Author's Note

War is easy to ignore when its not at your doorstep. When the trenches are being dug in someone else's yard. If your house isn't being used to plan the next engagement. When your sons and daughters are not the ones fighting. All you see and feel are the side effects. Taxes, restricted liberties, even appropriations for the war effort. Easily shunted aside, as you push through your daily life. That is the trap, you don't care. You don't give your support, or speak out. the war doesn't matter to you, win or lose.

The war drags on. Maybe ground is gained, maybe lost. More familiar faces leave to do their duty, but that is all they are. A face in the crowd during your morning routine. A single face you never see again, or worse see in the morning paper. A hero, built upon the sins of war. Your inaction to end the war one way or another, costs dearly. The war moves, miles and miles. All the way to your front door, as a shell flies down your chimney and a rifle pokes in your window.

Ambitions unchecked breeds destruction~~[Arc 1]

The life of a raider is one of death and destruction. Every time you wake up, you are surprised, surprised that your chem usage, eating habits, and compatriots have yet to end your miserable life. Today was no different for Bleak Days, a raider like many others. A member of the local gang, she was gearing up to strike at a fledgling town. Her battle saddle was ready, her veins chalk full of chems. She would prove herself today, she would use this battle to propel herself up the ranks. The streets in this forgotten relic of a frontier town. At a glance, her raiders knew what the battle would mean. Those disloyal to her would charge ahead, only to get shot in the back. After they all die out, they would crush these pathetic fools. After looting what little these wastelanders have, they would turn back. To execute this coup, Bleak needs to kill the boss.

With a look, even the rookie raiders knew that this battle was important. When the raid leader, equips a battle saddle, despite being a unicorn. Her lackeys hauling a pre-war Ministry crate, arming her saddle with reverence. A fool would know that something big was going down. Her armor coated in layers of dried blood. The thick armor plates, metal spikes, and loose tire layers obscure her ammo pockets. The spikes discouraging anypony from getting too close, whilst the armor protects her vitals. Those few that dare look at her face, have the image burned into their memory. Many ponies would hide their disfigurements behind armor, she doesn't. Her face, riddled with burns and scars is proudly displaying itself to her troops. Her eyes, however say the most. Tonight, the demons below will feast, and she will merely grin at the destruction. For a brief moment, the gates will open. The war never ends for some. For the ghoulish Bleak Days, her ship sinking only brought her to a new theater. One where she was always in hostile territory. Where she never needs to watch her fire, nor write reports. A theater where her actions speak for her, no words required. A far cry from her life in the service, but she would be nothing without her training.

It was a town that she almost forgot. A blip on their map, nothing more until the war pushed forward and their princess ordered them to defend it. Her captain had complained: The town could've easily been relocated, so they could use their big guns on the zebras. The orders were unchanged, and her captain reprimanded. Princess Luna was strict on her troops, unlike her sister. As ordered, the ship disembarked many of its sailors, and began digging in. They were ill prepared for land battles. Their guns were outdated, amour nonexistent, even their training was for another battle.

Still aboard the ship, she had watch as each vital faded. She stood there, still, unaware of the world, until she felt it. The rumble, the fate heading towards her. When she glanced up, she didn't see the steel, she saw her end. Her smile, is the first one she had since training. The smile of the dead, as they know their fate. When she awoke, she had drifted south, instinctively clutching a life preserver. She wailed for hours, she wailed at the Zebras, at her captain, at her princess. At herself. centuries later, she was ready.

Feeling restless, he rose and walked out of the newly christened town hall. His wandering takes him to the edge of town. Idly traveling towards the largest of the ruined buildings, and the poster on the front door. While the text is gone, the aqua pura eyes draw him in. Her face is locked in an emotion he can't quite place. A tingling feeling starts, deep in his guts. Concerned, he pressed the door open. Winching at the rusted hinges' screech, he glances for a seat. Finding one in some kind of waiting area, he sat down.

A moment later, the roar of thunder almost had him jump. The ticks from his pip-boy telling him that the pitter patter of rain was not harmless. His wings ache, demanding to be stretched. With a sigh, he pulls them closer. Believing that the rain would make flight impossible. His eyes look back to the her. Finally placing the look in her eyes. She was recalling a sad memory. Well, not quite. A memory that now make her sad. A look he had on his face, when peaking through vault windows. In a moment of sudden light, the shadows show another message. A new meaning in the same poster, a look of worried concern. Gone in an instant, but present in his mind.

A beep from his pip-boy startles him onto his feet. With a glimpse, he sees a new signal. Military Broadcast Honest-Apple-2-Rarity-Pink. Following his instincts, he tuned in, only to hear a series of beeps. Listening more a few minutes, he hears the pattern. It is obviously morse code, but it may as well be static. In frustration, he trots out. Determined to follow the signal to its base. A quick circular walk tells him that the signal comes from somewhere south of the new town. Actively ignoring the rain, he turns south and returns to his wanderings.

The raider taking point falters, seeing a pegaus walking with a determined look about him. Teeth not quite barring, eyes narrowing. A sinister glow, seemingly irradiating his face. More afraid of what Bleak would do, the raider steps forward, puffing out her chest and taking a deep breath. Ready to unleash a threat, she pauses. The stallion that a moment ago, was nearly a dozen paces away is looking down her snout. She can even smell the meat on his breath, and see his yellowing teeth. Her shivers come from more than the heavy rain.

