in. I was too exhausted to cry anymore. “Good, dat’s bedder. Couldn’t even hear myself tink with all de whinin’.”

“Boy, you really need to get better at small talk. If all you jab about is work work work then no mare is ever gonna want to bed you,” Pick said with a theatrical shake of his head. Gristle chuckled in a blubbering fashion that seemed to favor a maximum of jowl motion then stopped and gave Pick an evil grin. I didn’t like that grin. Despite the pain, the mention of bedding immediately focused my mind in a way few things could, specifically on all the things he could have meant like making a bed or tucking someone in. Anything other than what he was obviously implying.

“Say, now dat’s an idea!”

No, no it wasn’t! Quit having ideas!

Pick’s magic switched out the pliers for the molar so he could examine it closer under the light. The fact that said light was directly over my restrained head so the tooth dripped blood and saliva onto my cheek probably barely factored into his thinking. While I was coming up with obvious lies like that one I came up with a few more to try to take my mind off the pain and the horrible warm wetness splotched on my cheek. Lies like “I am a very smart stallion” or “I was completely ready for this” or “It could be worse”.

“What is? Getting him laid?” Pick asked absentmindedly.

“No, not that,” Gristle said with a roll of his eyes. “Who’d want to ride dis wimp? I was talking about de other thing! We can give him a job!”

Huh... I take it back. Didn’t think it could happen but Gristle immediately shot up the ranks of current favorite people despite, well... everything else. A way out of this that didn’t involve... you know, that... was possibly the highest priority I had at the moment. Besides that it was a toss up for a second between passing out out from the pain and passing away peacefully from blood loss. A way out that did involve that was securely in third. The aftermath of that would probably involve me tearing out someone’s genitals. Specifically, my own.

Pick blinked and frowned at him. “Grist, you need to stop eating that crap, it’s starting to affect whatever’s sloshing about in your skull. I mean come on, the hell are you thinking? The boss isn’t gonna give him a job. Why do you think he’s down here?”

Gristle shook his head with a sly, disgustingly toothy grin. “Not one for da boss. One for us!”

Okay, not as great as I’d hoped but I could use helping them as a chance to look for an escape route. Hopefully it would be getting them tools or food or something and not... this. Even if it was, I could push my way through it. I had to. Whatever it took. The Elder needed to know I’d found something judging by Business’s laser pistol. That would be enough to bring in the squads and I could put an end to this. Even if that was a bust the Rangers had to put an end to this.

Pick laid the tooth back down gently on the tray and scowled at Gristle. “What the fuck kind of job are we going to let him do?”

Oh come on Pick, give me a chance! Listen to the jolly, freakishly-fat pony!

Gristle lifted a fat, swollen hoof and pointed at the rolling cart next to them. “The kind dat needs a pony with nice shiny teeth, some Hydra, and a bigger tray.”

Pick and I both froze, then he slowly looked down at me with hungry eyes while I stared wide eyed up at him. “I take it back, you great big genius. That is a perfect job for this little Ranger Stable pony.”

Never mind. It had gotten worse. I wasn’t sure what Hydra was but doubted he meant the monster from the Nursery stories. A bigger tray however was pretty damn clear. Gristle, you were now at at the bottom of my list you sadistic slob. There was absolutely nothing good in you- ...wait...oh no. Oh fuck no. NO. I knew what that meant! Why? Why were there raiders in Whinneapolis?!

Pick’s hoof reached out and lifted my chin up. “Hey, Boy. Guess what that means?” I wasn’t quick enough in answering for his liking apparently. His other hoof shot out and struck me across the mouth, knocking me senseless for a moment. He bent down next to me and his hot breath sent shivers down my spine as he softly whispered in my ear. “I said... guess what?”

“...what?” I croaked.

He leaned back with an ear to ear grin. “Glad you asked! See, you’ve got really great teeth. Best I’ve ever seen in fact and that’s saying something ‘cause I’ve seen ‘em all! Now that wouldn’t matter to most but apart from being your devoted friend-” He paused to let Gristle snicker. “-I am also the only dentist these poor fellas have. And boy do they need me,” he added with a sly grin towards his partner.

Gristle pursed his lips and rolled his eyes while muttering something under his breath. Pick chuckled and turned his attention back to me.

“Problem for them is, good materials are really hard to come by around here and I have to make do the best I can. Now, I may be a stallion of many tricks, but conjuring fine enamel out of nothing sadly isn’t one of them. You though, you’ve done that work for me.” His horn glowed and a small, rusted medical case floated up from behind the rolling trolley and dropped softly onto it next to the tray. The clasp opened with a click and a small row of very dirty syringes met my rapidly panicking gaze.

“Here’s the thing though,” he continued, lifting one of the injectors out of the box with his horn along with the pliers. The vial in it was hazy but what I could see was a putrid yellow green that bubbled like a lava lamp. “You only have so many. But with this little shot...” he purred, tapping the needle against the trolley until a tiny drop of green pooled at the tip before laying it back down and picking up the pliers again. With what little strength I had left I began to hyperventilate. Not like I had many other options.

“Well, that’s not going to be an issue anymore. So could you do me a favor?” The pliers opened with a faint screech and pulled my gums apart. His lips spread apart in a terrible grin. A terrible, multicolored grin. No two of his teeth were the same color, or even the same size.

None of them were his.

I tried to scream for help in a voice no more than a wheeze for a release from this hell that refused to come. His grin grew bigger as his voice rose in a feral crescendo.

“Give me a big smile!”

“Guys, afraid you’re gonna hafta leave it there for now.”

The pliers froze then slowly retreated while both of my interrogators growled at the interruption. I did my best to stifle the sigh of relief trying to burst out of me. They turned away from me, leaving just enough space between them to catch sight of a pale cyan unicorn giving them a deadpan grimace through the rusty rebar at the front of my cell. He was... she was... I had no idea what they were. A pony, sure, but beyond that? Younger stallion or mare? Older colt or filly? I didn’t have a clue.

Their jet black mane was pulled back from the horn into a ponytail braid that ended just above their shoulder in a tiny knotted bow of... white velvet? Completing the odd picture was the white shirt and black vest combo over their barrel, sleeves rolled up high, and a pair of long, studded black saddle bags which prevented me from seeing their mark. I blinked when I noticed their equally black tail ended in another white velvet bow just a couple inches above the ground. The full picture looked like a mashup of all the styles mares in 63 liked mashed up again into the most male configuration possible.

In short, confusing as hell.

“O’fer the love’a... whaddya want freak? We’re fuckin’ busy so get lost,” hissed Gristle.

The cyan pony focused Gristle with a deadpan look then pointed a hoof at me. “Boss wants him.”

Pick snorted and stepped in front of me, blocking my sight. “For what?” he asked in a low growl. “He told us this one was ours.”

The newcomer clicked his tongue in frustration. “I don’t know. He told me to get him before you got too into it so I’m getting him. That means I need you to get him outta dat seat.” The voice could have belonged to anyone and the accent came and went as it pleased without any notice beforehand, lasting just long enough for me to get used to it before switching again. It was enough to make my eye twitch. The one that wasn’t swollen shut anyway.

“Fuck no, you just want this one for yourself! Well fuck that, fuck you, and finally, fuck off! This one’s ours Bonds, you hear me? You’re not adding him to your damn quota just to make us look bad you brown-nosing freak,” Pick snarled, sending rancid spittle raining across the floor in front of him. At least now I had a name for... them.

Bonds scoffed as he... she... ugh, this was bothering me... glared at them through narrowed eyes. “Like I’d hafta actually do anything. No, you two do dat just fine on yer own. If you played less and got more results they might not send over most of dem to me, ever tink of dat?”

“You bedder shut yer mouth now before I do it for ya,” Gristle hissed, causing his jowls to hum and fling drops of sweat everywhere. Pick leaned away from him with a grunt.

“For fucks sake, quit spraying everywhere!”

Gristle turned and spat into the corner of the cell in frustration. Pick wiped his head with a hoof objectively dirtier than any sweat that might have been flicked onto him. Well, at least dirtier than any sweat I’d encountered before Gristle’s. I didn’t want to know if that was a correct assumption. I couldn’t see Pick’s face but could almost feel his glare radiating out as a physical field.

