Act 3 Part 1: The Long, Open Road.

How long has it been since I've seen this thing? Three months? I've not been able to keep track. I'm running out of ammunition and my rifle has been broken for a while. I wised up and figured out that it was the thing that hinted Celly to my location. I broke it over my knee, then ran it over. After that, I burned it with some old, awful tasting vodka.

The first day on the trail was the hardest. I had no knowledge of desert survival beyond how to extract water from cacti and that it is hot during the day and very cold at night. That was about it. I knew, of course, there were various deadly species of poisonous and venomous creatures out here. I knew to expect the worst, which is why I had packed an extensive amount of supplies. The first day I was hungry and tired. The second I went to bed with a half-full stomach. The third I finally figured out what I was doing.

The nights were cold and long. Half the time, I was afraid to even go to sleep. I thought I'd wake up back in that dungeon, reliving my most painful moments again, and writing a cover story to make Celestia and Luna think I was get psychologically better. The truth is, I lied a lot to get to this moment, and I won't be taking any kind of risk that might entail me leaving this place.

True, the desert was harsh, but I doubted they would travel fifty kilometers in a carriage, not knowing how to extract water from cacti. The ponies lived quiet, sheltered lives. They knew nothing of the pain and suffering I'd endured in the past. Opening myself would be pointless. Their endeavors to help me would be pointless. I'm much better off wallowing in my own misery, I'm more efficient and logical.

The dusty trail that laid out in front of me was long, and I could clearly not see the end of it. I fanned myself with my leather-bound journal, the crinkled old parchment crackling and expelling dust as I did so. I stopped doing that, as it would most likely damage it, and instead used a blank sheet of parchment. Not much of an improvement, but slightly better.

I sipped from my canteen, the haze of the desert sun beating down on me in full force. The sand slowly blackened as I rolled along. I checked the magical battery of the contraption, noticing that it was only half-full. I resolved to trek for an hour, then take a rest. Besides, I was getting quite hungry.

After about thirty minutes, I began noticing smoke in the distance. A pungent smell, much like rotting flesh, reached my nose. I stopped the carriage there, pulling it off the road. I had decided that it would be wise to scout out the area ahead, before I moved in with the cart. I unholstered my pistol and loaded it with my best rounds, hoping that it would not come to using it. I holstered the gun, then pulled out my "longsword," which I will now refer to as Choice. The Choice of violence, or of parlay. A weapon to kill, or a weapon to impress and intimidate.

Anyways, I kept myself low as I crawled about an American mile, cresting a hill on the final step. My knees were cramping, but this was much too important to pass up. I pulled out a pair of binoculars, then rubbed the lenses lightly with an oily rag. I peeked through the scope, finding that the only occupants of the burning town were corpses and ash. A few fires still raged, which told me that this attack or arson, or even accident had occurred recently. I chose to search the small town for survivors and/or supplies.

This decision would probably prove to be a bad one, but it was worth the risk. I could handle any bullet wound, if the need arises. If a lethal shot is fired, and it doesn't kill me right away, I have a bullet saved for myself. I hoped that the day would never come, but I knew that anything could happen.

At the center of the blasted remains of the town, I found that a skirmish had occurred. Two sides, both wielding Nightmare War era crystal-lock rifles could be seen, but what appeared to be the invading party also had semi-automatic Arcana rifles. I looted these bodies, and used the best parts out of each weapon I found to create my own semi-auto rifle. I fashioned a sling using faux-leather straps that both parties used to hold their saddlebags on their backs. Speaking of bags, I found quite the amount of ammunition inside those saddlebags.

While scavenging, I also made a sheathe for Choice, which was much less rushed and makeshift. As I picked over the bodies, I sawed off the horns of each unicorn I came across. I read somewhere that, in the past, unicorn horns have been used by species without magic to use telekinesis and other magical abilities. Of course, nowadays such a practice is outlawed, due to such a thing being macabre and it can also be used to make oneself akin to an alicorn, if you were to gather enough of them. I read into the subject a lot, which involved some careful forging of documents and timing.

Overall, the town seemed to not have any loot left behind, except on the corpses. I managed to salvage a few items from some safes and lockboxes, as well as a few camping supplies. Some ingots were left in the burned-out husk of the blacksmithy, which I stuffed into an old wooden trunk I found in one of the houses.

I went back to the carriage and brought it 'round to the town, loading what I couldn't carry on myself into the cart. I made a few upgrades to my vehicle using scrap metal. I also nicked a mattress that was slightly charred, but only in one corner. I merely covered it with a blanket.

Overall, this was a pretty good haul. Additionally, a few intact bookcases yielded some spellbooks, and also some ink for my type-writer. No parchment, however. Well, none I could actually use, anyway.

I set up the cart just outside the town outskirts. I pulled out a pouch that had drops of blood at the bottom of it. Inside, I had collected about eleven horns from the town. Some were... Less than salvageable, let's just put it like that. Anyway, from what I read, merely touching it with a bare hand should allow me to use them. I unwrapped my reddish-pink hand, the scarred mess of tissue slowly inching over to one of the severed bones.

On contact, the entire bag lit up bright blue. I blinked. Then, I took a look around. Most of the world was a darkish blue, but the air was a very bright blue. Anything else was a varying shade of blue to grey to red. Red stuff seemed to emit some kind of aura. Blue stuff emitted an aura, but not quite so strong. Grey stuff lightly pulsed. However, a massive headache came on after about a minute. I let go of the bone, then the world slowly faded back to normal. Weird.