"If you don't make a move soon, your buddies are gonna shoot you." His words convey an authority unlike any she knows. "If you don't move, I'll have to fight through you, I personally don't mind having a body shield, but you might object." Again, his words ring true within her. On shaking legs, she drags herself to the side of the road, barely under a roof. The stallion continued on, facing against the net raider in the band. Their marching order is fairly standard. The newest and disliked upfront, increasing in skill and equipment until the end.

The next raider, her sponsor into the gang, stands without shaking. The raider, looks the stallion in the eye as he draws. The sickly aurora around his forty-five twitches, never pointing at the pegasus. The scene embeds in her memory for the rest of her life, no detail forgotten. No raindrop fades away. Not a drip of blood erases itself. Every detail in her tunnel vision will haunt her. She will never forget starring down the barrel of her buddy's forty-five.

His actions were swift, and controlled. His right hoof collided with her buddy's horn, a sickening crack ringing out. The gun dropped as bullets rang out. Her buddy crumpled, as he took to the sky. She sees droplets of rain by muzzle fire. The stallion far above her sight. The cases keep falling, joining in the rain as waste cast away. A faint sound reaches her ears: Groaning. Her buddy was alive! Suddenly a wave of dread rushed her, her 'buddy' just tried to kill her. A buddy doesn't do that. He wasn't her buddy anymore, he was a threat. Not even trying to hide her tears, she dashed to the forty-five, laying on the muddy road. The raider seeing this ignited his horn, only to wince in pain as painful sparks fly from his crippled horn.

Grabbing it up with her mouth, she nearly spat it out. The taste of irradiated mud in her mouth, she turns to point it at what became of her buddy. Looking up at her, he spat out, "You will always be a bucking Mud-" Crying in pain, she collapses. The recoil displacing her jaw, and breaking several teeth. As she lays there, vision flickering, she saw the end of Bleak Days. A gunshot from town, ringing true as the bullet pierces her neck. The sounds of combat die, as her vision leaves her. The stallion looks back to her eyes, and an emotion flickers across his face. A blink later, he is closer. Her last final before the black; was the stallion reaching into his pocket for something.

What is training but taught instinct? Medicine was never his aptitude, but his father tried to train him. A failed attempt to bond. One of the only attempts to bond with his son. These attempts were not without benefit, but he never saw them. He never saw his son in the midst of combat hurriedly apply stimpacks. He never saw his son order others in emergency triage. He prepared his son for the wasteland, while trying to isolate him from it.

He isn't sure why he did it. Maybe it is a way for him to redeem himself? A way to make up for his choice. His reasons aside, he had to put distance between them. He says few words to the guard, thanking him for saving his life from the last raider, and insuring that she would be let in. He needs to clear his head, and wanders south as the rain dies down. Its what he is, a wanderer. He doesn't stick around, but he might come visiting some day. A house for him is nothing more than a free bed. A place to rest for a time. The only way he had found to keep his deepest wounds from scaring was to keep moving.

The rain broke before him, running off the broken roads as he wanders south. The broken skyline lightens as he passes countless abandoned carts. Unable to track day and night, he marches onward mile after mile. His hooves strike the hard road unyielding. Each strike rings out a clop. His eyes seek out any threat, piercing the rain's aftermath. the malleable soil could hold any number of threats; from radscopions to mole rats.

Eventually fatigue begins to set in. An ache that grows with each strike. Looking back, the town is far beyond his sight. Unsure of how far he traveled, be begins to search for a shelter. Some time later he finds a sky carriage, slumped down the ramp. It wasn't particularly large, not even enough space for him to unfurl his wings. It was however, sealed. A practice haven for a night of rest. A simple look revealed a broken lock, impossible to pick. Even if he could figure out how to do so in this body. Annoying, but not impossible to work around.

he unfurls his right wing, trying to maneuver it into his pocket. After failing miserably, and nearly straining his wing, he decides to emulate his pip-boy's commands. Trotting back from the sky ramp, he shakes out as much moisture as he can. With a confident snort, he charges the ramp. Spreading his wings just as he leaps off. Smiling in pure bliss, he simply glides down to the ground. Completely forgetting to attempt a back flip.

he succeeds after his second attempt to preform a back flip, unfortunately landing head first to do so. Still riding on the rush of his success, he gleefully gathers his constant companion, and meanders back to the sky carriage. Whilst the reins are completely twisted beyond his repair, the shipping container it was carrying is ideal for him. The need to unlock it was quickly bypassed by his enduring knife, the contents of ballistic weaves could be of use to repair his armor. Seeing no need to make it a rush job, he includes a new sheath for his weapon. Located in the necking of his armored overcoat, it wouldn't need him to execute any aerial acrobatics to retrieve. As the tiredness spread form his sore legs to his head, he settled in for a long nap.

The message remains unchanged: For it's message is still true. Now aware of a wider world, new threats appear. Those who have forsaken their vows, and those who refused to take them. Each rotation, more are found. Each oath breaker gets tagged, their reckoning will come. The Zebra Empire have be broken, but Equestria is on the verge of shattering apart.