“Fine. Now get lost, he’s ours. We’ll take him to the boss-”

“No chance. Boss told me to do it, alone, and-”

“Like hell he did! And even if that’s true, I don’t fucking care!” Pick shouted, suddenly brandishing one of the knives he used to nick me over and over in front of him with his magic. “No filly-freak is gonna-”

A cord of thin, coarse rope shot out of one of the black saddle bags and constricted around his muzzle, shutting it with a loud click, then added his eyes and ears faster than I could track. The click was immediately followed by a muffled cry since his tongue had been stuck out at the point his jaw had been clamped shut. Judging by the couple drops of crimson in front of his hooves I could guess what his expression was now. A second line of thin rope followed the first and bound his legs in a crisscross pattern before jerking together tightly and dropping him to the floor, completely immobile.

“Dat does it! I’m gonna feed yer ass to de rats!” Gristle screamed as he began to charge.

“Began” being the key term as a second cord of coarse rope, this one much thicker than the first, shot out of the newcomer’s other bag and thread its way through his fat legs before tying itself in the most complex knot I’d ever seen. Pick had gotten a bow by comparison. His charge turned into a glacial fall and roll, carried forward a yard or more by his sheer mass until he finally came to a halt face down. Mercifully for him, his muzzle protruded from around his fat rolls just enough to prevent him from dying in the most humiliating case of self suffocation possible. Mercifully for Bonds and I it also prevented him from speaking again, restricting him to the barest of shallow breaths. In the space of four seconds my raider tormentors had gone from belligerent to blind and incapacitated. By nothing but simple, thin rope. I’d never appreciated it before but by Luna I was going to from now on. Appreciate and fear I realized as I tried to pull away from it within the confines of my chair. Looks like I’d found a new everyday thing to have a strange aversion to.

The pony of indeterminate everything sighed and slowly shook their head. “You two-...no, never mind. Not worth it. I’ll let you go when we’re back,” they said without a trace of the accent then turned to me with a calculating look. I was reminded that despite what had just happened I was not being released, rescued, or even given a reprieve. My expression hardened into a cold stare at the trio in the cell as we all stood, sat, and lay there in stillness.

Without warning Bond’s horn lit up with a cream colored glow. My bindings unraveled with with a whip-like crack and his telekinesis slowly pulled me out of the chair with surprising gentleness. I was taken aback enough that I didn’t resist like I’d intended, too caught up in the unexpected treatment to struggle at all. Then the glow went out and I dropped to the floor in a heap. I’d had such a good impression of Bonds. Had.

I lay there breathing heavily as the multitude of faded, dull aches suddenly became immediate, sharp aches again. A shadow fell over me and with additional pain I opened my bruised eye far enough to see the androgynous pony giving me a deadpan stare.

“Oh-fer-geez... don’t start this. It’s only been a day,” Bonds muttered, dragging a hoof down his face. That at least gave me a sense of time though I had more immediate things to worry about.

“Sorry I haven’t built up an immunity to TORTURE yet,” I managed to grunt out as I slowly rose to my hooves. Or at least most of them. The bad leg simply crumpled painlessly, a small mercy apparently considering the look of horror passing over my new captor’s face.

“Celestia... the hell did dey do to you?” he- no, she- maybe he?... they asked with a shocked glance at the bound and glaring Pick and softly wheezing Gristle. As I looked up at Bonds the surprise of his swift handling of my interrogators began to wear off and was now replaced by a growing curiosity about the confounding question. If he or she would just turn around so I can be absolutely certain not to look anywhere near anything back there what the hell was I thinking?!

“De boss told dem not to pull dis shit,” hissed the absolutely-to-remain-unknown pony, missing or more likely ignoring my attempts to beat myself and my traitorous mind unconscious. I gave up when it was clear I didn’t have the strength to pull it off right then. I’d have to wait till I had my strength back to give my brain the beating it needed.

“Already had this,” I grunted as I lifted myself up on three good legs and with some difficulty hitched the other high enough it wouldn’t drag on the floor.

“Wait, from wha-” The cyan pony paled and placed a hoof in front of their eyes but still peeked around it just a bit before regretting it. “Oh goddess, it shouldn’t be moving like dat,” Bonds muttered with a strangled heaving sound.

“Like what?” I wheezed, glancing back curiously. I nearly heaved as well from the sight. The flesh around my left flank pushed out in sharp protrusions that wiggled and stretched the skin around them. I twitched my leg in shock and a couple disappeared while new ones popped up elsewhere. I’d seen Preserve’s X-rays but hadn’t really appreciated what they meant, not when the damage was covered by my Stable suit and frame. Now I did and I wanted nothing else in the world more than both of them back to hide under again. Anything so I could ignore what I was blissfully incapable of feeling. Not being aware would have been even better but that wasn't an option. I’d never unsee my hip moving like a bag of ice cubes under the skin. How was I even moving that leg?

“Oh I’m gonna- stop, just stop. I don’t want to know, I really don’t. Now quit moving,” Bonds said through a disgusted cough.

I turned back and immediately started backing away as fast as possible from the cream colored glow and the studded black collar and trailing white cord held in it. As fast as possible was stationary once my bad leg got in the way and dropped me to the floor. Now granted ample time to slip the strap around my neck and clamp it down, Bonds followed up with a series of loops that completely blocked the clasp and any chance of undoing it. I tried to pull away from the dreaded rope with zero success. I didn’t care if it was ridiculous, the way I’d seen it used placed it firmly in the “dangerous” category, subsection “embarrassing if revealed”, and wanted to be as far away from anything like it as possible.

“Settle down! Fer fucks sake, listen to me! You keeping choking on it and I’m going to put you in a harness instead and trust me, I really doubt you're enough of a bottom to enjoy that! ”

I gave one last sharp pull on the line to see if it was decrepit like the rest of the wasteland under its pristine exterior. Sadly, Bonds must have had the entire Midwaste’s worth of good rope in those saddle bags because the line didn’t budge an inch. A tug from the other end brought me up and limping along behind the cyan rope-savant. I walk-hopped on my three good legs out through the open cell door and got my first glimpse of the rest of my prison. I’m not sure what I’d been expecting but a simple, bare concrete hall, lit by pale, flickering bulbs hanging from frayed wires hadn’t been it. I’d walked through dozens of maintenance corridors just like it. The only difference were the other cells, seven of them in total, each with rebar roughly shoved into the gap between floor and ceiling to form an open enclosure. Each cell was the same as mine, bare walls with a pile of rotting hay in the corner to sleep on off of the cold floor, and from the looks of things once a storeroom. With the changes the only thing these would store now was prisoners.

Strangely it made me think of home. 63 had-...used to have a very similar cell block for misbehavers and rowdy workers which had usually been about half full on any given day. No idea why that was, all of the offenses tended to be for things that everyone knew would get you sent there but they kept doing them over and over. You’d think they’d have learned after a while. But getting back to the point, what made those cells different than these were those had been well lit with comfortable beds and decorated with signs extolling the benefits of order, stability, and efficient work. It had been meant to make ponies think about their actions and how they affected others and the order and operation of the stable.

This hall though, this wasn’t a place meant to make ponies think and reflect. This wasn’t a place anypony would willingly do anything to end up in. None of the cells were occupied right now, but I couldn’t help but imagine them all full while Pick and Gristle rolled their cart of tools and collecting trays from one to the next with glee. This was a place meant to stop prisoners thinking because the only alternative was wondering how long until their next visit. Or rather, think of anything that would let them avoid it again. I knew because it was all I could think about as they’d worked me over and I’d been here less than a day.

I dared to feel relief when we finally passed the last of them and Bonds pulled a set of keys from a saddlebag to open the heavy rusted door at the end of the hall. It was a good feeling. A chance that things might get better, that I wouldn’t have to come back to this place. Then as we were passing through a muffled bellow from behind us signaled Gristle’s success at finally rolling off his face.