I tossed the bloodied bag into the trunk, then climbed into the driver's seat of the carriage. My rifle leaned against the seat, propped right next to me. I hid my pistol in a hollowed-out section of the dash, much like a glove-box in a car. I then took my rifle and put it across my lap, grabbing the joy-stick-like steering implement. Leaning it slightly forward, the carriage jumped, then began down the road again. I passed through the town, keeping a lookout for anything I missed. However, my rabid looting had left the place barren. Piles of bodies were stacked in the middle of town, burning. I figured it was the cheapest way to honor the dead.

Now, on to find out who did this and also to get to civilization.

I'd been driving for about four hours, since the crack of dawn. I'd awoken to the morning sun, still feeling a tiny bit chilly. Of course, I expected it to get hotter as the day went on. I threw off the covers, then climbed into the carriage's driver seat. I set out down the road, rifle in lap and pistol in the glovebox.

On my journey, I was expecting to find more civilization and less desert. Of course, this meant that I had no chance to wash my clothes. I swore under my breath, smelling my own stench. I wrung my hands. No rest for the wicked, I suppose. Anyway, I continued down the path. The ground had blackened, and I could see snow-topped mountains in the distance. The border between the Changeling lands and the Stag Highlands. You see, these stags were much like the Scots, while the Griffons more resembled the Chinese and Welsh, oddly enough.

Anyway, once I get to the Stag Highlands, I should be safe from deportation. That is, if I can pass off as a Diamond Dog or Minotaur. I looked over my shoulder, eyeing my grey bedsheets. I would take care of that later, but right now I need to take care of getting some supplies. Below the mountain range, I could see a rather large town. I stopped my carriage, then created that cloak using my bedsheets. I wore it over my duster, which was a little hot, but it wasn't too bad.

As soon as I had done so, I saw a patrol of pegasi fly overhead. I subconsciously hid my rifle under the seat, closing up the little cabinet. I holstered my pistol under my duster, then hunched over. I bent my knees slightly, then began driving towards the town.

I approached in silence. My carriage made only the sound of rolling wheels as I made my way to the town at about thirty miles per hour. I know, breakneck super-fast Ferrari speed.

Riding into the town, I was met with a few stares. The junk shacks and shops were littered about the sprawl in no particular order. It took me about forty minutes to find a 'Motor Hotel,' which was the primitive version of a motel. Out front, I saw several carriages protected by magical force-fields. I parked, seeing the force-field come over my cart.

I left the cart, then trudged up the steps on my tip-toes, back hunched and knees bent. It was slightly painful, but I managed to get inside. I saw the minotaur clerk at the counter perk up. The cow stared at me inquisitively, having some pretty ginger hair. I politely approached, then did my best impression of a Diamond Dog, which was to say that I spoke in slightly broken english.

"How much for room, please?" I spoke in the voice of a diamond dog. The clerk smiled, then tapped a notepad on the counter. It read: "Room and board, fifteen bits a night." The clerk was probably a mute, as I noticed a scar around her neck area. I reached under my cloak, then slipped on my gloves. I opened a pouch, then counted out fifteen under my cloak. Once done, I planted the coins on the counter. The clerk swept the bits off the counter and into a pot full of the coins, then handed me a key from under the counter.

"Many thanks to you." I said politely. I stalked up the stairs to my room, which was on the third floor. Top room, the one with the number seven on it. I found it easily, then entered. Inside, the room had everything necessary for me. I straightened my posture, casually closing the blinds on the window as I did so. I rubbed my sore back, then rested for a moment. I prepared to move my trunk up to my room.

The whole process was an ordeal, but I got it done. It had pretty much everything in the wagon in it, all packed inside. I opened it up and began placing only the essentials in the room. I then returned the trunk to the wagon. After that, I tinkered around with my weapons. Additionally, I began carving a ring out of one of the horns. I made it so that I could slip a small bit of paper underneath it to act as a buffer (hopefully).

A couple hours passed and I was sitting in my room, rifle propped on one of the bedpost's poles. I hummed a song, typing down some ideas on the 'ol type-writer. Most were ideas and plans for crossing the border. Others were sketches of the map provided with the room. It had many details, such as the fact that a group of bandits that regularly terrorized the town lived in a cave not far away.

I lit up a cigarette as I left the motor hotel. I trudged down the dark street, only seeing a few shady characters as I walked around the town, familiarizing myself with the territory. As I did so, I saw a shadow of a pony in the darkness. I was instantly on guard, but didn't show it. The moment I heard the tell-tale clop of a hoof, I turned with my gun drawn. My hand was on the hammer, the barrel just poking out of the cloak. The robber barely saw it as he lifted his gun in his red aura.

"Gimme all you got!" He demanded.

"You can have my cash, but you know, I've got to ask, what made you want to live this kind of life, kid?" I replied, him still blind to the gun I had hidden.

"Huh?" The report of a revolver could be heard as his torso burst open in a spray of red. I ran off into the night, holstering my pistol as I dashed away from the scene. I heard a commotion way behind me, so I ducked into an alley, melding with the shadows. I ducked behind a trash can, watching as three minotaurs wielding rifles and lanterns rushed by. I peeked out the alleyway, not seeing anyone, so I casually left and took a detour back to the inn. Along the way, I passed by the library. It was still open, so I checked out some books that I needed.

Anyway, I elected to enter my room inconspicously. I clambered up the side of the building, then stuck a flat 2x4 under the window, then pried it up. I entered, nearly getting entangled in the blinds, but managing to get untangled and close the window. I put the blinds back the way they were, then plopped onto the bed.

I tossed off most of my clothes onto the floor. I stuck my gun under my pillow, and hid my rifle under the bed. I drifted off soon after...

Author's Note

Alright, Act 3 is in motion. What challenges do our bipedal friend have to face before he can escape into the Highlands?