“Bonds! I’m gonna feed yer useless cock to my rats! You hear me? Bonds! He’s ours! We’re getting him back you hear! Everything he’s got, every last bit! OURS!” Bonds kicked the door shut without so much as a glance back.

That answered the question about him then. Mystery solved without contemplating terrible, unspeakable things. Not that it mattered anymore. Gristle’s declaration was bouncing back and forth in my head, blocking out everything else.

“Why?” I asked softly, eyes locked firmly on the floor.

“Huh?”

“Why are you working with raiders?”

Bonds recoiled slightly, staring at me with obvious confusion. “What? I don’t work with-” He stopped, glancing over his shoulder then back to me. His eyes lit up and then he chuckled. He Luna damned chuckled. “Oh damn, dat’s too much!” he chortled, wiping a tear from his eye with the velvet bow at the end of his braid.

“What is?” I asked with as much venom as I could muster. “How can you work with those bastards? With what they do?” I waited for him to just try to justify it to me. It wouldn’t matter, not once the Rangers learned about this they’d clean the place out.

He didn’t. Instead he broke everything I thought I understood about people, ever known to be true, completely and utterly.

“You must be from a Stable! Dose two aren’t raiders! I mean, maybe dey’re only a couple steps below, but Pick and Gristle wouldn’t last a minute with real raiders.” He chuckled again with less humor then caught my wide eyed stare. “I’m serious. Dey’re not.”

“B-but they... they...” I stammered, daring to stare back at my busted body. My wide eyes found him again, pleaded with him. “They... they used- do you have any idea what they did?!” His expression turned sympathetic and I wanted to both slam him into the wall and run as far away from him and his lies as possible. “They cut me! Beat me! ...pulled out MY TOOTH! They were about to take the rest! Over and over!” I shook my head in disbelief and a shower of hot tears arced across the floor between us. “They’re raiders! That’s what raiders do! Birch told us-”

Bonds placed a hoof on my shoulder, the humor completely gone from his face. He took in a deep breath than told me in an even, accent-less voice, “They’re not.”

I slumped to the floor, tears collecting in the corners of my eyes. “Then... who-...what are they?” Bonds sighed and looked away, refusing to meet my eyes even as I leaned forward, desperate for an explanation. The one he gave finally shattered my already cracked view of the world.

“They’re just ponies. Ponies that get paid to break other ponies to find more stock to sell and anything else the boss wants to know.” Funny, they hadn’t done that over the last couple hours but Bonds? He’d pulled it off without even realizing it in a seconds. I hated this world of monsters in the bodies of ponies outside my Stable. Only monsters would do what they did with smiles.

“Paid to- They weren’t doing that because they were paid! They were enjoying it, every damn second! Do you know, they snickered when I jerked and dug the knives in deeper because I moved? Said it was my fault for getting cut! Pick- when Gristle mentioned Hydra... his face...”

Bonds scowled then shrugged. “Yeah, they were enjoying it. They’re trash, one hundred and ten percent. But that doesn’t make them raiders.Those two at least have a limit though it’s damn hard to find sometimes.” His eyes caught mine and he looked away, head hanging a little lower. “Sorry to break it to you like this,” he muttered awkwardly.

We were both silent for a long while until the obvious question couldn’t wait any longer. “Then... what are you?” He looked at me sharply and I prayed to Luna I hadn’t made a mistake. “You...” I muttered, looking down at my bruises. I looked back up cautiously. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t blinked. Just watched me intensely. “You’re not like them, right? You said they were trash. But if you hate them so much then why are you working with them? Why are you here? Why are you doing this?”

His ears drooped and his face seemed to sag for a moment. His eyes refused to meet mine as words came clipped and tired. “I’m just a guy trying to get by with what I’ve got. Even if I refused and went somewhere else they’d just keep going. I’m not going to stop that and neither are you. It’s just the Burbs. And at least if I’m here then some don’t go to those two. I’m not them.”

“But you don’t have to let it happen! You could get me out of here! If you’re not them then prove it! I can go to the Castle, bring in the Rangers, shut it all down! Lock those two away forever and anyone else running this-” My jaw went slack as Bonds started snickering morosely and at me with a rekindled fire in his eyes. I took a shaky step back and he took a step forward.

“The Rangers shut it down... yeah, that’ll be the day. Do you know how long this place has been running? Here’s a hint, it was here before I could walk. Do you know many times they’ve come close to actually shutting this place down in all that time? I’ll give you another hint, it’s a number less than one.” He stood up, barely taller than me but seeming to tower over me nonetheless. “Take my advice, stop chugging the Ranger Cola down by the gallon. It’ll rot your brain.”

“No, y-you’re wrong! If they knew where I was then they could do something about it. They can handle it, I’ve seen them stop Wurms and combat bots and-”

Bonds held a hoof up in front of my face. “Okay, let’s get something straight here...?”

“...Gear.”

“Listen Gear, you’re looking to the wrong ponies to help.”

“But-”

The hoof pressed forward again. “But nothing. Oh sure, they could tear this place apart, shoot up every last pony and burn it all to the ground. Maybe even stop another black market shop popping up in its place. Maybe even stop all the bad things in the city, fix things up, make a damned difference.” Then his eyes took on a darkened pall.

“But dey might get a scratch on their oh-so-amazing armor in de fight and dat’s just too high a price to pay to dem,” he muttered ruefully, his accent coming back thick and heavy. “Dey couldn’t give a single fuck about what goes on in the Burbs as long as dey’re safe and sound and have all de shiny stuff for demselves! No, dey’re perfectly happy to stay behind deir big door and walls with deir nice full bellies and clean water, picking up hungry, desperate kids and turning dem into good little Ranger boys and girls dat hold deir noses up at de Burbs. Just so long as long as no one else’s got anyting more complicated than a pipe gun to threaten dem with. Past dat, dey couldn’t care less how many Burbers torture or kill each oder. Just another gang with fancier guns.” He spat to the side, his lip twitching in a silent growl.

“No, they do care! When I was there- before they kicked me out,” I tried to correct hastily. His expression told me he didn’t buy it one bit. “Before that, they were talking about how hard it was to protect the city, clearing out the raiders and-”

Bonds rolled his eyes with a dark chuckle. “Protect de city... only thing de Rangers’ ever protected was deir hoard of scrap and gems like a damned dragon. Actually, dat’s an insult to dragons. Dragons at least have de decency to not tell you it’s for yer own good when dey pillage you.” He poked me sharply with a hoof. “Your Rangers? Dey’re not so different from Pick and Gristle. Oh, dey may not do it with a smile,” he added in response to my indignant eye twitch. “But dey bleed de city just de same, leave it with scars and open wounds dat don’t heal.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about”, I said with an angry tug on my leash. He just tugged back harder, hard enough to force me to kneel down or else fall over on my unbalanced legs. I glared up at him and he did the same back.

“No, you don’t know what you’re talking about. All you’ve ever known is a nice safe hole in de ground and now you’ve traded dat for nice safe Ranger walls. You don’t know dis city and you need to wise up to dat fact and figure out which side you should be on. Fast. Because unless the boss says otherwise you’re coming back here. You should think of anything you can give him to convince him to change that.” Despite the glare he still fixed me with there was something almost pleading in his voice, emphasized further by the loss of his accent at the end.

I was too angry to care. Not after how he’d insulting the ponies who’d rescued me, fixed me, and given me purpose again. Maybe he was right and I didn’t know the city as well as he did. But between the gate guards, the markets, the dirty looks and whispers, and now this hole in the ground somewhere where ponies were tortured? Well, I’d seen everything I needed to.

So he wanted me to talk? No, I wouldn’t give them anything. The Rangers might not be perfect but they were better than these bastards. Bonds and his gang weren’t even in the running. I might be broken but there were a few things I did understand clearly: I was a Ranger now. I was an Inquisitor. And I was going to bring the chapter down on this place like the wrath of Goddesses.

The walk was silent apart from the clipping of hooves on stone, steel, and then softer wood which I was immensely grateful for. Bonds either didn’t have a healing potion on him or didn’t feel the need to give me one so my jaw was agony incarnate and my cuts kept reopening and drying again. I was almost thankful for the pain though. It kept my mind focused and alert, especially on the lies he’d tried to sell me.

I felt my lip twitch a little as my eyes flicked his way then back. He didn’t know. Hadn’t seen them risk life and limb, lose comrades and squadmates to save us from our Stable. Hadn’t seen them shield us from the Plunderwurm. Hadn’t seen them open their hooves to us in the Castle, give us new lives, safe and secure and with purpose. He was wrong about them.

Our path meandered from the cell block, climbing elevators, ramps, and worst of all, stairs. Stairs rose up the list of enemies from near dead last to near first, even ahead of rope and rapebots. Those last two I could avoid. Stairs were everywhere, especially here it seemed. With only three good legs I was forced to hop-step up them and exhaust what energy I had.

Bonds didn’t complain though. If I slowed down a gentle tug on my leash was all he used to tell me to hurry up. If I stumbled over my bad leg he sighed and waited for me to regain my strength before continuing. No caution, no care given to my ability to outwit or overpower him. I was angry, but I was also miserable in a way that was almost worse than being with Pick and Gristle. They at least took the precaution of shackling me down in clamps and guards so I couldn’t kick or bite them. Bonds just loosely held a line of thread around my neck, safe in the knowledge that I knew what he could do with it. To him I wasn’t something to fear, an agent of the Rangers. I was a package, a delivery, a job. Damn it, they should be watching me at all times

Misery and anger and conflicted confusion began to compete more and more as the walk went on. Eventually my mind started fogging over, paying almost no attention to our surroundings or my mental state and instead focused on using as little effort to walk as possible.

“Hey, we’re here,” he said in that confusingly androgynous voice.

I blinked then realized we’d stopped in front of a plain but well maintained wooden door. It would have been spotless if it weren’t for the words embossed into it. I immediately knew who was behind it after reading them.

Good business starts with good service.

Bonds rapped on the door with a hoof. “Come in,” came a muffled reply from inside. Bonds wasn’t the one to open the door to the invitation. That was the job of the very large, very scarred, and insanely intimidating pony on the other side. His mane had been shaved as close as possible and it was hard to tell what color it or his skin and coat had been. What he was now was pink, blue, red, and black, a patchwork of angry marks, burns, and faded cuts. In the center of his chest he’d been branded with the top half of a pony skull, the scarred skin making it stand out white against his hide. He stared at us indifferently, pinprick orange eyes quickly passing over every inch of us he could see as we stepped in. Especially over every inch of me. I scraped hard against the door frame opposite him.

I didn’t take my eyes off the massive doorman as a voice called out from within. “Thank you Jackknife. Would you mind stepping outside for a moment? Our guest is new here and has spent a long day answering questions for forms.” No I hadn’t. I’d barely been asked anything by anyone. I’d just been a plaything for monsters. “I think he’ll feel more at ease with less company.”

I did the sensible thing and tracked every move Jackknife made until he closed the door. Then I waited a moment or two more and before facing forward again. “Jackknife” was not a pony I wanted waiting where I couldn’t see him.

The room was boxy and plain, having simple windows with blinds that had been cleaned as much as was probably possible leaving them only faintly grey instead of moldy black. Those blinds were drawn, preventing me from seeing what was on the other side like, just maybe, a way out. File cabinets and sturdy chests filled most of the wall space with grimy paper invoices attached to most of them. In the center was an open square of space dominated by a square of clean rug from somewhere and a beautifully restored desk, illuminated from above by a barely functioning ceiling fan that gave off a faint hum. Behind the desk sat the stallion himself.

Same suit, same sunglasses, same smirk that said “I know a great joke and guess what? It just might be you!” Between that and the mantra on the door there wasn’t much doubt left in my mind. I looked around, tried to find something I could use against him, at the very least a route of escape if I could find some way to distract him and Bonds. No matter where I looked though all I saw was cabinets and paper. Nothing light enough I could topple or use to barricade the door without the help of my frame and nothing heavy enough lying around I could use as a weapon. I clenched my jaw in frustration and got a dose of fire straight to my brain’s pain center for the carelessness. Good Business must noticed my discomfort because his smirk shifted to a supremely fake look of sympathy.

“Hmmm... oh dear. You seem to have had a rough time, haven’t you? Let me guess, Pick and Gristle?” My nervous glare was all the answer he needed. He shook his head with a sigh. “I’d hoped our Pony Resources Department wouldn’t bore you too much with their onboarding investigation. I keep telling them they need to streamline it but you know how bureaucracies can get. So set in their ways that trying to change things just might give them a collective stroke. Especially when they’re pulling double duty on orthodontics.”

Whatever response he wanted from me he didn’t get, only the best glare I could give him with my swollen eye. He might be clean and well dressed and his smile picture perfect but when he looked at me over the tops of his rims his eyes were just like my jailers, filled with sadistic joy at my suffering. He'd get nothing from me.

Then he tilted his head back up and his eyes disappeared behind the dark lenses. “So, let’s get down to business shall we?” he asked. He lit up his horn and began laying out a series of sheets from a folder on his desk. “Take a seat.” I stayed where I was. I wasn’t going to let anyone like him or those two command me. He screwed up his mouth mildly then nodded towards my escort. “Bonds. If you would, please?”

The leash flicked through the air where Good Business caught it and gave it a very sharp tug. I coughed and hopped forward and only barely managed to avoid face planting into his desk. “There we go. You’re rather lucky Bonds had some time on his hooves. He’s one of our best employees and everyone always asks for him first before any of our other associates. Excellent people skills.”

I glared at the torturer-of-the-month out of the corner of my eye. He kept his eyes forward, not meeting mine. A cough returned my gaze to the bemused look of Good Business.

“Thank you. Now then, you must be wondering why all the trouble just to get you a job? Well, we’ve had some less than stellar employees in recent time, a bit of corporate espionage from a rival firm trying to move in on our marketshare. So we’ve had to become much more discerning with our hiring. More background checks, more interviews, more testing to make sure that anyone we bring on is committed to us one hundred and twenty percent.”

I was a straightforward person. Straightforward to a fault in fact. I knew being straightforward so well that I had a strong suspicion Business hadn’t been straightforward once in his entire life. He was like a cat toying with a mouse and between his catty, blatant tone I got the gist of what he meant by checks, tests, and interviews. But what rival firm was he talking about? How many underground energy weapons dealers could there be in this city?

“Now that brings me to your request,” he continued, lifting a pen in his magic and tapping it against the sheets laid out on the table. “Steel Jaw said you claimed to be from a Stable and in said Stable you were a... plumber? No? Maybe it was whore?” He raised an eyebrow and glanced up at me, almost expectantly.

I didn’t respond, both out of anger and fear that he’d trick me into saying something incriminating. It wouldn't have been the first time someone with a glib tongue got me to say words they would twist into whatever they wanted. Business ticked his head to the side then glanced down and dramatically smacked his forehead.

“Shoot, read a different report by accident! Now where is it... here it is, you claimed to be a technician. Sorry about that, my mind wanders sometimes. Should have known better given the superbly unique gear you came to us in.” An annoyingly oblivious part of my mind felt a shot of glowing pride my work being recognized. I had to remind myself who was recognizing it and what he’d do with it before I started divulging the details of how it worked. “Your gear demonstrated a distinct ability to think outside the box and come up with novel solutions. It’s even thrown my top brains for a loop trying to figure it all out.”

Good, they could keep on wondering. As soon as the opportunity presented itself I was taking it back and taking you out for what you’d done to me. I repeated that like a mantra, over and over ad infinitum, blocking out the sound of his voice as he droned on. Then a ballistic pen nearly took out the bridge of my nose before bouncing back into his telekinesis. I hissed as blood began to trickle down my muzzle and fixed him with a deeper glare which he ignored.

“Sadly, while you may be talented it appears you’re also lacking in attention. That may hurt your application I’m afraid,” mused Business with an exaggerated frown. “Still, you show promise. Enough talent in fact that I have a test I want you to work through while I observe. A bit of visual analytics.” The pen tapped against the sheets again and pushed them forward slightly. “Would you mind taking a look at these? I want your outside opinion on what they imply. Don’t hold back, I won’t judge. Just tell me the first thing that comes to mind.”

My left eyebrow flicked up involuntarily. Sometimes inaccuracies or falsehoods were so great that it would jump without any input from me. Right now it was attempting to become the first facial hair in history to achieve orbit independent of a body. I continued to glare at him until the problem of locking eyes with someone wearing opaque glasses made me feel incredibly awkward and I flicked my eyes down in frustrated defeat.

I inhaled sharply before I could catch myself.

Each of the papers spread out before me was a grainy, black and white picture and in each and every one of them I was the focus. Walking out of the Castle, walking into the bar, walking-... stumbling out of it, walking back in and out later- why had they taken pictures of that? -then a birds eye view of me hiding in the alley, watching the warehouse across the street.

“Hmmm, nothing yet? Okay, let’s try another. This one in particular I found interesting,” Good Business said softly as he pushed all of them aside to reveal an extra picture. One of me discussing the mission intel with Lily and her squad. I quickly thought back to where we’d been standing; just to the right of the main gate, between a set of barricades and the lifting mechanism housing. Then I tried to picture the layout of the castle in my head. The only place to take that shot had to have been... come on think... it had to-... it had to have been from one of the Castle skyscrapers.

How? How had they gotten a photo from there?

“I have to say, I’ve been impressed with the quality of their photos before but this went above and beyond. I mean, it’s usually incredibly challenging to get good angles of that property. The owners tend to get very upset if they find you scoping out their real estate. But you know what they say,” he said, tapping the picture with a hoof. He looked over his glasses at me again with that aggravating little smirk. “For every need, a business will arise to serve it.” He tapped the photo a few more times then leaned back in his seat, his eyes narrowed over his shades and his smirk turned to sinister grin. His magic slowly wound the leash until I was forced to lean forward and into the shadow he cast over the desk. “So tell me, what do you think these photos imply?”

It was maybe only half an hour later before Good Business, or G.B. as he preferred to be called, finished and turned me back over to Bonds. I had no idea what the point had been. For all his talk about the information he needed and all the threatening reveals and implied threats he didn’t even wait for my answer to the damning pictures. Instead he continued on into questions about what life in 63 had been like, how we lived, what our lives had been like, why we'd evacuated, and how I'd found the Wasteland compared to 63.

The anticipation of when he'd really start digging into my mission put me on edge throughout the whole thing. But he never brought it or the pictures of me with the Rangers up at all. Surprisingly, Bonds hadn’t spoken up about my trust in them either. In fact, whenever I let something slip about them accidentally- conversing confidently was beyond a shadow of a doubt at the bottom of my skill sets -Good Business moved on immediately to something else.

It was enough to make me start feeling extremely on edge around him. I couldn’t figure out what he wanted from me. Not a surprise, but the threat from not understanding was infinitely greater than social awkwardness this time. I had to figure out what he wanted with all these pointless questions. Too much was at risk.

Then without warning or any discernible reason he dismissed us and told Bonds to escort me back. We didn’t made it three feet through the door before he stopped us again.

“Bonds, one second. I just thought of something.”

Bonds paused and glanced back with a very neutral look. For a moment I thought I saw a twitch of something but it might have just as easily been a shadow.

“Yes sir?”

“I need time to decide where Gear Heart would best fit in our corporate family and he looks like he’s gone two rounds with a hellhound. But he’s still got a lot more paperwork to fill out before our resources team can finish processing him so I think he could use a break. Take a walk for a bit, give him a tour of our operation. Let him stretch his legs.” My eye twitched, though whether it was from indignation or fatigue was anyone’s guess. “He’s going to be very important to our business, I can feel it.” Good Business actually winked and waved at me as his magic closed the door behind us. Jackknife stepped between it and us and glared down at us silently, shadows cast over his face making the scars covering it look as white and skull-like as the brand on his chest.

Bonds’ eyes remained on the door for a moment before he turned and silently pulled me in the opposite direction we’d arrived from. I resisted for a moment, the best declaration of war I could give to Business, Bonds... and myself. They weren’t going to win with me. I was going to get out of here and stop their operation. It didn't matter how awkward and "naive" or "oblivious" I was. I had a purpose, a mission to complete, and that was what I was going to do.Then another tug pulled a cough from me and I three-leg stumped into place behind Bonds.

“Come on,” he growled. Having rested a little while being asked banal questions with no point I had enough energy to do the one thing I’d wanted for the last half hour.

“Your boss is great by the way,” I snarked to hide the growing cramps and pain in my good back leg. “Stand up guy. His concern for the handicapped speaks volumes.”

“If you’re talking about your mental handicap then sure,” Bonds replied with a roll of his eyes. “Now zip it and keep moving. Business wants you to see the shop? Fine, you’ll see the shop.” He gave another tug on my leash and picked up his pace. I grunted with the effort of keeping up, focusing on keeping my three working legs under me and out of each others’ way.

Despite the trouble I still had enough time and focus left to take in our surroundings though there really wasn’t much. The halls were paneled in cheap plywood, most of it covered in green molds and holes. None of them let in any light and only darkness lay beyond. Bland carpet, bland wallpaper, bland mold even. Something about the temperature, humidity, and staleness of the air made me think of the lower levels of 63 and hinted we were probably underground. Somewhere that rarely circulated its air judging by the scent of age and natural decay.

We were passed regularly by ponies pushing carts and boxes. Most kept their eyes forward while a few gave us probing looks before they turned off into one of the many side hallways and disappeared out of of sight. I had good visual memory, useful when one of the favorite pranks for techs in 63 had been rewiring components to give small shocks when anyone did basic maintenance on them, and counted at least thirty different mares and stallions pass us going every which way. The three questions that brought to my mind were where were they coming from, how big was the operation to need this many workers, and what was in all the boxes?

The first was answered unequivocally we passed an open set of large sliding doors and I beheld the largest hall I’d ever seen. Bigger even than the Gallery and Spire of 63 laid flat three times over and filled to the brim with crates going green and grey with age and rusting barrels. Pale bulbs flickered dimly above and in some places had gone out entirely, leaving dark islands in the pale lit ocean of wood and tin. They might have stretched a mile or more back into the cavernous warehouse. My eyes passed over the nearest pallet. One of the crates had buckled and a shower of desiccated beans lay on the floor around it. Next to those were a pair of tin drums marked with a faded logo of bright, sunny fields of grain and a smiling young mare, probably very attractive once, but now hidden under a patina of oxidation and age. Emblazoned below it was a faded logo for “Fertile Fields Fertilizer: Enjoy Sowing All Year Long”.

I looked around at the hundreds of other drums with the smiling mare. Age and decay had touched every barrel, likely rendering most of the contents inert. Even if it hadn’t and as huge as this stockpile was, it still wouldn’t make a dent in restoring the land of the Midwaste, not after a century or more of decay and radiation. That was the enormity of the problem and I shivered at the chill it sent down my spine before turning away from it.

The only breakup in the uniform layout was at the very front where about twenty to thirty ponies were busy working. Some were brutes similar in size to Jackknife, mostly relegated to moving emptied crates from the edge of the stockpile to a series of tables where young foals covered in dirty rags were filling them with rows upon rows of beam pistols, beam rifles, even a couple larger tri-barreled cannons and other miscellaneous dealers of energetic death. My mouth dropped to the floor as another foal wheeled in a squealing cart loaded with another pile of weapons from a sliding door off to the right.

“Shipping and receiving,” Bonds recited behind me, cringing as he forced out every word. “Behold the wonder of old world deforestation. Gaze in awe at the natural process of rot. Ooh and ah at the wonders of new world ingenuity and commerce. Visit our shop and take home your own!”

“Wait, what?”

He drooped his head with a sigh. “Remember when he said ‘give you the tour’? He wasn’t joking.”

“That’s... what’s the... he’s crazy,” I muttered. At first I’d thought Business was simple sadistic but now I was beginning to wonder if I hadn’t been giving him too much credit.

“Ha. If only,” Bonds muttered in kind. “Come on, we’ve still got more of the ‘tour’ to go.”

I followed behind him as we stepped into the huge storehouse and towards the door the weapons had come from. The air in here was surprisingly chilly, enough colder than the hallway to make my skin prickle in goosebumps. There was an almost oppressive stillness and quiet to the place apart from the small area of activity at the front. The larger ponies hauling crates and pallets around slowed a little to watch me go by with small smirks tugging at their lips. The smaller workers and foals watched me without any smirks but with barely hidden distaste. Another foal came through the door pushing a cart loaded with small beam pistols and paused as we passed to glare at me. The hostility bothered me, especially with no idea of where it came from, but the sheer number of contraband weapons bothered me much more.

“Where did you get them all?” I asked quietly.

“No idea. All I know is crates come in with parts and crates go out with merchandise,” he replied dismissively before waving me through the open doorway into the next room.

“Bonds, just what is your jo-” I began to ask then froze. The new room was far, far smaller than the last one. No bigger than my old workshop in fact. But it seemed even smaller than that because from floor to ceiling, wall to wall, it was filled with energy weapons. In some places it seemed like they were holding up the ceiling itself! But unlike the ones I’d seen being packed up these were in terrible shape. Cracked cases, leaking coolant, rust and decay. In the center of the room sat a single large table surrounded by ten ponies with a mountain of tools and a small army of foals. Most of them were checking energy packs but every now and then one of the eight would whisper something and a foal would go hunting in the piles until they returned with another broken weapon.

Crates come in with parts...

The Elder was mistaken. Good Business wasn’t moving contraband into the city. He was making contraband from what looked like every last ounce of beam and blaster scrap he could get his hooves on, probably for next to nothing as well given the terrible quality on display. Most were rusted junk, but then I’d repaired robots with junk by finding the single pristine replacement part I needed inside a rusted wreck. Two broken machines turned into one working one.

He’d taken that idea to horrifyingly industrial levels. Even if only a hundredth, maybe even only a thousandth of the heap could be turned into working weapons it would be enough to arm hundreds. Way more than the Rangers could easily police. Where on Equus was he getting them all?

A long time ago the Overframe had warned us to be careful with the Gutsy’s weapons when we were working on them, lest we flash into dust. Guns and projectors that could cut straight through armor, vaporize the pony inside it...could Ranger armor stand up to it? I didn’t know, and didn’t want to find out. These could upset the balance I’d seen from the top of the Castle and throw things into the deadly chaos I feared more than anything.

“Here we have the chop shop, where rubbish becomes rubies.”

Okay, I might fear hearing any more of that actually. I shut my eyes and ears against the cringe worthy delivery. “You don’t have to recite it. Really. Please,” I begged him.

“He’ll know if I don’t,” he grumbled besides me while leading me away by my leash.

“How? Who will tell-”

“He’ll know. He always knows.”

Well that wasn’t creepy at all. I mean, he’d known I, a complete nobody to the city, was coming to find him before I’d even known where to find him and kept me under watch the entire time. The pictures proved that much. He apparently had a level of perception and understanding- hell, maybe even omniscience - I wasn’t comfortable contemplating. Not if I wanted to think of a way out of here without second guessing myself into inaction.

You know... like I normally did.

Bonds pulled me into a final room, this one smaller and tidier with just a few neat stacks of weapons, mostly disassembled. Again like in the last two rooms- though it was hard to call the warehouse something so limiting -the center of focus was a single table. This time there was only a trio of ponies around it, two mares and an elderly stallion, and no foals acting as helpers. They looked up as we entered then all of them got this matching, oddly apprehensive expression.

“And here we come to the final stop on our tour, the place where the magic happens that keeps our business booming.”

Ah, that explained their expressions then. I’d been told years back that jokes ran on the “rule of three” for maximum effect. Apparently so did awful jingles because by the time he finished I think everyone there was ready to call it quits on life, especially Bonds. He’d tried to make it sound “upbeat” but landed on “beat up” instead.

“For the love of Luna- Bonds, tell Busineth to come up with a new damn line! I can’t take it anymore!” shouted the youngest of the trio, a vermilion unicorn mare with a frizzy turquoise mane hanging over a dirty lab coat and thick glasses. Her voice was thick with exasperation and touched by a mild lisp.

Bonds snorted and rolled his eyes. “Not sure why you think I’m going to have any say in it. It’s not like I do that many of the tours to begin with,” he replied brusquely, leading me in behind him. “That’s Gramps job.”

The old unicorn stallion chuckled softly and tapped the outspoken mare on the shoulder. “Now now Periwinkle, he’s just doing his job like us. If de Boss asked him to do this den dat’s dat. No need to take out your frustrations on him.” Periwinkle snorted but didn’t reply. “So... who do we have here den?” he asked, squinting at me with graying eyes while rubbing his chin. He paused and stepped closer then recoiled. I suppose the state of my body would be somewhat shocking to see. “Celestia, what happened to dis one?! He’s- oh. He’s not joining the team. He’s from below, isn’t he? Another one for the line?” While Bonds slowly nodded the two mares’ gazes traced every cut, every bruise, and every rivulet of dried blood from my tail up to my neck then down my leash to Bonds.

“Bonds! W-wha-” the second, previously quiet mare cried out. Her pale tea green nose wrinkled in apprehension. “What did you do to him?!”

Bonds paused whatever he was about to say and closed his mouth with a soft click. He looked at me, then at her, then at me, then at her and glacially raised an eyebrow and gave her a grin Sun would have probably called sultry. I just called it disturbing. “Not my style Flax. You of all people should know that.”

Flax blushed deeply and ducked her head to the side, hiding her face behind the long cascade of light blue and mane. “Bonds!” she hissed softly.

“Oh give it a rest Flax,” lisped Periwinkle with a roll of her eyes. “It’s not like we don’t already know. Your ‘punithments’ are the worst kept thecret around here.” Flax squeaked and hid her her head even deeper behind her hair. Periwinkle sighed and looked at me with a grin. “So where’d they pull you from? Bronclyn Park? Can’t be Tonka, they’d have just gotten you high and hooked instead of handing you over. Or did you rut a Poll Saint’s daughter and get caught? Looking for a place to lie low, aye stud?”

I already didn’t like her. There had been ponies like her in 63, ones that found the problems of others hilarious as long as they weren’t hers. My problems were always a favorite when I was younger and Sun wasn’t around to stop them.

She fluttered her eyes at me daintily with a catlike grin. “Come on, spill. What’th Business got on ya?” she asked. My glare just seemed to encourage her and that damn grin only got larger.

“He’s uh... he’s not a debtor, Winkle,” Bonds interjected.

The grin vanished and Periwinkle shot him a venomous look. “Call me that one more time and you’ll get to know what it’s like to be tied up for a change. In barbed wire,” she hissed under he breath, the lisp vanishing in the barely contained anger. They glared at each other a bit more then she sniffed haughtily and pointed at me. “So why de fuck did Business give him to you to work out if he’s not paying him off?”

Bonds shook his head. “Pick’s got this one.” Periwinkle raised a surprised eyebrow while Flax gasped. The old stallion winced and gave me a sympathetic look.

“Damn. What’s de boss want from him?”

Bonds glanced at me, then the old timer, then looked over my shoulder and back the way we’d come. He waited another second or two then looked at the stallion. “He’s with the Rangers.”

Periwinkle snorted and went back to her work cracking open the a rifle case, muttering something I couldn’t hear, while Flax gave me a conflicted look then joined her. The stallion on the other hoof just narrowed his eyes and stepped closer in slow, deliberate steps.

“Oh? Is dat so?” Suddenly his hoof shot out and clocked me with an uppercut under the chin, right under the missing tooth. I fell over backwards with strobe lights going off in my eyes and screamed. “Send him back down. Let dem have him.”

“For Celestia’s sake Oath, dey’ve already started pulling dem!” said a voice almost too soft to hear over the ringing in my ear. Actually, I think it was just the ringing was too loud for anything other than a shout to get through. A frantic tapping on my cheek was closely followed by the hazy sight of Bonds leaning over me with a worried expression. His lips moved but I couldn’t make out what he said. He paused and glowered for a moment before his head swung up and he pointed a hoof off to the the side. That was the moment my body decided I’d finally had enough and sent me falling backwards into darkness.

By my count, that was the second time I’d been knocked out by a blow to the head that evening. At the rate I was going I was going to have brain damage by the end of the week.

Wait, that might not actually be a bad thing. I mean, think about it. My brain was already broken so the question then was what’s the probability that any additional damage might actually give me some social instincts, perception, and personal awareness instead of just more damage? Had to be better than even right?

Yeah, not with my luck. Best I could hope for was to simply lose awareness of just how unaware and clueless I was. They said ignorance was bliss right? I’d take that as a consolation prize any day. To claim it though I’d have to wake up-

I groaned as consciousness returned like a spray of cold water. Then sensation followed and I screamed. My cuts and bruises might be an ocean of pain but by comparison my jaw was an entire world and I lived somewhere in the state of Unending in the nation of Agony.

I tried to bring my hooves up to my mouth only to find them bound to my back hooves somehow. So instead of massaging the mother of all toothaches I managed to spin myself backwards around the barrel I’d been bound across. The barrel which turned out to be Bonds’ actual barrel, now thoroughly unbalanced. Together we fell down a short set of stairs, both cursing and grunting.

“Oh shi-” he cried as he landed bodily on top of me.

“Get off, get off, GET OFF!” I yelled at a volume granted only by pain.

“Okay, okay, just stop- oof!” My flailing must have found something soft and vulnerable because suddenly there was a lot less talking and a lot more rapid untying. The situation wasn’t much improved from my perspective since the rope quickly reverted to a leash around my collar before I could begin to escape. But at least I was no longer lashed around him like a living saddlebag.

Bonds pulled the last loop around my collar particularly tightly and pressed his face into mine. “Dere, happy now?!”

“Back off!”

“Not till you calm down,” he replied, still nose to nose.

“Yrrraaa!”

It was the most eloquent thing I could think of then added a headbutt for emphasis. Forehead met muzzle with an audible crack and a cyan hoof rose to staunch the two red streams trickling from his nostrils while his eyes shot daggers at me. I coughed as his magic hauled me up by the collar.

“ENOUGH. I was doing you a favor after Solemn Oath’s dick move. But if you want me to do it the hard way then that’s fine!”

“You’re all crazy! I’ve never met that guy and the first thing he does is knock me out! Your Boss looked hungry asking about when I was a foal! The hell is wrong with you all?! Ahhh!” I winced and slammed my mouth shut. My breath alone made my jaw flare up now. How was I in more pain now than when they yanked the tooth out?

Bonds gave me a look halfway between a smirk and a grimace. “Well for starters, the Rangers killed Oath’s family in front of him.”

He had my rapt attention now. My caps would have been on him lying, and my gut told me he had to be just like all the other smooth talking fabricators and scum here, but logic kept pointing back at Oath’s rage.

“...for what?” I hissed through shut teeth.

He frowned and the smirk vanished. “What?”

“What did they kill them for?”

He stared at me slackjawed, fumbling over his words for a moment. Then he snarled and pushed me down against the cold concrete floor.

“You crippled asshole... dat’s all you have to say? Not, 'you're lying' or 'dey must have deserved it'? What did dey kill dem for?” His eyes glinted dark under his lids but I had to know, had to make sense of things.

“Yes,” I replied as best I could with his knees digging into in my lungs. His ear twitched a moment as he slowly rose up from his crouch over me.

“... you believe me. You know I’m telling the truth and you don’t care.”

“I don’t trust you, but I trust Oath. He hated me instantly after you told him about the Rangers. So you’re probably telling the something close to the truth. But I know there has to be a reason why it happened!”

Bonds yanked me up by the cord around my legs until we were almost eye to eye again.

“A reason? There has to be reason for your great and powerful Rangers to take a man’s family right in front of him?” He snorted and narrowed his eyes. “Of course there does to you... then how about this? How about your Rangers killed dem for de crime of stealing a bag of food to stay fed, for de crime of having de audacity to want to live, for de crime of not being Rangers and for not groveling down before dem ‘cause of it? How’s dat for a reason?!”

No. There was more. There had to be! Something was wrong, had to be wrong. Birch, Lily, Night, Elder Dawn, they wouldn’t order someone killed over food! I wouldn’t do that and they trusted me to be their agent, to carry out their goals! They wouldn’t have chosen me if that was true!

“That can’t be all of it! What did they do?!”

“Nothing but struggle and suffer and live! Get it through your thick skull! Your Rangers are murdering, controlling bastards!”

“Never! Whatever happened, they’re better than you!” Bond shot back with a cringe and wiped the spray of spit from his face. Spell might have even been impressed with that one if she’d seen it.

“Fine. I’ll let the Boss know you’re a perfect candidate. Pick, Gristle, Oath? They’ll be more than happy to tutor you.” Where Business had lightly implied his true meaning behind silken words Bonds engraved them in fifty foot letters. “Hope you enjoy the new job rookie.” He kicked his back hoof out and a pillar of black opened behind him. My eyes adjusted to the dimness and widened in horror. The dirty hall. The rebar cells.

Then it got infinitely worse.

“YOU MOTHERFUCKER, GET US OUT OF THESE DAMNED KNOTS!” Pick yelled from my cell, somehow having freed his mouth, while Gristle just snarled. Their voices echoed back and forth far longer than should have been possible.

No... anything but this. Don’t put me back in there.

My hooves tried to cover my mouth but they were still all tied together and all I did was squirm and cry. Bonds sniffed and started dragging my line behind him and me with it.

I couldn’t help it. I begged.

“You can’t... let me talk to Business again, take me back up to-”

Then when it hit me. I knew why Bonds had been sent down to get get me. Why Business had brought me up to ask meaningless questions without any point instead of just leaving me down here to have the answers yanked from my bleeding lips.

He'd never wanted any answers from me. Instead, he'd made sure I got a reprieve from Pick and Gristle, met my him in person, and saw his entire operation. And after that... sent me back down to his torturers having dangled it all in front of me.

I had to wonder... did he know this would happen as well? From the start, had he know this was the realization I’d come to? Or had he just hoped? Every last smirk of his took on a sinister edge in my mind as a dire feeling he’d known grew to mountainous proportions inside me.

Then again, maybe he hadn’t know this was the effect the tour would have on me. Maybe I was blowing something small and insignificant out of all proportion like usual and missing the real intent. Maybe he simply liked to toy with people, maybe he was crazy, or maybe there was another reason that I simply couldn’t understand because that was what I did. Not understand.

In the end it didn’t matter. Even if I’d known I couldn’t have done anything about it. More pressing now were the things I was sure of. I was going back to Pick and Gristle and they’d be given free reign with me. I would never make it out of here without my gear. And lastly, I’d never left my cell because Bonds had never taken me out of it, just into another part meant to break me down. This whole place was a prison, for body, mind and soul. And as my pleading turned to moaning, crying, and then outright sobbing, I realized something else.

It worked.

“Tell me, have the Rangers been good employers? I’m always on the lookout for the latest business trends.”

No, I wasn’t a Ranger.

Punch

“Really? You’re sure you’re not working with them? Not even an errand or two?”

Yes, I was a Ranger.

Kick

“Oh! Well in that case I suppose my primary competitors must be interested in stealing my contracts to send you here, am I right?”

No, I was sent here to make a deal.

Snap

“Hmmmm... that seems hard to believe. What seems more likely, if they’re not looking to push me out of the market, is they want to take my stock and deprive me of any market share. Accurate?”

Yes, I was sent here to secure energy weapons.

Spray

“Aha! I do have my moments! In that case, since you’ve decided to sign on with us instead, would you happen to know where they’re storing their stock? Maybe some other goodies I can knee in on their market share? Food perhaps? Now that’s a growth industry- huh. You know, I didn’t even mean to make that pun?”

N-No, I don’t know where they s-s-stored weapons or armor or food. I didn’t know any Ranger s-s-secrets. H-h-heat, warm. Please.

Scald

“Oh well, that’s unfortunate. If only you could have convinced another colleague to join you in witching employers... speaking of which, did you not have anyone even accompany you into town?”

Yes, I’d come alone.

Cut

“Really? You went out into the Burbs, down to Under Tail Row no less, after a day in the city without a companion? Not even a guide?”

No, no one knew where I’d gone. You’re right, I was an idiot.

Stab

“Ahemmmm... I, uh, wasn’t going to put it that way but, well, yes. That was supremely idiotic and counter productive. Which doesn’t seem to fit with the design philosophy of that custom gear you came in with. It is your design isn’t it?”

Yes, the gear was my design.

Pull

“It’s very impressive, replacing bullets for tiny, easy to find nails. Though we have no idea how it works. There are talismans throughout it we’ve never seen. Do you think you could whip us up another batch so we could see how they’re made?”

No, I can’ make more.

Tug

“Oh? You weren’t the designer of those talismans? A shame. Still, you were very resourceful with them so I’ll have to think about moving you to a new position, maybe with our refurb or R&D teams... by the way, not sure how to put this delicately, but you, ah, you seem to be having some trouble speaking. Sore throat maybe? Can I get you anything to help?”

Y-Yes... I wan’ more Hydra. P’ease.

Yank

“Hydra? Goddess, you need to stay away from that stuff! Gear, are you telling me you’ve been trying to self medicate your jaw with Hydra? Who on Equus told you that was a good idea? You’re lucky you don’t have extra teeth growing in! I’ll call for our resident orthodontist, let him know he needs to spend some time getting you fixed up.”

No, no more. I ‘old you every’ing. P’ease, stop.

Stroke

DON'T TOUCH ME!

"Gear! Calm down, please! We'll get you back to your cubicle so you can rest. Take it easy for a while, you've earned it. When you feel better we can get you back up and productive."

Punch

...

Nine cycles now. No days, no sky, no time to tell. Only cycles.

Pain, question, answer. Pain, question, answer. Pain, question, answer. Pain, question, answer. Pain, question, answer. Pain, question, answer. Pain, question, answer. Pain, question, answer. Pain, question, answer.

Cycles were broken. Random. Reward. Relished. The broken pony breaks apart broken things, takes out broken parts, puts in unbroken parts, makes unbroken things, breaks apart broken things...

Cycles repeat. Cycles broken. Cycles repeat.

The broken pony is not spoken to. The broken pony cannot speak words, it no longer has the right parts. The broken pony is not a pony. The broken pony is a thing.

A broken thing.

Like the other broken things around it, it needs to be fixed. But there are no unbroken parts to fix broken thing. It cannot be made unbroken. So it breaks more. Thoughts break, retreat, hide, go silent. Quiet. Still. Body follows. It starts with the leg. It’s already broken. It spreads to the rest. The pain stops. The questions stop.

All stops.

Broken thing cracks open case, sees broken capacitor, broken gem alignment rig, broken connections. Broken thing has pile of unbroken parts, finds replacements, checks threads, connections, integrity, replaces broken parts, closes case, tighten fasteners to slight strain, flips switch. The thing whines and hums and glows.

Unbroken.

Ponies around start, back away, make loud noises. Broken thing flips switch on unbroken thing, places it down, reaches for next broken thing. Ponies return, work slower, watch broken thing fix broken things. Stare as hooves swing back and forth, unbroken things flying across table in front of it.

Tap.

The broken thing sways gently. Other ponies tap the broken thing again, see if it breaks more. There's nothing more to break. The ponies sigh and go back to work. Unseen eyes watch, catalog, scrutinize. Unseen thoughts simulate, analyze, fail. Picks up broken thing, finds broken part, removes, checks receptacle, replaces with unbroken part, tightens fasteners to slight strain, repeats.

The broken thing keeps fixing broken things.

Loud words from next room. The broken thing’s ears swivel, focus on the source. Listen, catalog, analyze.

“Bonds, you have to talk to Business! This isn’t right! He’s just a kid!”

Skeptical words.

“The hell he’s a kid! He’s nearly as old as me! At least twenty, twenty one.”

Pleading words.

“Maybe his body, but he doesn’t understand! He was up here for a day! A DAY! Of course he’d join the Rangers, where else was he going to go? He’s in over his head-”

Angry words.

“Save your sympathy for someone other dan dat one.”

Sad words.

“Oath, please! He’s not a Ranger, not really! We could have convinced him-”

Pained words.

“Flax, I told him about Macaroon and Sweet Vow. He didn’t... he just asked why they’d been- he just asked why. No shock, no regret, no sympathy.”

Snarling, bitter words.

“See? He was ready made, born for it. Didn’t even take one day before he was one of dem. Get back to work Flax, Boss wants dose overcharged rifles stabilized. Try to do it with less waste this time, maybe he’ll give us another bonus. Den I want you to help Periwinkle figure out that cludge of his.”

Snippy, lisped words.

“She can have all of it! Give me a Flash thpecial any day over thith crap! Nearly fried myself messing wid his bat-trees. No wonder he’s got some wires crothed upstairs. Probably burned out something important years ago. If you want to figure it out then be my guest.”

Soft, hushed words. Ears have to strain to hear, block out other sounds. Good at that now.

“What did he say? D-did he really not care?”

Quiet words.

“He-... I don’t know. I don’t think he did? Maybe? I didn’t think-... he asked me ‘why?’ and I got pissed off with him. Really pissed. I wasn’t in the mood to care about his psychology or whatever. But I think he was looking for a reason to justify what they did. Like there’s something that could make what they did to Macaroon and Vow right.”

Other quiet words.

“Wouldn’t you?”

Angry words.

“Huh? You’re agreeing with him? What de fuck Flax?!”

Quiet words again.

“No. I’ll never- I miss them horribly. Vow was the most precious little thing...”

Silence and then teary words.

“But he lost his home, his whole life. I think he just doesn’t want to lose it again. Just look at him when you go back! You’ve heard about what happened with the Rangers and his Stable right? I don’t think he was mentally ready for the first time and now there’s reason for him to doubt his second? Of course he’s going to push back!”

Sullen words.

“Those were rumors Flax, rumors from drunk Rangers. You know how they love to talk up their fights against radroaches into grand battles against impossible odds.”

Soft but pointed words.

“Even if that’s true he still lost his home and they gave him another. Does he deserve this for not wanting to lose that?”

Tired words.

“You’re projecting again. There’s no way to know what’s going on his head.”

Sharp words.

“Well we definitely can’t now. How could anypony know after what they’ve done to him? You saw him with that repeater! He could have gunned down everyone and all he did was pick up another and keep working. He’s not a threat to anyone! He can’t even speak! What they’ve done to him... you tell me, does he deserve that just because he stayed with the Rangers?”

Words with feelings that the broken thing doesn’t have words for.

“Flax, you saw his gear, he- the Elder Bitch herself sent him! He admitted as much! Why would she do that if he was... just... he...”

Softest words.

“No, he doesn’t.”

Tearful words.

“What a horrible world aye?”

Gruff words.

“Yeah, hell would be a vacation. I’ll let you know if I find us a ride there. We’ll take a summer vacation soon as we get some sun and someone figures out when summer’s supposed to happen again.”

No more words. Just broken things to fix. All but one thing that couldn't be fixed.

Status Ailment: Shattered Mindscape. Horror is horror is thinking is feeling is knowing is silence. Your mental state has adapted to the treatment it has received. You gain 1 Endurance and an increased chance to successfully Intimidate but also lose 1 Perception and Charisma.

Author's Note

It's still alive! Somehow!

This chapter... if something could delay it, it did. Overtime, illness, required travel, endless revisions, and writer's block atop writer's block. I started from scratch at least three times and rewrote paragraph after paragraph again and again. Then it kept growing so I split it in two. Still, despite it all I like this one. I really do. Hope everyone else does as well! Part 2 of the split should be up by tomorrow night.

If anyone's interested in editing -or simply providing a continual boot to the posterior to get things in motion- my current partner in crim- I mean, in literature -is swamped by life and could use a break.